“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my academic knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, my hand trembled with uncertainty. But with each day, my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline, allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge, it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care. The day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, my eyes glided smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. My experience as a patient and as a camp counselor, along with volunteering on the oncology floor of my local hospital, has shown me firsