Growing up in a low-income household with immigrant parents, I was no stranger to struggle. My parents, who moved to the U.S. from Haiti, worked endlessly to make sure me and my siblings had opportunities they could only dream of. Their relentless effort and unwavering dedication to providing us with a better life inspired something deep within me: a fierce determination to push past obstacles and achieve things they never thought possible. I’ve always been driven by the desire to create a life that feels different — one that breaks the cycle of hardship. As the second youngest of five, I had to learn to juggle school, helping around the house, and taking on small jobs. Even in the face of constant financial instability, I excelled in school and earned a spot on the Dean’s List at Loyola University. But my story isn’t just about academic success; it’s about the emotional resilience and fight that’s been instilled in me since childhood. From a young age, I realized how important it is to give back. That’s why I started Bleeding Hearts Across America, a nonprofit I founded in high school to provide feminine hygiene products to women in need. It was my way of addressing the everyday injustices I saw around me, specifically for women and marginalized communities. I wanted to help those who, like my family, have often been overlooked and neglected by society. My dreams go beyond personal success — I want to change lives, starting with my own community. I plan to become a lawyer to advocate for human rights, particularly for those who’ve been silenced by systemic issues. My experiences have shown me that many people are left to fight alone, and I refuse to let that be the case for those I can help. My mission is to be their voice and ensure they’re given the opportunities they deserve. Along with my dreams of practicing law, I also have big plans for my small bakery business and nonprofit. One day, I hope to open a café and bookstore where people can come together, study, share ideas, and enjoy delicious pastries — a space of comfort and creativity. I envision Bleeding Hearts Across America expanding into a nationwide effort, helping even more women and children living in poverty. Every step I take is about making a lasting impact on others, and that’s what fuels me. I am passionate about fulfilling these dreams because they are bigger than me. They are about empowering others and creating a world where no one feels invisible or left behind. I want to build a legacy of kindness, empathy, and opportunity. It’s not about personal recognition but about touching lives and making them better for it. I want people to look back and know that I did everything I could to make the world just a little bit kinder and more just. I know the road ahead won’t be easy. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my upbringing, it’s that nothing worth having comes easily. My parents sacrificed so much for me, and I want to honor that by working harder than I ever thought possible. Through the highs and lows, I’ll keep pushing, knowing that every step forward isn’t just for me, but for all the people I hope to uplift along the way.

Growing up in a low-income household, I learned early on that nothing would be handed to me, and the only way to succeed was through hard work and perseverance. I witnessed my parents’ sacrifices, constantly working long hours to provide for our family. Their resilience inspired me to adopt a mindset of determination. I understood that challenges were inevitable, but they could also serve as opportunities to grow stronger. Whether it was balancing school with household responsibilities or navigating higher education without much guidance, I always found a way to push forward. My life experiences have shaped my goal to make a positive impact, particularly in supporting women and children from low-income backgrounds. I founded a nonprofit in high school, Bleeding Hearts Across America, to provide feminine hygiene products to those in need, helping alleviate one of the everyday struggles many face. Through this initiative, I learned the importance of using one’s platform to bring attention to overlooked issues. To continue making a difference, I’m pursuing a law degree to advocate for the rights of marginalized communities. I’m actively working toward this by volunteering, interning, and expanding my nonprofit’s reach. I aim to use my education to empower others, ensuring they have the tools and resources to break free from the cycle of poverty and create a better future for themselves. My upbringing taught me resilience, and I plan to use that to help others. By addressing systemic challenges and offering support to those who need it most, I want to create lasting change and uplift those facing the same struggles I once did.

Being a first-generation college student deeply influences my career goals by shaping my determination to succeed and giving me a unique perspective on the value of education. Growing up in an immigrant family, I watched my parents work tirelessly to support us, making countless sacrifices for the chance to give me a better life. They never had the opportunity to attend college, and I feel a profound sense of responsibility to not only honor their sacrifices but to pave the way for future generations. As the first in my family to attend college, I understand that education is not just a personal achievement but a powerful tool to create change. It is an opportunity to break generational cycles and to build a future where I can help others who face barriers similar to those I’ve seen growing up. This drives my desire to pursue a career in law, where I can advocate for underrepresented communities, fight for justice, and create more equitable opportunities for others. Being a first-generation student also comes with its challenges, such as navigating the college experience without the guidance that many of my peers have. These challenges have pushed me to develop resilience, resourcefulness, and independence, which in turn have shaped my career aspirations. I’ve learned to seek out help when needed, advocate for myself, and push through difficult situations—all of which will be invaluable in my future career. Ultimately, my goal is not just to succeed for myself, but to use my education and my position to give back to others. I want to make a positive impact, especially in the lives of those who feel marginalized or overlooked, just as I have felt at times. Being a first-generation college student has given me a sense of purpose and a drive to use my education to create a better, more just world for everyone.

Growing up in an immigrant family, I often watched my parents work tirelessly to provide for us, facing challenges with little to no resources. Their sacrifices, combined with my deep love for baking, inspired me to pursue a dream that I had for as long as I could remember—creating something of my own. This dream wasn’t just about making money or becoming successful. It was about offering something to my community, sharing the joy of good food, and most importantly, creating a space where people could find comfort and connection in a world that can often feel isolating. My journey into entrepreneurship began when I realized the power that something as simple as a cookie or loaf cake could have in bringing people together. What began as a hobby in my kitchen, baking for family and friends, turned into a full-fledged business: Lu’s Cookies. But what drives me is not just the act of baking—it's the idea of making a difference. It’s about how something as small as a baked treat can brighten someone’s day, provide a moment of comfort, or serve as a reminder that they are cared for. This realization was a turning point for me. I realized that I wanted to do more than just bake; I wanted to create experiences, to build something that felt like home. My goals don’t stop with Lu’s Cookies. I envision a future where my business grows beyond a small bakery. I dream of opening a café and bookstore, a haven where people can come together to study, read, enjoy a pastry, and, most importantly, find community. As someone who’s felt the weight of loneliness and isolation at times, I want to create a place where people can truly connect with each other, share stories, and find support. I want this space to be a beacon of hope, warmth, and kindness. I want it to be a place where people of all backgrounds feel welcome, where they can walk in and instantly feel at home. I believe in the power of shared spaces, and I want my café to be one that lifts people up, whether they’re enjoying a quiet moment or engaging in deep conversation. In addition to my bakery, I also run a nonprofit, Bleeding Hearts Across America, which I started in high school. The mission of the nonprofit is to provide feminine hygiene products to women and children in need, especially those living below the poverty line. Seeing the struggles many women face due to the lack of access to such basic necessities deeply affected me. I knew I couldn’t just sit by. I wanted to make a tangible difference. This nonprofit has been a part of my heart for years, and it continues to drive me. My hope is to grow Bleeding Hearts Across America, reaching even more individuals who need help, providing them with the resources they need to have dignity, to move forward, and to live their lives without shame or embarrassment. The reason I pursue these ventures is simple: I want to make a lasting impact. I want to build something that’s bigger than myself. Whether it’s through the pastries I create or the spaces I design, I want to leave behind a legacy that changes lives. I don’t just want to be known for baking; I want to be known for creating spaces and opportunities for people to feel seen, loved, and cared for. My heart is in this work. And though it may be challenging at times, every obstacle I face only reminds me of why I started—because I believe that the work I’m doing matters. I want my legacy to be about helping others, giving them the tools and resources to rise above their challenges, and creating something that they can connect with. I’ve been inspired by the struggles of my own family, by the challenges my community faces, and by the simple joy that comes with sharing something you love. I want to build something that makes people feel as though they belong—whether it’s a delicious cookie, a welcoming space, or the support they need to overcome their own challenges. That’s what I’m working toward, and it’s what I hope to achieve: a legacy of love, support, and community.

There was a time in my life when I felt as though everything was falling apart. It was during my high school years, a period where I struggled not only with personal challenges but also with a deep sense of doubt. My family had recently gone through some very turbulent times, and the weight of it all felt overwhelming. I found myself questioning my self-worth and struggling with feelings of isolation. In the midst of all of this, I felt spiritually lost, unsure of where I belonged or what my purpose was. During this time, I remembered my faith—something that had been a constant source of strength for me growing up. I was raised in a religious household, but as I faced these struggles, I felt distant from the beliefs that once brought me comfort. It was in a moment of deep despair that I turned back to prayer. I didn’t know what to say, but I spoke from my heart, expressing my fears, my anger, and my confusion. I asked for guidance and strength, not just for me, but for my family as well. It was then that I realized how important it was to surrender my worries to something greater than myself. I began to meditate on scripture and spend time reflecting on my faith. This wasn't a sudden solution or an instant fix, but through consistent prayer and connecting with my faith, I started to feel more at peace. The sense of feeling “lost” slowly started to fade. I was reminded that, while life is full of challenges, I am not alone. I believe that God’s love is unconditional and that my struggles were not a punishment but rather a part of my growth. In the weeks that followed, I saw small changes in my mindset and my approach to life. I became more patient with myself, more understanding of the challenges others faced, and more open to forgiveness—both toward others and myself. I was able to approach my academic challenges with a new perspective, knowing that I didn’t have to bear everything on my own. My faith taught me that resilience isn’t about being perfect; it's about relying on God’s strength when our own seems insufficient. This experience deeply shaped my views on life, and I carry this lesson with me. Faith has given me a deep sense of purpose and has helped me see the beauty and value in every moment, even the difficult ones. It has also influenced the way I interact with others. It has taught me compassion, patience, and humility. Now, whenever I face adversity, I know that I have the strength to overcome it, not through my own might, but through the belief that I am not alone—there is always something greater guiding me.

Being the first in my family to obtain a college degree holds profound significance for me. It’s not just an individual achievement but a reflection of the resilience and sacrifices made by my parents, who immigrated from Haiti. They worked tirelessly, often at the expense of their own dreams, to ensure my siblings and I had opportunities they didn’t have. Their dedication to creating a better future for us is the reason I am where I am today, and earning my college degree is my way of honoring their sacrifices. It’s more than just an academic milestone—it symbolizes breaking barriers and setting a new precedent for those who come after me. I take immense pride in knowing that by earning my degree, I’m creating a pathway for my younger siblings and cousins to follow, showing them that higher education is within their reach, no matter the obstacles. At Loyola University, I am pursuing a triple major in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science, with a minor in Law and Policy. These fields align with my passions and long-term goals of advocating for social justice and human rights. I’ve always been driven by the desire to understand the world around me and to use my voice to advocate for those who are often unheard. English and Creative Writing allow me to explore the power of language and storytelling, which are vital tools in shaping perceptions and inspiring change. Philosophy gives me the intellectual foundation to critically examine societal structures, ethical dilemmas, and human rights. Political Science, combined with my minor in Law and Policy, equips me with the knowledge to understand the complexities of law and policy-making. These academic pursuits are not just career-driven—they are about equipping myself with the skills to advocate for change, particularly in areas like immigration, gender equality, and civil rights. Looking ahead, my long-term goals are driven by my passion for justice and my desire to use my education and experiences to create meaningful change. I aspire to become a human rights and immigration lawyer, advocating for vulnerable populations, particularly immigrants, refugees, and marginalized communities. I am passionate about ensuring that those who often don’t have a voice in our legal system are represented and defended. I hope to work on cases that challenge discriminatory policies and practices and push for systemic reform that is fair, equitable, and just for all people. In addition to my legal career, I also want to continue expanding my nonprofit, Bleeding Hearts Across America, which I started in high school. The organization provides feminine hygiene products to women living below the poverty line. I envision expanding it into a national initiative that not only supplies essential resources but also works to address the root causes of poverty and inequality. I want to build an organization that empowers women, advocates for their rights, and creates lasting change in communities across the country. Alongside my work in law and nonprofit development, I also hope to open a café and bookstore that doubles as a community hub. This space would be a welcoming environment where people can come together to study, share ideas, and enjoy good food and pastries. I believe in the power of community and connection, and I want to create a space that fosters creativity, learning, and inclusivity. At the core of these goals is the desire to help others and make a lasting impact on the world. I want my legacy to be about empowering people—whether it’s through legal advocacy, nonprofit work, or creating spaces where people can find community.

I come from a Haitian immigrant family, which has profoundly shaped my identity and ambitions. Growing up, I watched my parents work tirelessly to give my siblings and I opportunities they never had. Their perseverance and determination inspired me to make the most of every opportunity, dedicating my life to making a difference for others, especially those from underrepresented communities like my own. I’m currently a triple major in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science with a minor in Law and Policy at Loyola University. My academic journey reflects my deep passion for understanding human rights, justice, and societal systems. I’m driven by a desire to address inequality and advocate for the marginalized, and my studies give me the tools to do so effectively. I believe that true change requires a multifaceted approach—understanding the philosophical foundations of justice, analyzing political systems, and communicating these ideas through writing and advocacy. One of my proudest achievements is founding Bleeding Hearts Across America, a nonprofit organization I started in high school that provides feminine hygiene products to women in need. This work exposed me to the harsh realities faced by many women, especially those living below the poverty line or experiencing homelessness. It also deepened my commitment to women’s rights and access to basic necessities. The nonprofit has grown since its inception, and I continue to work on expanding its reach. My long-term goal is to build it into a national organization that not only provides essential supplies but also advocates for policies that address poverty and gender inequality on a systemic level. In addition to my work with Bleeding Hearts Across America, I run a small micro bakery, which I started out of my love for baking. This venture has taught me the importance of entrepreneurship and the power of community. My dream is to eventually expand my bakery into a café and bookstore, a place where people can gather to study, read, and enjoy pastries in a welcoming and inclusive space. I want to create an environment that fosters community and provides a safe space for people, particularly students and young professionals, to connect, share ideas, and feel supported. My ultimate career goal is to become a lawyer specializing in human rights and immigration law. I’ve always been deeply moved by stories of people fighting for justice and equality, and I want to dedicate my life to being an advocate for those who are often silenced or overlooked. Growing up as part of an immigrant family, I know firsthand the challenges that immigrants face, and I want to use my legal expertise to help them navigate the complex legal system. Whether it’s ensuring that refugees and asylum seekers receive the protection they deserve or fighting for fair labor rights, I plan to be at the forefront of these battles. Experiencing socioeconomic adversity has instilled in me a profound sense of responsibility to give back to my community and to fight for systemic change. I’ve seen how structural inequalities limit people’s opportunities, and I’m committed to using my career to dismantle those barriers. Through law, nonprofit work, and community organizing, I plan to create a lasting legacy of positive change that empowers marginalized individuals and helps them build better futures. The positive impact I hope to make isn’t just about improving policies or winning legal cases—it’s about transforming lives. I want my legacy to be about the people I helped, the communities I uplifted, and the doors I opened for future generations. I’m committed to using my skills and passion to make the world a more just and equitable place for everyone.

Growing up in an immigrant family, I’ve experienced firsthand the impact that socioeconomic adversity can have on individuals, families, and communities. My parents worked tirelessly to provide a better life for my siblings and me, often juggling multiple jobs and still struggling to make ends meet. We had to navigate a system that was not always welcoming or accessible, facing obstacles that came not just from financial instability but from cultural and institutional barriers as well. These experiences shaped who I am today and inspired my commitment to creating positive change in my community. One of the most powerful lessons I’ve learned from these challenges is the importance of resilience and community. Despite the hardships, my family and I always found ways to support one another, and that sense of solidarity taught me the value of collective action. This belief in the strength of community is what drives me to give back and work to uplift those facing similar obstacles. I want to create opportunities for people like me—people from immigrant backgrounds or low-income families who are working hard to rise above the limitations imposed on them by society. In high school, I started a nonprofit called Bleeding Hearts Across America, which provides feminine hygiene products to women in need. The organization’s mission stemmed from my recognition of how socioeconomic inequality affects access to basic necessities and how it disproportionately impacts women and girls. Through this initiative, I’ve been able to offer tangible help to those facing adversity, while also raising awareness about the broader systemic issues that create such disparities. This work has been deeply personal to me, and I plan to continue expanding it in the future, ensuring that more women have access to the products and care they deserve, regardless of their economic situation. As I move forward in my academic and professional journey, I’m committed to addressing issues of socioeconomic inequality in whatever way I can. I’m currently triple-majoring in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science with a minor in Law and Policy, and I intend to use my education to advocate for policies that reduce economic inequality and promote social justice. I want to work toward a society where access to opportunities and resources isn’t determined by one’s socioeconomic background but rather by their abilities, aspirations, and determination. Experiencing socioeconomic adversity has given me a deep understanding of the struggles that many in my community face, and it has strengthened my resolve to be a part of the solution. It’s influenced my relationships by fostering a sense of empathy and solidarity with others who are going through similar challenges. I’ve built strong connections with people who, like me, are working to rise above the limitations of their circumstances, and I’m determined to support them in any way I can—whether through mentorship, advocacy, or community service. In the future, I hope to pursue law, where I can work on policies that address poverty, immigration, and human rights. I want to amplify the voices of those who are often silenced by systemic inequality and be a part of the movement toward a more just society. My ultimate goal is to create a world where the socioeconomic barriers I experienced no longer exist—where everyone, regardless of where they come from or how much they have, has an equal chance to succeed. Through my work in my community, my education, and my future career, I’m determined to leave a positive impact and help others navigate the challenges that adversity brings.

I want to practice law because I’ve always been deeply driven by the desire to make a difference. Growing up in an immigrant family, I witnessed the challenges my parents faced in navigating a system that wasn’t built for them, watching them struggle with barriers that weren’t just linguistic or cultural, but legal and institutional as well. These experiences sparked my passion for advocacy and helping others, particularly those who feel powerless or unheard in a system that often feels inaccessible. I’ve always felt a strong sense of responsibility to stand up for those who don’t have the means or resources to stand up for themselves. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the idea of using the law as a tool for justice. The idea that words, arguments, and knowledge of the legal system can be used to create tangible change excites me. I’ve seen how legal barriers can profoundly impact people’s lives, whether through immigration, human rights, or criminal justice. The law, to me, represents both the problem and the solution—something that can be a source of oppression but also a tool for liberation when wielded correctly. I want to be on the side that uses it to uplift, protect, and empower. My personal experience growing up as a Haitian American and the adversity my family and I faced in navigating the complex immigration system made me realize how essential legal knowledge is. I’ve seen how difficult it is for people like my parents to understand their rights, let alone access them. This feeling of frustration and helplessness has fueled my desire to pursue law, not just to help individuals like my parents but also to dismantle the systemic barriers that create inequity in the first place. But beyond my personal experience, what drives me most is the broader impact that practicing law can have. I want to focus on issues like women’s rights, immigration, and racial justice. These are deeply personal to me, and I see how much work still needs to be done to make these systems more fair and just. The thought that I could be someone’s advocate in the courtroom or in policy work, fighting for people whose stories aren’t heard or whose rights are overlooked, gives me a sense of purpose and direction that’s unmatched. I’ve always been passionate about helping others, whether it was through my nonprofit work providing feminine hygiene products to women in need or through the mentorship I’ve offered to younger students facing academic and personal challenges. Law is the path that will allow me to continue this work but on a much larger scale, with greater impact. I don’t want to just offer short-term solutions; I want to change systems, challenge unjust laws, and contribute to building a society where fairness and equality are the norms, not exceptions.

Helping others reach their full potential has always been a driving force in my life, and I’ve cultivated this passion through personal experiences, education, and leadership roles. Growing up in an immigrant family, I saw firsthand the challenges my parents faced while trying to give their children better opportunities. Their perseverance inspired me to make the most of my circumstances and extend the same compassion and drive to help others rise above their challenges. Over the years, I’ve developed skills in leadership, communication, and advocacy, all aimed at empowering people to be the best versions of themselves. My journey toward helping others began when I was in high school, where I founded the nonprofit Bleeding Hearts Across America. This organization focuses on providing feminine hygiene products to women in need and advocating for women’s rights, especially for those living below the poverty line. I created this nonprofit after discovering the significant impact a lack of basic hygiene products has on women’s daily lives, including their ability to go to school or work. Establishing and running this nonprofit taught me valuable leadership skills, from coordinating fundraising campaigns to networking with local organizations to host drives and awareness events. However, what has stuck with me the most is the incredible sense of fulfillment I feel in knowing I’m helping improve the lives of others, even in a small way. Beyond nonprofit work, my academic journey has played a crucial role in shaping my commitment to helping others. As a triple major in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science, I’ve dedicated myself to understanding the complexities of human nature, the systems that shape society, and the importance of advocating for change. Studying these subjects has given me the tools to critically analyze social issues, develop effective solutions, and speak out on behalf of marginalized communities. This knowledge has fueled my passion to one day become a lawyer, using my skills to address systemic inequalities and give a voice to those who often go unheard. My passion for helping others isn’t limited to my nonprofit or academic endeavors—it also shines through in my personal relationships and community involvement. I take pride in being someone who others can rely on for advice, guidance, and emotional support. I’ve always believed that growth happens in communities, not in isolation, and I strive to create spaces where people can be vulnerable, feel heard, and thrive. Whether it’s encouraging a friend to pursue their dreams, helping someone navigate a personal crisis, or simply being present when needed, I’m committed to uplifting those around me. At the heart of everything I do is a genuine desire to leave a lasting impact on the world. I want my legacy to be one of compassion, resilience, and empowerment. This means helping others see their own potential and giving them the tools and confidence to chase after their goals. By continuing to develop my skills and expand my reach through education, nonprofit work, and personal connections, I’m dedicated to making sure that everyone I encounter is able to unlock their full potential. It’s not just about what I accomplish, but about how I can help others grow, succeed, and leave their own mark on the world. This journey to help others is more than just a passion for me—it’s a purpose, and I’m committed to continuing this work in every aspect of my life, ensuring that I do my part in making the world a better place for everyone.

My journey has been shaped by the resilience, determination, and sacrifices my parents made to give me a better life. Coming to the United States from Haiti at the age of one, my family and I were thrust into an unfamiliar world, filled with both opportunities and challenges. The immigrant experience has been the foundation of who I am today. It has taught me to embrace adversity, work hard, and never take any opportunity for granted. My parents, like many immigrants, came to this country with little more than hope and a dream of a better future for their children. Their persistence and sacrifices have fueled my own drive to make a positive impact on the world. Growing up, I saw firsthand the difficulties my family faced—from language barriers to financial struggles to navigating a new culture. But even through the hardest of times, I was always encouraged to pursue education as the key to breaking the cycle of hardship. My parents instilled in me the importance of knowledge and opportunity, and I have carried their lessons with me throughout my academic journey. As a student, I have worked hard to excel, knowing that the opportunities I have now are the result of my parents’ sacrifices and the perseverance of those who came before me. I am now triple majoring in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science, with a minor in Law and Policy, all with the aim of using my education to better not just my life, but the lives of others. Being a child of immigrants has shaped my worldview and my understanding of the systems that often marginalize and disadvantage people who come from different backgrounds. I’ve seen how hard my parents worked just to be seen and heard in a country that didn’t always welcome them with open arms. It has ignited in me a passion for advocating for others who find themselves in similar situations. I want to use my education and experience to give a voice to those who may feel silenced or ignored. This is why I founded my nonprofit, Bleeding Hearts Across America, which provides feminine hygiene products to women in need and advocates for women’s rights. My ultimate goal is to expand this organization and continue fighting for social justice and equality, especially for marginalized communities like immigrants and women living below the poverty line. Through my college education, I hope to gain the skills and knowledge necessary to effect real change, whether it be through policy reform, legal advocacy, or community outreach. I plan to become a lawyer and use my background and expertise to address the issues that I am most passionate about—migration, human rights, and access to resources. I believe that my unique experience as a first-generation college student and immigrant gives me an important perspective that can help shape policies that are fairer and more inclusive. I'm determined to make a positive impact on the world by breaking down barriers, lifting up others, and using my voice to create a more just and equitable society. My immigrant background has not only influenced my career aspirations but also given me a deep sense of responsibility to give back and pave the way for those who come after me. I hope that through my work and advocacy, I can continue the legacy of resilience and determination that my parents and so many immigrants before them have demonstrated. I want to make sure that no one feels as though they have to navigate the world alone, and that everyone has the opportunity to succeed, regardless of where they come from.

I’ve always been passionate about creating a lasting impact on the world, and it’s something that has guided me throughout my life. In high school, I founded a non-profit called "Bleeding Hearts Across America," which provides feminine hygiene bags to women in need and advocates for women's rights. This organization is close to my heart, and I still plan to expand it, as it is more than just a project to me—it's a mission. I want "Bleeding Hearts Across America" to continue growing and reaching women and children below the poverty line, giving them the resources they need to thrive. The goal is to help as many people as possible, ensuring that they feel seen and supported, and that their voices are heard. Alongside my non-profit work, I also run a small micro-bakery that I hope to expand into something much bigger. I’ve always dreamt of opening a cozy café and bookstore where people can come together to study, read, or simply enjoy a moment of calm with a good book and a pastry. It would be a place where the community can connect and feel at home. The idea of creating a warm, welcoming space that fosters creativity and growth excites me. My love for books, baking, and helping others would all come together in this space, allowing me to shine my light in multiple ways—whether it’s through the comfort of a pastry or the joy of discovering a new story. My legacy, however, is not just about the businesses I build or the initiatives I start. It’s about the people I am able to help and the lives I can touch. I want my legacy to be centered around the impact I have on the world, particularly in lifting up women and children who face hardships. I want to create opportunities for those who might feel forgotten and give them the tools to succeed. It’s important to me that my efforts contribute to something bigger than myself, and that when people look back, they see the positive changes that were made because of the work I’ve done. I believe that shining my light means using my skills and passions to help others, whether it’s through creating spaces that foster creativity and connection or through providing essential resources to those in need. My dream is to be remembered not just as a business owner or a non-profit founder, but as someone who truly made a difference. I want to leave a legacy of compassion, empowerment, and resilience—a legacy that continues to inspire and uplift others long after I’m gone.

I’m a fan of Wicked because it tells a story that feels incredibly personal and relatable, even though it’s set in a fantastical world. The show isn’t just about witches and wizards; it’s about friendship, identity, and the struggle to be understood. Elphaba’s journey speaks to me deeply because she represents someone who’s misunderstood and judged for being different, something I’ve experienced in my own life. The way she rises above her challenges and refuses to conform, despite being cast aside by society, is inspiring. It reminds me of the importance of staying true to who you are, even when the world wants you to change. The dynamic between Elphaba and Glinda is one of the most compelling aspects of the musical. They both grow and change in ways that feel real. Their friendship is imperfect, filled with moments of tension and conflict, but also with deep love and understanding. It mirrors the complexities of real-life relationships, where people evolve and learn from one another. It’s a beautiful reminder that, even when things don’t go as planned, the connections we make can still be meaningful and transformative. The music is also a huge part of why I love Wicked. Songs like “Defying Gravity” are more than just powerful; they’re cathartic. It’s an anthem of freedom and self-empowerment, and it makes me feel like I can take on anything, no matter how difficult or impossible it might seem. “For Good” is another one that hits home for me—it’s a reflection of how our relationships shape us, and it’s a beautiful reminder that even the most painful experiences can lead to growth. The way these songs blend with the characters’ journeys creates an emotional experience that feels both profound and uplifting. But what really sets Wicked apart is its challenge to traditional notions of good and evil. It forces us to question labels and look beyond the surface to understand people’s true motives. It’s a show that acknowledges how complicated life can be, how we’re all a mix of light and darkness. It encourages me to think critically about my own experiences and the people around me, to realize that things are rarely as simple as they seem. Wicked isn’t just a story about witches; it’s a story about finding your place in the world, overcoming adversity, and embracing the parts of yourself that others may not understand. It’s about standing up for what you believe in, even when it feels like the world is against you. That’s why I’m such a big fan—Wicked speaks to my heart, and it continues to inspire me every time I hear its powerful message.

Adversity has always been a part of my life, but it wasn’t until my teenage years that I truly understood the depth of its weight. I remember feeling like I was trapped inside my own mind—drowning in thoughts I couldn’t control, battling emotions I couldn’t express. Depression and anxiety crept in, and I felt more isolated than ever before. There were days when getting out of bed felt impossible, when the world seemed too heavy to bear, and the thoughts in my head were louder than anything else. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I tried to ignore it, pretending everything was fine. I wore a mask every day, smiling when I didn’t feel like it, laughing when I didn’t feel joy. I kept pushing forward, thinking I could handle it all by myself. But deep down, I felt lost—like I was walking through life, disconnected from everything and everyone around me. My relationships suffered because I wasn’t fully present. I wasn’t even fully present with myself. One night, I reached a breaking point. I looked in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. I realized I had been hiding my pain for so long that it had started to consume me. I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I was tired of pretending. That was the moment I knew something had to change. I began opening up to the people I trusted, starting with my mom. I remember telling her how much I had been struggling, and the relief I felt when she simply listened, without judgment. It wasn’t easy to admit how broken I felt, but it was the first step toward healing. With her encouragement, I sought help from a therapist. The journey wasn’t quick—it wasn’t a light switch that flipped overnight—but it was the beginning of something real. Slowly, I started to understand myself again. Therapy helped me unravel the layers of guilt and shame I had been carrying, and I began to unlearn the harmful coping mechanisms I had developed. It was hard. It was messy. But it was worth it. Through that adversity, I learned to embrace my vulnerability. I learned that asking for help wasn’t a weakness, it was an act of strength. I learned that it was okay to not have everything figured out, to not be okay all the time. I learned that healing isn’t linear—it’s a journey full of setbacks, but also small victories. That period of my life changed me. It taught me to be kinder to myself, to recognize my worth, and to never underestimate the power of a support system. To anyone going through something similar, I want you to know that you’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I know it’s hard to see it now, but things do get better. You are allowed to ask for help, to lean on others, to take the time you need to heal. Your feelings are valid, and your pain doesn’t define you. You are worthy of love, care, and compassion—especially from yourself. Keep going. You are stronger than you think.

My experience with mental health has been one of the most defining aspects of my life, shaping everything from my goals to my relationships, and how I see the world around me. It hasn’t been an easy journey, but through the pain, confusion, and isolation, I’ve learned so much about myself and what truly matters. In the beginning, I was ashamed of my mental health struggles. I kept them hidden, convinced that if I could just push through the darkness, I would somehow be okay. But it was exhausting. The weight of depression and anxiety constantly hung over me, clouding every thought, every decision. I believed that I wasn’t good enough, that I was a failure for not being able to “just get over it.” My goals at the time were driven by fear of judgment and the pressure to meet expectations, both my own and from others. I pushed myself relentlessly, thinking that if I accomplished enough, I’d finally feel worthy. But no matter what I did, I was left empty. It was only when I started to confront my mental health and seek help that I realized how important it is to nurture myself, to honor my emotional needs. Now, my goals are about more than just achieving outward success—they’re about taking care of myself along the way. I’ve learned to take things one step at a time, to be gentle with myself, and to prioritize my well-being above all else. My goals aren’t tied to perfection anymore; they’re about progress, about learning to live with my struggles, and growing stronger in spite of them. My relationships have been equally shaped by my mental health. For so long, I kept people at arm’s length, afraid of being judged or misunderstood. I felt like I had to put on a mask, pretending to be okay even when I wasn’t. I thought that if people really knew the depths of my struggles, they wouldn’t love me. But over time, I realized that real connection comes from vulnerability, from allowing yourself to be seen for who you truly are—flaws, fears, and all. Slowly, I started to let down my walls, and it was terrifying, but also freeing. I began to understand that sharing my struggles doesn’t make me weak or burdensome; it makes me human. My relationships now are based on honesty and empathy, and I’ve learned to surround myself with people who support me unconditionally, who listen without judgment. I’ve also learned to be there for others in the same way, offering the same understanding and compassion that I once craved. Mental health has also changed the way I see the world. At first, I felt like I was just stumbling through life, disconnected from everything around me. I thought that everyone else had it all figured out and that I was the only one struggling. But as I’ve opened up about my experiences, I’ve realized how many others are fighting their own battles—battles that are often invisible to the outside world. It’s made me more empathetic, more aware of the pain that others carry, and it’s inspired me to advocate for mental health awareness. I don’t want anyone to feel as isolated and alone as I once did. I want to help create a world where it’s okay to talk about your struggles, where vulnerability is seen as a strength, not a weakness. I’ve learned that mental health isn’t something you can just “fix.” It’s a part of who I am, and I’ve had to learn how to live with it, not fight against it. It’s a journey, and it’s one that I continue to navigate every day. But through it all, I’ve learned to be kinder to myself, to set goals that are aligned with my true needs, to form deeper, more meaningful relationships, and to see the world through a lens of empathy and compassion. The road hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth every step.

The lyric from Olivia Rodrigo’s "All-American Bitch" that stands out to me is: “I'm so glad I don't have to be you.” This line captures the essence of adolescence in a way that feels both empowering and incredibly relatable. Throughout my teenage years, I often felt torn between being who I really was and conforming to what others expected of me. Whether it was from my family, my peers, or society as a whole, there was always a pressure to fit into a mold that didn’t feel like me. Olivia's lyric embodies the moment when you realize that you don't have to live up to someone else’s version of success or identity. During my adolescence, I struggled with feelings of inadequacy, comparing myself to others and feeling like I wasn’t enough because I didn’t fit into certain molds. This lyric resonates with me because it speaks to the liberation that comes from letting go of those comparisons and embracing your true self. It's a realization that you don't need to emulate someone else’s life or choices to be worthy or to succeed. The line feels like a moment of empowerment, like a weight being lifted off your shoulders when you decide that you are enough as you are, even if you're not meeting the standards set by those around you. Teenage years are a time of discovery, but they can also be filled with confusion and uncertainty. You're trying to figure out who you are while facing a world that is often telling you to be something else. Olivia’s lyric reflects that internal struggle but also hints at the strength that comes from recognizing that you don’t have to be anyone other than yourself. It’s an anthem for anyone who has ever felt like they don’t fit in or like they’re trying to live up to expectations that don't feel true to who they are. The song "All-American Bitch" captures this sense of defiance and self-acceptance, reminding listeners that it's okay to reject societal pressures and just be yourself. For me, that lyric represents the moment of clarity when you realize that living authentically is the most freeing thing you can do in a world that constantly tries to push you into predefined boxes. It’s a sentiment that defines the spirit of adolescence—the desire to break free, to find your own voice, and to reject the parts of yourself that don’t align with who you truly are.

I’ve been a fan of LeBron James for years because he represents so much more than just basketball. Beyond his incredible skills on the court, his work ethic, leadership, and commitment to social change have made him a true role model. LeBron's ability to stay at the top of his game for over two decades is something that’s virtually unmatched. Watching him evolve as a player, from his early days in Cleveland to his current role with the Los Angeles Lakers, has been truly inspiring. When it comes to the greatest basketball player of all time (GOAT), the conversation often comes down to LeBron James and Michael Jordan. For me, LeBron’s greatness is not just about his scoring titles or MVPs, but his versatility. He can play virtually any position, and he’s not just a scorer; he’s a playmaker, a defender, and a leader. LeBron has maintained excellence in every aspect of the game, and his longevity in the NBA, still competing at an elite level into his late 30s, is unprecedented. However, the "GOAT" debate isn’t just about stats. It’s about the impact a player has had on the game, and in that sense, LeBron might have an edge. He’s taken teams to the Finals multiple times, often without the help of superstars, and has won championships with three different teams. His ability to lift teams up, especially through tough times, is something that’s truly remarkable. In terms of why I think LeBron could be considered the greatest, his basketball IQ and leadership are second to none. He’s been known to make his teammates better, something that’s not always a given for players at his level. LeBron’s consistent ability to perform in high-pressure situations, such as his iconic 2016 Finals win with Cleveland, where he led them to a historic comeback against the Warriors, is a testament to his resilience. While Michael Jordan's six championships and perfect Finals record are hard to ignore, LeBron’s impact both on and off the court makes his case strong. His activism, philanthropy, and business ventures are proof that his influence goes far beyond basketball. So, in my eyes, while there are arguments for both sides, LeBron James’ combination of talent, versatility, and impact makes him a top contender for the title of the greatest basketball player of all time.

Overview: This challenge is designed to shake things up in the Love Island villa by introducing a new contestant and forcing everyone to rethink their connections. The twist lies in the two-day period where couples get to explore fresh connections through a personality quiz and intimate experiences, only to face the uncomfortable but revealing task of comparing their past and new partners. The challenge introduces new dynamics, surprises, and emotional reckonings, ultimately testing how deep the contestants' relationships truly are. Setup: At the beginning of the episode, a new person is introduced to the villa, making the numbers uneven. They will immediately become part of the dynamic, even though they might not have any connections yet. The islanders are then asked to fill out a detailed personality quiz that focuses on their values, goals, interests, and views on relationships. The results of this quiz are used to match each existing contestant with someone new, based solely on personality compatibility. The islanders are unaware of their new match until the quiz results are revealed. Days 1 & 2: New Pairings Once the new couples are formed, everyone spends the next two days on romantic and active dates with their new partner. These dates will range from fun challenges (e.g., a cooking competition or an obstacle course) to intimate activities (e.g., a stargazing session or a one-on-one dinner) designed to foster connections. The couple’s chemistry will be tested through shared experiences, helping them assess whether they connect better with their new partner than with their original one. Each couple will sleep in the same bed together during these two days, enhancing the closeness and comfort of the new dynamic. This arrangement adds an element of physical intimacy, making it more difficult for contestants to hold onto their old relationships or hide how they really feel about their new partner. After the two days, each contestant is asked to create a list of what I like more and less about about their new partner compared to their old partner. The lists are intended to spark honest reflection, helping islanders understand how the new connection compares to the old one in terms of emotional, physical, and personality traits. Contestants must be honest and open, revealing both positive and negative aspects of their experience with their new partner. Guessing Game: Once everyone has written their lists, the fun begins. The lists are anonymously shared with the group, and each contestant must guess who wrote each list. This moment becomes intense, as islanders try to figure out who might be secretly considering their new partner over their original one. It’s a revealing moment that creates drama and vulnerability within the group. Recoupling: After the guessing game, the islanders go into a recoupling ceremony. In this ceremony, each person must decide whether they want to stick with their original partner or choose to switch partners based on their experiences during the challenge. The catch is that once a recoupling is done, it’s final—the contestants must live with their choice moving forward. This challenge forces islanders to reflect on what truly matters in a relationship. It challenges their commitment to their original partners, but also opens up the possibility for new connections to form. This creates uncertainty, excitement, and potential heartache, which could lead to dramatic new dynamics and the possibility of unexpected pairings. Whether couples choose to recouple or stay loyal, it’s sure to spark deep conversations and strong emotional reactions, keeping the villa on edge and the viewers engaged.

I’ve been a fan of Sabrina Carpenter since I was a kid, and I can honestly say she’s one of the few stars who’s had such a lasting impact on me. I first saw her as Maya Hart on Girl Meets World on Disney Channel, and from the moment she stepped on screen, I was hooked. As she grew, I followed her journey from acting to music, and I’ll never forget when she released “Thumbs.” That was a game-changer for me—it was the first time I felt like I could truly connect with her as an artist. I’d always loved her voice, even when she was singing on Adventures in Babysitting, but when she started sharing her own music, I could feel something deeper. Now, watching her as one of pop’s brightest stars, I can’t help but feel so proud of her and everything she’s accomplished. But it’s not just her success that makes me love her—it’s the way her music resonates with me. Sabrina has this incredible way of singing about her past relationships and experiences, but she does it in a way that feels so empowering. Her music has this feminine strength to it, and it’s like she’s unapologetically embracing her emotions, desires, and struggles while still sounding soft and angelic. It’s such a beautiful mix of vulnerability and power, and I find myself coming back to her songs over and over again because they make me feel something real. What I absolutely love about Sabrina is how she completely shatters the idea that women can’t be bold, sexual, and independent without losing their femininity. She’s the perfect example that women can own their sexuality and power while staying true to who they are. And it’s not just about being rebellious—it’s about finding balance. She balances sensuality and strength so effortlessly, and it’s a breath of fresh air in an industry that can be so limiting for women. At first, I thought her music might be more geared toward a male audience, but as I dug deeper into her lyrics and the themes of her work, I realized how much it speaks to us—the girls, the LGBTQ+ community, the ones who just want to have fun with pop and still feel seen and heard. Sabrina’s music is for everyone, and it’s about embracing who you are and having the confidence to show it to the world. She’s created a space for people to just be themselves, and that’s something I’m so grateful for. I’m beyond excited to see where Sabrina’s career takes her next. She’s grown so much already, and I know this is just the beginning. I feel so lucky to be a part of her journey and I can’t wait to continue supporting her as she continues to break down barriers and show the world what she’s made of.

Chappell Roan has completely captivated me with her music, and I’m beyond excited to support her career. I first discovered her through "Good Luck, Babe," and from that moment, I was hooked. The song spoke to me on such a personal level, and I immediately connected with it. It was as if Chappell was singing the exact words I’d been holding in for so long, especially during the time when I was struggling with my sexuality and unable to accept how I was feeling. That emotional depth and vulnerability she conveyed through the song were so raw and relatable, and it made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t before. What really drew me to Chappell Roan, though, is her voice. She has this incredible ability to effortlessly switch between soft, almost delicate tones, to powerful, bold moments—something that completely blows me away every time I listen to her. There’s an undeniable strength in her voice, but it’s always paired with an undeniable femininity that remains true no matter what. She’s unapologetically herself, and it’s so inspiring to hear an artist express herself so freely and fearlessly. I love how she never compromises who she is, and it’s made me feel more confident in embracing my own unique identity. Chappell’s music has become a source of empowerment for me. It’s not just the songs themselves, but what they represent—her courage to be vulnerable, her refusal to conform to others' expectations, and her strength in being unapologetically feminine. It’s a quality I admire so much in her because, in a world that often tries to box people in, Chappell has found a way to carve out her own space. She’s a role model for anyone who’s ever felt unsure about who they are or where they fit in. When I listen to her music, it reminds me that it’s okay to be bold, to embrace vulnerability, and to own my story, no matter how messy it might seem. She’s not just an artist to me—she’s someone who’s opened my eyes to the power of authenticity, and I’m grateful for her music and the way it continues to inspire me. I’m incredibly excited to see where her career goes from here, and I’ll be supporting her every step of the way.

One of my favorite songs on Charli XCX's album brat is "Used to Know Me." This song resonates with me because it captures a sense of liberation and self-empowerment, themes that have been incredibly meaningful in my own life. The lyrics, "You used to know me, but you don't anymore," reflect a powerful moment of reclaiming oneself and stepping away from past versions of yourself that no longer serve you. For a long time, I struggled with letting go of who I used to be. I carried with me a version of myself defined by other people's expectations, and it wasn’t until recently that I realized I needed to let go of that weight. Listening to "Used to Know Me" was like hearing my own thoughts articulated so perfectly. It became an anthem for me as I worked toward shedding the parts of myself I no longer wanted to be tied to—like old habits, self-doubt, and the fear of judgment. The production on this track is infectious and full of energy, which makes it all the more impactful. It isn’t just a song you hear; it’s a song you feel. Charli’s unapologetic approach to her music has always been a source of inspiration for me. Her confidence is contagious, and listening to her music has encouraged me to embrace my own power and take control of my story. Just as she declares independence from the past in "Used to Know Me," I’ve found myself doing the same. I’m learning to let go of old expectations and live more authentically, not worrying about how others perceive me. What I love most about Charli XCX’s music, especially in brat, is her ability to combine vulnerability with strength. "Used to Know Me" is a perfect example of this. It shows that letting go of the past, though it may feel scary, is a necessary step toward growth and freedom. It serves as a reminder that, like Charli, we can all find the strength to reinvent ourselves, to outgrow our old selves, and to embrace the power that comes with being unapologetically ourselves.

Billie Eilish's music has an uncanny ability to speak directly to the most vulnerable parts of myself. Her haunting melodies and deeply introspective lyrics have resonated with me during some of the most difficult periods in my life. Three of her songs, “Bury a Friend,” “Ocean Eyes,” and “No Time to Die,” encapsulate the internal struggles I've faced, from feeling trapped in my own body to the uncertainty with giving too much of myself to others. Each of these songs help me navigate my personal battles with depression, self-worth, and relationships. “Bury a Friend” perfectly encapsulates the dark/suffocating feelings I experienced during periods of severe depression. The lyrics, “Am I satisfactory?" "Today, I'm thinkin' about the things that are deadly. The way I'm drinkin' you down, like I wanna drown, like I wanna end me,” echo thoughts I struggled to verbalize. I felt trapped within my own mind and body, held hostage by the depression and anxiety consuming me. The chaotic and disorienting song mirrors the mental anguish I felt at the time—constantly questioning my worth, drowning in my own thoughts, and feeling disconnected from the world around me. The sense of being “trapped” was overwhelming. Billie’s voice captures that haunting feeling of being stuck, unable to escape the relentless spiral of negative thoughts, like being trapped in your own body and mind with no way out. The lyrics of “Ocean Eyes”—“I’m scared, you really know how to make me cry”—perfectly reflect my own fears in relationships. I’ve always been terrified of opening up to someone, of letting them see the real me, because I knew how deeply they could hurt me. This song made me realize how vulnerable I was, how much I wanted to connect with someone, yet how afraid I was to allow that connection to form. It reminded me of the fragility of trust and how deeply it could affect me when someone I cared about hurt me. Billie’s voice, tender and fragile, gave me an outlet for my own emotions. For a long time, I felt like I couldn’t express how afraid I was to get close to someone, yet Ocean Eyes mirrored that fear perfectly. It made me realize that it was okay to feel that way—that I wasn’t alone in my fears of love, hurt, and vulnerability. In “No Time to Die,” Billie sings, “Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to everybody else?” These lyrics hit me hard because they reflected the emotional turmoil I’ve felt when giving too much of myself to others. I’ve often sacrificed my own well-being in relationships, wondering if I was foolish for caring too much or for being too invested in someone else’s problems. This song captures the internal conflict of self-doubt, questioning whether my actions were reckless or self-destructive. The melancholy and introspective tone mirrors the moments when I’ve realized that I’ve poured too much into someone else, often at the expense of my own mental health. No Time to Die is a reflection of the struggle to find balance—knowing when to love and when to protect myself. Each of these songs helped me process my emotions, reflecting on the aspects of myself I’ve often avoided confronting. Billie’s music provides me with the space to express my vulnerability, my fears, and my mistakes. It’s a reminder that it’s okay to feel deeply, to be scared, and to struggle especially in a world that often tells us to hide our pain and keep our emotions in check.

Success, for me, is not just about personal achievement but about creating a lasting impact. It’s about using my experiences to lift others and advocate for those who may not have the resources or the platform to speak for themselves. As a Haitian-American woman, I have witnessed the struggles faced by women, particularly in underrepresented communities, and it is these experiences that shape my idea of success. To me, success means advocating for those who need it most, empowering others, and making sure that no woman, no matter her background or situation, feels invisible. Growing up, I learned about hardship in very personal ways. One of the most significant experiences was losing my aunt in the 2010 Haiti earthquake. My aunt, who had always suffered from heavy menstrual cycles, was forced to ration her menstrual products after the earthquake left her without access to basic hygiene supplies. She had to use the same tampon for an entire day, leading to toxic shock syndrome that ultimately claimed her life. This tragedy impacted me deeply, and it made me realize how something as basic as menstrual care can be a matter of life and death. It also showed me that this issue was not limited to Haiti—it was global. In America, women also face period poverty, which affects their health, well-being, and daily lives. As I reflected on my aunt’s death, I couldn’t stand the idea of other women facing similar struggles without support. This was my call to action. I began by sending care packages to family in Haiti, but as I got older, I knew I could do more. In high school, I became involved in a club called Women of Tomorrow, where we discussed period poverty and the possibility of hosting a period drive. But I realized that this needed to be more than just an annual event—it needed to be an ongoing effort. That’s when I decided to take the initiative and start Bleeding Hearts Across America, my nonprofit that provides menstrual products to women in need. In our first year, we helped over 3,000 women and girls, and though I’m proud of this achievement, I know there’s so much more to be done. My vision of success has always been about creating sustainable, long-term change. This scholarship is not just a financial opportunity for me; it is an essential stepping stone to achieving my goals. As I continue my studies in law and policy, it will equip me with the knowledge to fight for the systemic changes that women need, particularly when it comes to healthcare access. It will allow me to expand Bleeding Hearts Across America and reach more women, bringing awareness to issues like period poverty that too often go unnoticed. I see it as a way to continue my advocacy and make an even larger impact. Success isn’t just about what you accomplish in your own life—it’s about how you help others along the way. My journey has been shaped by my experiences, but it’s also been shaped by the desire to make a difference. I’ve learned that success is personal; it’s about aligning what I’ve been through with the change I want to see in the world. Through this scholarship, I’ll be one step closer to making that change a reality, and I will keep working toward lifting others as I continue my journey.

I want to make a change in my life because I’ve seen firsthand how the simple act of caring and advocating for others can create a ripple effect of change. My experience with period poverty opened my eyes to the struggles many women face daily, and it was in that moment I realized that I can be part of the solution. The desire to make an impact, not just on a small scale but in a way that sparks lasting change, drives me to work toward this goal. The catalyst for change in my life came from the devastating loss of my great-aunt, who died from toxic shock syndrome in the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. The period poverty she experienced, which led to her tragic death, wasn’t just an isolated incident. It’s a reality for many women globally—whether in Haiti, America, or elsewhere. Learning about her story, and recognizing that this was a widespread issue, motivated me to act. I knew I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I began sending boxes of supplies to my family in Haiti, but I realized that, even though it was a good gesture, it wasn’t enough. The issue was systemic, and I wanted to make a larger impact. When I joined Women of Tomorrow in high school, the idea of hosting a period drive was brought up in one of our meetings. However, I was discouraged by the idea of it being a one-time, short-term effort. Period poverty is not a problem that can be fixed with a month-long drive. That’s when I decided to take things into my own hands and found Bleeding Hearts Across America. Since then, my non-profit has grown tremendously, providing hygiene products to thousands of women and girls in need. But I know this is just the beginning. I want to continue expanding my efforts, advocating for those who can’t advocate for themselves, and educating others on the importance of addressing period poverty in both local and global communities. This scholarship will help me reach my goal by allowing me to continue my studies in law, policy, and social advocacy. With a strong foundation in education, I will be better equipped to push for legislation that supports women’s health and hygiene, ensuring that no one has to choose between feeding themselves or purchasing essential hygiene products. By supporting my academic journey, this scholarship will give me the tools to not only expand my non-profit but also advocate for systemic changes in the laws that impact women’s health. In the future, I plan to pay it forward by using my experiences to mentor young women who want to start their own non-profits or businesses, just as I did. I want to inspire others to take charge of their passions and make a difference in their communities. My mission is to ensure that women, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the resources and support they need to succeed and live with dignity. Ultimately, this scholarship represents more than just financial assistance—it’s an investment in a future where I can empower others to make a lasting change. It’s a step toward making a meaningful difference in the lives of those who need it most.

Mental health has always been a part of my life, but it wasn’t until I hit my teenage years that I truly understood its weight. Growing up, I often felt a sense of disconnection that I couldn’t explain—days when I felt numb or hopeless, others when anxiety kept me on edge. I didn’t know how to put it into words, and it didn’t help that my family didn’t talk about these things. We kept things in the family, swept feelings under the rug, and pushed through. So, I did too. I thought if I just kept moving forward, things would get better, that eventually, I’d figure it all out. But that only worked for so long. By high school, the pressure of pretending everything was fine started to crack me open. I didn’t have the language for what I was feeling, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore. There were days I felt like I was sinking, that nothing made sense, and I wasn’t sure how to swim back up. I was embarrassed to talk about it, too scared that if I admitted how much I was struggling, I’d lose the little control I had left. But eventually, I reached a breaking point and had to admit to myself that I couldn’t do it alone. I reached out to a friend and just said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t keep pretending.” That first conversation felt like a weight was lifted. I wasn’t fixed in that moment, and I still wasn’t sure where to go from there, but I wasn’t carrying everything in silence anymore. I started seeing a therapist, and with their help, I learned that what I was going through wasn’t something to be ashamed of. That was a huge turning point for me—realizing that mental health struggles aren’t a weakness, they’re part of being human. It’s a difficult lesson, and one I’m still learning, but it’s one that reshaped how I looked at myself and my relationships. Through therapy, I also began to understand how many people around me were quietly struggling with their own mental health. I saw how people often stay quiet because they don’t feel supported, or worse, they don’t feel like anyone will take them seriously. That realization—combined with my own experiences—led me to think about the changes I wanted to see in the world, especially when it comes to mental health. I’ve seen too many people suffer because they didn’t have access to the help they needed. And I realized that I wanted to be part of the solution. I wanted to use what I had learned about my own mental health struggles to help others who were going through the same thing. That’s when I decided to pursue law, specifically focusing on mental health advocacy. I don’t want anyone to feel like they’re invisible or that they don’t matter when they’re struggling. There are so many issues surrounding mental health that need attention—stigma, access to care, education—and I want to work toward creating a legal framework that ensures people get the support they need, especially in marginalized communities. It’s something that hits close to home for me. The frustration of feeling like there’s no place to turn, no one to listen, is something I don’t want others to have to go through. My mental health journey has changed the way I relate to people, too. I’ve learned how important it is to listen, to show up when someone is struggling, and to make space for difficult conversations. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m trying to do better every day. I’ve learned that healing isn’t a straight path—it’s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes slow—but it’s still possible. And I want to be part of making that path a little easier for others to walk. Through all of this, I’ve realized that my experiences with mental health have not only shaped my career aspirations but have also taught me to be kinder to myself. It’s a lesson I’m still learning, but one I’m grateful for.

In my perfect ending for The Bear, the series would culminate in a moment of healing, growth, and quiet triumph. Throughout the show, the characters have been tested—broken by their struggles but still fighting to find their place in the world. The finale would honor this journey, showcasing how far they’ve come while leaving room for hope. Carmen’s transformation would take center stage. By the final episode, The Bear would no longer just be a chaotic restaurant, but a thriving symbol of resilience. Carmen, who has always felt the weight of responsibility, would finally find his balance. The kitchen would hum with the usual energy, but now Carmen would lead with a calm authority, not through fear, but through understanding and respect for his crew. In a final service, Carmen would prepare a signature dish, not just as a chef, but as someone who’s finally embraced his role as a leader. The energy would shift from frantic to focused, showing Carmen’s growth and the unity within the team. Richie’s arc, filled with pain and self-doubt, would also come to a satisfying conclusion. Instead of continuing his self-destructive patterns, Richie would begin to find peace in the work itself. Rather than seeking validation from outside sources, he would become a mentor to the younger chefs, guiding them through the chaotic environment. Richie wouldn’t seek glory, but his role in the team would be crucial, embodying the idea that growth often comes in unexpected forms. Sydney’s journey would take her to the realization of her dream—owning her own restaurant. The finale would see her quietly opening the doors to a place that reflects her creativity and hard-earned vision. It wouldn’t be an over-the-top moment, but a soft, triumphant one, with Carmen’s silent approval. This would symbolize the passing of the torch and how far she’s come from the uncertain young chef we first met. Marcus, who’s grown from a skilled pastry chef into a fully realized artist, would receive the recognition he deserves. In the last moments, we’d see him at the helm of his own pastry shop, creating something uniquely his. The subtlety of his success would speak volumes about the quiet power of dedication and authenticity. The final service at The Bear would be chaotic yet perfect. The team would work together seamlessly, not just surviving but thriving. The camera would linger on their faces, showing how far they’ve come, both as a team and as individuals. The last shot would show Carmen standing alone outside, watching the restaurant’s neon sign glow in the night. It would be a moment of quiet reflection—Carmen, finally content with the family and the future they’ve built. This ending would perfectly capture The Bear’s spirit: raw, imperfect, and full of hope for the future. It would leave viewers with the sense that even in the toughest environments, growth and redemption are always possible.

My aspirations are grounded in a desire to create meaningful change in both the legal field and through creative writing. I hope to become a lawyer who advocates for marginalized communities, particularly Black individuals, while using writing as a platform to share stories of those who are often overlooked. To achieve these goals, I’ve devised a plan that addresses my academic journey, career objectives, financial considerations, and timing. I am currently a triple major in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science with a minor in Law and Policy at Loyola University. Maintaining a 3.7 GPA and a place on the Dean’s List, my objective is to continue excelling academically while gaining hands-on experience in law and social justice. These subjects lay the foundation for my legal ambitions and passion for writing. The next milestone is law school. To get there, I need to perform well on the LSAT, and I plan to take an LSAT prep course, which costs between $500 and $1,500. I’ve set aside $1,000 for this. I plan to take the LSAT in the summer of my junior year and apply to five schools, estimating about $600 in application fees. Law school tuition ranges from $20,000 to $70,000 per year, and I’ll manage this by applying for scholarships, seeking student loans, and working part-time. Creative writing remains a central part of my identity. Writing has always been my outlet to process emotions and explore the world from different perspectives. I aim to use writing to create stories about marginalized communities, particularly Black individuals, whose experiences are often underrepresented. Writing allows me to give voice to those who feel isolated and create stories that foster empathy and understanding. To support this, I plan to invest in writing workshops, literary magazine submissions, and contests. These opportunities will help me grow as a writer, and I’ve allocated $500 per year for these endeavors. Submitting my work to literary journals and contests will help me build a portfolio and gain exposure. Over time, I hope to publish my work and establish a platform to discuss social justice and the need for equal representation. A key part of my plan is combining legal expertise with creative writing to advocate for Black individuals. After law school, I intend to work in civil rights law, focusing on racial justice and equitable policies. I also want to use writing to educate and inform others about the challenges Black communities face, amplifying their voices. Through articles, essays, and stories, I hope to foster dialogue and raise awareness. In terms of budgeting, I anticipate the following expenses over the next two years: LSAT Prep Course: $1,000 Law School Applications: $600 Law School Tuition: $30,000–$50,000 (covered by scholarships/loans) Undergraduate Textbooks and Materials: $3,000 per year Writing Development: $500 per year for contests and workshops My total estimated budget for the next two years is approximately $15,000. To fund these, I plan to apply for scholarships, seek part-time work, and take out student loans for tuition costs. I will also use writing stipends and fellowships to support my creative writing goals. Timing is critical. My immediate goal is to finish my undergraduate degree by senior year, then take a gap year to apply to law schools and complete LSAT preparation. After law school, I will focus on civil rights law and seek internships to gain practical experience. Through these steps, I aim to become both a lawyer and a writer dedicated to advocacy and storytelling. With perseverance and dedication, I believe I can make a significant impact. My passion for social justice and creativity fuels my determination to succeed.

Passage from Republic (Book II, 357a-b): "The first and greatest of all these, as we said, is the question of whether it is better to be just or unjust. The unjust person may seem to be more successful in life, but in the end, the just person, living in harmony with their soul, will achieve true happiness." ------- In this passage from Republic Book II, Plato, through the mouth of Socrates, engages with one of the fundamental questions of his philosophy: the nature of justice and its relationship to human happiness. Plato draws a sharp contrast between the seemingly successful life of the unjust person and the deeper, more enduring happiness of the just person. While the former may appear to gain more from life—wealth, power, and influence—the latter achieves something far more profound: harmony within the soul, which Plato argues leads to true happiness. The phrase "living in harmony with their soul" is pivotal here, for it encapsulates Plato’s view of the just life as one of internal alignment and balance. According to Plato, the human soul consists of three parts: reason, spirit (or will), and appetite. Justice, for Plato, is the state in which each part of the soul fulfills its proper function, with reason ruling over spirit and appetite. In the just person, reason governs the desires and passions of the spirit and appetite, ensuring that each part of the soul works in accordance with its true nature. In this sense, justice is a form of internal order—an alignment that reflects the rational structure of the cosmos itself. The just person, therefore, is someone who has achieved harmony within themselves, where their desires are in check, their actions are guided by wisdom, and their pursuit of the good is unimpeded by chaos or conflict within their soul. In contrast, the unjust person is one whose soul is in disarray. Plato envisions the unjust individual as someone whose desires dominate, leading to a discord between the rational and irrational parts of the soul. The unjust person is not only driven by self-interest and the pursuit of external goods, but they also fail to recognize the importance of moral order in their life. Such a person might gain success in material terms—perhaps by manipulating others or by taking advantage of situations in a way that brings immediate reward—but this success does not lead to true happiness. Instead, it results in an internal imbalance, where the irrational desires and appetites govern the person’s actions. This misalignment within the soul, for Plato, produces misery, even when external circumstances appear favorable. Plato’s claim that the unjust person may "seem to be more successful in life" speaks to the tension between the superficial and the substantial forms of happiness. The unjust individual’s success is temporary and external; it is not rooted in the soul’s inner peace, but in the fleeting and often corrupting pursuit of power, wealth, or status. In this way, Plato warns that an unjust life, while it may appear fulfilling on the surface, is ultimately hollow. The true fulfillment, by contrast, comes from the alignment of one’s actions with reason and virtue, where happiness is not contingent on external rewards, but on the integrity of the soul. Moreover, the notion that the just person achieves happiness "in the end" is key to understanding Plato’s broader philosophical system. For him, the good life is not an episodic or short-term achievement; it is a lifelong process of cultivating virtue. Happiness, therefore, is not the product of individual moments of pleasure or external success, but the result of sustained moral and intellectual effort over time. The just person’s happiness is enduring because it is rooted in a well-ordered soul, a harmony that cannot be undone by external misfortune or fleeting success. This passage also points to a fundamental difference in how Plato conceives of the relationship between the individual and society. The unjust person, who is preoccupied with personal gain and power, is seen as disconnected from the common good. The just person, by contrast, contributes to the harmony of the larger social and political order. Justice within the individual mirrors justice within the polis, and Plato contends that the well-being of the community depends on the virtues of the individuals who compose it. In conclusion, this passage from Republic underscores Plato’s belief that justice is not only a political or social ideal but a personal moral condition that leads to genuine happiness. Through the metaphor of the harmony of the soul, Plato asserts that the just life is not simply a life of external virtue, but one of internal order. The unjust may achieve fleeting success, but their internal discord will ultimately lead them away from true happiness. In contrast, the just person, who lives in alignment with reason and virtue, achieves lasting fulfillment. Thus, Plato presents a compelling argument for the profound connection between moral order, the good life, and human flourishing, which remains a cornerstone of his philosophy.

As a Black woman, I’ve often felt like I exist on the margins of the world around me. I didn’t notice it at first, but as I got older, the gaps became clear. In the books I loved to read, the characters that looked like me were almost never the main focus. I rarely saw stories about Black women where they were complex, powerful, and fully human. And the few that did exist felt like exceptions, not the norm. That lack of representation stuck with me and shaped how I saw myself. It was like being told, over and over again, that I didn’t matter as much. As I got older, I noticed how the systems around me made it harder for women, particularly Black women, to be heard and treated equally. The way we’re often paid less, excluded from leadership, and denied basic rights like equal healthcare or protection from violence—these things became more evident to me. I realized that change needed to come from within me, but also from outside, in the spaces where decisions about our lives are made. That’s why I chose to study English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science. Writing has always been an outlet for me, a way to make sense of a world that often seems to forget people like me. I want to write stories that put Black women at the center. Characters who aren’t just side notes but full, complex people with agency, struggles, and triumphs. Representation in literature can change how we see ourselves and how others see us. But I know that telling stories isn’t enough on its own. I also want to become a lawyer to fight for the rights of women, especially Black women, who are too often denied equal protection under the law. I’ve seen how laws affect us directly—whether it’s in access to healthcare, reproductive rights, or the fight for equal pay. I want to be part of the change that ensures women’s rights are not only acknowledged but defended. I’m not just pursuing these fields for my own future. I want to help create a world where Black women are not an afterthought, but a force to be reckoned with. I believe that through writing and law, I can be a part of making that change.

For most of my life, I felt like I had to choose between being true to myself and being accepted by my family. As a 19-year-old Haitian American raised in a deeply religious household, I grew up hiding parts of myself that didn’t fit into the expectations of those around me. I’m bisexual, but I’ve never been able to fully come out—not because I’m ashamed, but because the risk of rejection is a weight I’ve carried for years. Still, in the quiet spaces where it’s just me and my thoughts, I’ve learned to love and accept myself. That internal acceptance, though invisible to others, has become my greatest act of self-liberation. Although I’m not as openly out as I would like to be, learning to accept myself internally has been more important than anything else. Growing up in an environment where being LGBTQ+ wasn’t openly embraced made it difficult for me to see value in who I was. I’ve dealt with anxiety, depression, and self-doubt for as long as I can remember. But I’ve reached a point where I understand that self-worth doesn’t depend on others’ approval—it starts within. This personal journey has been difficult, but it has shaped my perspective and my goals. I chose to major in English/Creative Writing, Philosophy, and Political Science because these fields allow me to express myself and engage with the world critically. Through creative writing, I want to tell stories that reflect characters like me—people who might feel lost, unseen, or misunderstood. Growing up, I rarely saw characters who shared my identity, and I want to change that for others. Writing has always been a way for me to understand myself, and I believe that sharing these stories can offer representation and comfort to others who might feel isolated. At the same time, I want to become a lawyer to fight for LGBTQ+ rights, especially in today’s political climate, where hostility toward our community is increasing. I’ve seen firsthand how laws and policies can impact lives, and I want to be part of the change that ensures equality and protection for everyone, regardless of their identity. I believe that a legal career will allow me to advocate for those who don’t have a voice and push for the kind of societal change that makes acceptance the norm, not the exception. In high school, I started a nonprofit, Bleeding Hearts Across America, to support women in need. That experience taught me the importance of community involvement and advocacy. I’m passionate about helping others, and I want to continue using my skills and knowledge to make a difference, whether through law or creative expression. Though I still face personal challenges, I’ve come a long way in embracing who I am. I’m committed to using my education and experiences to help others feel seen, supported, and empowered in ways I wasn’t always able to.

In my junior year of high school, I discovered the term period poverty: “lack of access to menstrual products, hygiene facilities, waste management, and education”. As a young Haitian-American, I grew up regularly sending boxes of supplies to family in Haiti with my mom, I had always known what it was on a fundamental level, but never had a name for it and never had to experience it firsthand. As I grew older and was more exposed to news around the world, I learned more about the women who suffered using the same pad for days because they were denied a basic necessity. The thing that shocked me the most, however; was finding out that 1/5 of girls miss school due to lack of access to feminine hygiene in America. Again, I knew that these issues existed before, but in my mind, they did not exist so close to home. It was eye-opening when I realized that there were women in my community, in school, or in my neighborhood. But I had no idea how close to home it would hit until my aunt died from toxic shock syndrome. After the devastating earthquake in Haiti, she lost all of her belongings when her house crumbled, and because of this, she was forced to ration her pads and eventually use tampons that were sent over. Tampons are not commonly used in Haiti, so she had no way of knowing that leaving them in for even just an hour longer could have deadly consequences. She got infected and due to the country's poor healthcare system, succumbed to her illness and passed away. I wanted to change things, to be able to stop this from happening to anyone else, but aside from small care packages, I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Until I mentioned this to a teacher of mine and she suggested I start a non-profit. The task seemed daunting at first, but through doing my research I realized that this could soon become a reality. I then founded, Bleeding Hearts Across America. Within our first year, we were able to provide hygiene products to over 800 women and girls, aid over 3,000 people, and establish a local period pantry (a pantry where women in the community can come forward and grab whatever supplies they need for the month), bringing awareness to underprivileged/ underrepresented communities, and an advocate for the women who are not in a position to advocate for themselves. Through this experience, I discovered my love for helping others. Through creating this non-profit I was able to work with many amazing community members and organizations like Brave Church, Christ Fellowship, The Lotus Shelter for Women and Shelter, and Healthy Havanna. These foundations and churches helped me and motivated me to continue my journey and aid more people. This experience and this non-profit will always be a huge part of my life. I plan to continue not only advocating for women who aren’t able to advocate for themselves but also educating and empowering women to do the same for others.

On October 17, 2005, I entered this world screaming and crying. Eightteen years later; I am still crying. Every significant moment of my life involved tears being shed. They are the binding of the book I call my life. As a child, I cried often, and with each tear, I marked a new milestone. I still remember, ten years ago, in second grade. My school had gathered in the auditorium for an award ceremony. My chest was puffed, my spine straight as a stem while I excitedly awaited to hear my name. But with every other name called the winds of defeat blew against my feeble stem, bending it further until it snapped. I walked to class with my wilted stem, while a foreign feeling I had never experienced washed over me; failure. Approaching my classroom door, the tears that I could no longer hold in began to freefall down my cheeks. Small hiccups and sniffles escaped my lips as I curled my hands into tiny fists, digging my nails into my skin, willing my tears to stop before the clicking of my teacher’s footsteps approached. They wouldn’t, and when she saw me, instead of providing comfort, she shammed me in front of the class, making an example out of me. She promptly announced, “Tears will get you nothing in life, as we see here with Condoleezza.” Then she made me sit outside until I “got it together.” My teacher broke something inside me that day, and I only began to uncover it years later. It all came to a head in high school. A lot had happened in the years prior; my grandmother had died, followed by her sister, and then my cousin. I experienced three losses in quick succession, which had given me zero time to process. I denied myself the opportunity to grieve when I refused to cry at their funerals, so instead of letting my emotions out, they ate away at me. I became withdrawn and fell into a deep depression. As my grades slipped further, I convinced myself that I was fine, because to be anything other than fine, was a burden. That summer my dry spell ended with a storm of tears. I had recently moved and was trying to find the will to unbox and put away my belongings when my sister came into my room to lecture me about not yet unpacking. It had been a particularly rough week, and for some reason that was the leaf that broke the dam. I began to sob uncontrollably, and suddenly I was back in 2nd grade all over again– except this was different. Instead of sunning me away and chastizing me for being “childish,” my sister held me. She held on while I cried out with anguish I didn’t know slept dormant inside. She stayed through my wailing until I lost my voice, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe, coughing until my chest burned, and crying until my face was red and hot, and my eyes refused to produce more tears. With these tears, I watered a long-since wilted flower, and for the first time, I felt my snapped stem begin to mend. I cry more often now, slowly but surely learning to embrace my tears fully and unapologetically. Through my writing I embrace my tears, be it through the short stories I write for myself or through the poems and excerpts I write for my school’s literary magazine. I embrace my sadness, my anger, my joy, and everything in between. I let my tears fall freely, watering the ever-growing garden I call my life.

As a first-generation college student, my family has invested so much in me to give me the best fighting chance in life that they were never able to receive. So, I made sure I paid them back in the only way I knew how, by working hard and pushing myself to perform well in school. In my 14 years of schooling, I have never missed a single day of school. My mom made sure that I was present and in class every day. It was just one of the many things my family did to make sure I had my best foot forward in regards to my education. My family always reminded me how important it is to work hard in life because nothing will be handed to you, and I made sure to work hard in anything and everything I put my mind to. To me, an education is the greatest and most valuable thing anyone could have. While you can lose everything in your life, money, possessions, even loved ones, your mind is something no one can take from you. I knew from the moment that I entered high school that my parents would not be able to pay for my education. I do not come from a wealthy family by any means, and knowing that I worked even harder to ensure that I could find a way to pay for college myself through scholarships and work. My efforts were paid off when I was awarded the Presidential Scholarship from Loyola Chicago. I remember being so excited when I first read my acceptance letter and saw the money they were offering me. But, with that excitement also came a sad moment of clarity, even with the scholarship I would still need to pay more to attend. My dream is so close, but still so far. This scholarship would be the final push that I would need to make my dreams a reality and achieve my end goal of being a lawyer. As a young black woman, I knew the odds were not stacked in my favor, but throughout it all I maintained, and still maintain, hope, and with this scholarship, I still wholeheartedly believe that I will make it. That a final lifeline will be thrown in my direction and lift me to that last step I need to take before I can start the journey of the rest of my life.

Period poverty: “lack of access to menstrual products, hygiene facilities, waste management, and education.” As a Haitian-American who regularly sent boxes of supplies to family in Haiti, I’d always known what it was, but never had a name for it. My first experience with period poverty was the infamous 2010 earthquake that devastated Haiti, not because I was personally there, but because of the effect it had on me - even in America. I will never forget the moment my mother got the call that her aunt had died. I later found she died from toxic shock syndrome. She had always had heavy menstrual cycles, and after losing all her belongings, she was forced to use the same tampon for almost 24 hours due to attempting to ration what she had left. Because tampon use was not common in Haiti, she had to use them because of her heavy menstrual cycle, most did not know the dire consequences of using one for an extended period. Unfortunately, this would not be an uncommon occurrence. While toxic shock syndrome is rare, humiliation, infection, and starvation were rampant in not just Haiti, but also, to my surprise, in America. Some women have to miss work or school because they lack necessary hygiene products. Others have to choose whether they feed themselves that day or buy a box of tampons, which despite being an unavoidable necessity, are taxed as luxury items. I wanted to change things, but aside from care packages, I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Until it was discussed at one of the clubs I participate in at school, Women of Tomorrow. At a meeting, we were discussing potentially hosting a period drive in school with the club, and that got me thinking. At first, I was discouraged that we would only be able to host the drive for one month, once a year, because people menstruate for more than just one month out of the year. I had wished at the time that it would be possible for the club to do more in the efforts of supporting and bringing awareness to women’s hygiene. That’s when I realized that I was more than capable of taking the initiative and doing this myself. So, I started looking into what would be the best ways to help and how I could get more people involved in my cause. Through this, I dove deeper into what a non-profit is. I had never done something like that, but from that point on I decided that this was what I wanted to do. I then founded, Bleeding Hearts Across America. Within our first year, we were able to provide hygiene products to over 3,000 women and girls, bringing awareness to underprivileged/underrepresented communities, and an advocate for the women who aren’t in a position to advocate for themselves. I plan to continue not only advocating for women but also educating and empowering women to do the same for others.

In my junior year of high school, I discovered the term period poverty: “lack of access to menstrual products, hygiene facilities, waste management, and education”. As a young Haitian-American, I grew up regularly sending boxes of supplies to family in Haiti with my mom, I had always known what it was on a fundamental level, but never had a name for it and never had to experience it firsthand. As I grew older and was more exposed to news around the world, I learned more about the women who suffered using the same pad for days because they were denied a basic necessity. The thing that shocked me the most, however; was finding out that 1/5 of girls miss school due to lack of access to feminine hygiene in America. Again, I knew that these issues existed before, but in my mind, they did not exist so close to home. It was eye-opening when I realized that there were women in my community, in school, or in my neighborhood. But I had no idea how close to home it would hit until my aunt died from toxic shock syndrome. After the devastating earthquake in Haiti, she lost all of her belongings when her house crumbled, and because of this, she was forced to ration her pads and eventually use tampons that were sent over. Tampons are not commonly used in Haiti, so she had no way of knowing that leaving it in for even just an hour longer could have deadly consequences. She got infected and due to the country's poor healthcare system, succumbed to her illness and passed away. I wanted to change things, to be able to stop this from happening to anyone else, but aside from small care packages, I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Until I mentioned this to a teacher of mine and she suggested I start a non-profit. The task seemed daunting at first, but through doing my research I realized that this could soon become a reality. I then founded, Bleeding Hearts Across America. Within our first year, we were able to provide hygiene products to over 800 women and girls, aid over 3,000 people, and establish a local period pantry (a pantry where women in the community can come forward and grab whatever supplies they need for the month), bringing awareness to underprivileged/ underrepresented communities, and an advocate for the women who are not in a position to advocate for themselves. Through this experience, I discovered my love for helping others. Through creating this non-profit I was able to work with many amazing community members and organizations like Brave Church, Christ Fellowship, The Lotus Shelter for Women and Shelter, and Healthy Havanna. These foundations and churches helped me and motivated me to continue my journey and aid more people. This experience and this non-profit will always be a huge part of my life. I plan to continue not only advocating for women who aren’t able to advocate for themselves but also educating and empowering women to do the same for others.

My ideal bookshelf would have a wide variety of themes like fantasy, mystery, horror, Sci-Fi, period pieces, and so many more. I can read almost anything and everything and I would love to have a variety of books and themes on my shelf for whatever I am currently in the mood for. But, one theme in all of my favorite novels is romance. No matter the book, no matter the setting, no matter the theme, I cannot get enough of romance. I have always considered myself a romantic and was always drawn to romance novels. So, when books like "Punk 57" and "Ugly Love," started to trend on TikTok I was excited to have a whole array of books being recommended to me, and they did not disappoint. BookTok has encouraged and provoked this deep love for romance, but it has also changed a lot about what and how I read. Books like "The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo" and "Red Queen," quickly became must-haves in my collection. Their impact on me went further than I ever could have imagined. On the surface level, they opened my eyes to more complex genres of books, for example: Mystery romance, or fantasy horror. But, further than that BookTok has introduced me to a new community of book lovers and re-sparked my love of reading and writing. When I started high school I took a bit of a break from reading, but after seeing so many people talking about "Punk 57," I decided to give it a try and read the book. I loved it and quickly told my friends about it as well. After the success of that recommendation, I got more involved in the BookTok community and kept getting recommendations on my for-you-page. The community I discovered through this was amazing. I had never before been able to not only surround myself with fellow readers, but people who enjoyed also enjoyed the same genres as me. From the books I have read so far, my must haves would be, "Punk57, A Court of Thorns and Roses, Ugly Love, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Red Queen, and Ceirce." While these books are all seemingly different they all have had a major impact on not just the BookTok community, but the writing community in general. These books proved the power of BookTok and established these writers within their communities. Some authors saw their greatest sales through advertising on TikTok. Why is that important? BookTok marked a significant change in the writing profession, especially during the writer's strike. It proved to authors that they did not need to rely on old-fashioned ways of advertising their books, but it also proved to a whole new generation of writers that they did not have to go through means like a publisher to get their books out there and generate sales. Every new book that I read, or that I add to my shelf represents a change. I remember that reading fantasy or romance books like "Twilight" was considered something to be bullied for because it was not "real" literature. But now, a new generation of readers is being shown that they are not alone in the books that they enjoy. And by using a platform as big as TikTok, it also exposes and encourages more people to read and enjoy reading. BookTok reawakened my love of reading and helped me develop my passion for writing. Now, the book, inspired by BookTok, that I hope to have the most on my shelf is a book that I wrote and finished myself.

Period poverty: “lack of access to menstrual products, hygiene facilities, waste management, and education.” As a Haitian-American who regularly sent boxes of supplies to family in Haiti, I’d always known what it was, but never had a name for it. My first experience with period poverty was the infamous 2010 earthquake that devastated Haiti, not because I was personally there, but because of the effect it had on me - even in America. Many of my family lost their homes, all of their belongings, and their livelihoods. I will never forget the moment my mother got the call that her aunt had died. I later found out that it was from toxic shock syndrome. She had always had heavy menstrual cycles, and after losing all her belongings, she was forced to use the same tampon for almost 24 hours due to attempting to ration what she had left. Because tampon use was not common in Haiti, she had to use them because of her heavy menstrual cycle, most people did not know the dire consequences of using one for such an extended period. Unfortunately, this would not be an uncommon occurrence. While toxic shock syndrome is rare, humiliation, infection, and starvation were rampant in not just Haiti, but also, to my surprise, in America. Some women have to miss work or school because they lack necessary hygiene products. Others have to choose whether they feed themselves that day or buy a box of tampons, which despite being an unavoidable necessity, are taxed as luxury items. I wanted to change things, but aside from care packages, I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Until it was discussed at one of the clubs I participate in at school, Women of Tomorrow. At a meeting, we were discussing potentially hosting a period drive in school with the club, and that got me thinking. At first, I was discouraged that we would only be able to host the drive for one month, once a year, because people menstruate for more than just one month out of the year. I had wished at the time that it would be possible for the club to do more in the efforts of supporting and bringing awareness to women’s hygiene. That’s when I realized that I didn’t need to rely on a club in school to make this happen. I was more than capable of taking the initiative and doing this myself. So, I started looking into what would be the best ways to help and how I could get more people involved in my cause. Through this, I dove deeper into what a non-profit is. Though I had previous business experience, I had never done something like and from that point on I decided that that is what I wanted to do with the goal. The task seemed daunting at first, but through doing my research I realized that this could soon become a reality. I then founded, Bleeding Hearts Across America. Within our first year, we were able to provide hygiene products to over 1,000 women and girls, bringing awareness to underprivileged/underrepresented communities, and an advocate for the women who aren’t in a position to advocate for themselves. I plan to make the world a better place by continuing to not only advocate for women but also educate and empower women to do the same for others.

I was born in Port Au Prince Haiti, and I moved to America when I was about one and a half. I've always come from a huge family, my mom, dad, my five sisters, and my grandma. During high school, I was on the board of Debate, African Heritage Club, Italian Honor Society, and Creative Writing Club. I started a non-profit in my junior year of high school. I was inspired the more I learned about period poverty: “lack of access to menstrual products, hygiene facilities, waste management, and education.” I regularly sent boxes of supplies to family in Haiti, so I always knew what it was, but never had a name for it. My first experience with period poverty was the infamous 2010 earthquake that devastated Haiti, because of the effect it had on me - even in America. Many of my family lost their homes, belongings, and livelihoods. I will never forget the moment my mother got the call that her aunt had died. It was from toxic shock syndrome. After losing all her belongings, she was forced to use the same tampon for almost 24 hours due to attempting to ration what she had left. Because tampon use was not common in Haiti, she used them because of her heavy menstrual cycle, most people did not know the dire consequences of using one for such an extended period. Unfortunately, this would not be an uncommon occurrence. While toxic shock syndrome is rare, humiliation, infection, and starvation were rampant in not just Haiti, but also, to my surprise, in America. Some women have to miss work or school because they lack necessary hygiene products. Others have to choose whether they feed themselves that day or buy a box of tampons, which despite being an unavoidable necessity, are taxed as luxury items. I wanted to change things, but aside from care packages, I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Until it was discussed at one of the clubs I participate in at school, Women of Tomorrow. At a meeting, we were discussing potentially hosting a period drive in school with the club, and that got me thinking. At first, I was discouraged that we would only be able to host the drive once a year. I had wished it would be possible for the club to do more in the efforts of supporting and bringing awareness to women’s hygiene. That’s when I realized that I was more than capable of taking the initiative and doing this myself. So, I started looking into what would be the best ways to help and how I could get more people involved in my cause. Through this, I dove deeper into what a non-profit is. Though I had never done something like from that point on I decided that that is what I wanted to do with the goal. The task seemed daunting at first, but through doing my research I realized that this could become reality. I then founded, Bleeding Hearts Across America. We've been able to provide hygiene products to over 1,000 women, bring awareness to underprivileged/underrepresented communities, and advocate for the women who can't advocate for themselves. I plan to continue not only advocating for women but also educating and empowering women to do the same for others.

“AIDs,” “Vudoo,” “third-world,” and “wasteland.” That is what the country of Haiti has been diminished to. Those four words are the only description of Haiti that most people receive, the only story they’ve been shown. Despite this, I’ve always been proud to be Haitian. While there may be many disadvantages that come with being Haitian, like racism, colorism, and classism, never in my life have I hated being a Haitian American. Honestly, it wasn't till I entered my later years in elementary school that I realized how wrapped the world's views of Haiti were. Everyone assumed it was a country filled with aid-ridden citizens who were just desperately waiting for another country to step in and save them. Going beyond that, one could only imagine my surprise when I found out that other black people didn't recognize Haitians as real black people because they were all supposed to be "stuck up", and "full of themselves." I realized that the moment I told someone I was Haitian, an image of who I am as a person instantly clouded their vision of who I really was. But despite the comments, I would get on the food I would eat at lunch, the tasteless comments both teachers and students would make, and every other interaction for better or worse, I never felt ashamed of who I was. It’s this pride that led me to become a more open-minded person. I’ve seen how the media has distorted the public’s image of Haiti, and I’ve seen how their history has been spun from public knowledge, so I know to look at whatever I see on the news with a closer eye. I fully believe that if more people showed even the slightest bit of skepticism when reading/seeing something in the media, be it on the news, social media, or other platforms, and took the time to do their research, we would be much more tolerant and understanding. This is what motivated me to want to practice law. It happens all too often when justice isn’t properly served due to only one side of a story being presented. This is especially common within minority groups. My experience with only one side of myself or my culture being presented makes me more open-minded and less quick to judge. I believe that this is a trait that is especially important in the legal profession. It made me not only open-minded to other cultures, but also people, and I plan to carry this into law, taking advantage of every chance I get to learn more and challenge the one-sided story we’re often shown.

I struggled to answer this question for a while. I sat, staring at my blank screen, pondering about what adversities I've had in my life. My struggle wasn't with identifying my adversities, my struggle was with validating them. I've had many adversities in my life. As a black, Haitian-American, woman adversity is my birthright. One of the few guarantees that I was promised once I was born. So when I'm asked what adversity I've overcome in my life, it's difficult to pin one down. I first had to ask myself, what is adversity? The Oxford Learner's Dictionary defines adversity as, ​"a difficult or unpleasant situation." The bible describes adversity as, "God's way of getting our attention." But what does that mean for me? If adversity is God's way of getting my attention then what am I meant to be paying attention to? The first instance of adversity in my life was in elementary school. Growing up I lived in a predominantly white neighborhood and went to a predominately white school. I was often the only black student in my class and one of the few Haitian students in the school. Although I had friends, I never felt like I belonged. My hair was different, my body was different, and my culture was different. I was different. Over time I grew to resent those differences, evidently, I grew to resent myself. I'd always assumed that the reason something went wrong, the reason I got in trouble, and the reason I was always so angry, was because of me. I was the problem. While I won't exclude myself from all of the blame, I can't discredit the overarching adversity that would not only affect me in elementary school but would also plague the rest of my life. Racism. I didn't notice then, and even now sometimes I don't but it was and still is there. When you hear about racism you think about, slavery, about black people being beaten in the streets, about being called slurs. What you don't think about are the little things. Things like kids touching and pulling your hair, things like kids making fun of the food you're eating, things like your teachers choosing to believe that you're a liar, things like being told that you're too dark, things that no one sees. For years I was hesitant to refer to these instances as "racism" for fear of being deemed overdramatic. The title of "racism," belongs to more serious things... right? When I would come to my teachers or parents, I would be told that the kids were "playing around" and that I shouldn't take these things too seriously. Then I would retaliate and directly into their game. I had donned the label that they had assigned me, giving them an excuse to validate their assumptions. From my years in elementary, I learned two things. I learned that action does not equate to a reaction. I could defend myself without giving my opposers what they want. Composure does not mean giving up. Silent battles are still battles. I also learned that I need to love myself and where I come from. I didn't immediately start loving myself the moment I realized this, but being aware of the work I have to do leaves room for me to grow. If I had the chance to go back and undo everything that happened to me, I don't think I would. My adversities are what made me into what I am today, and unlike then, I'm proud of who I am. This is what God had been bringing to my attention.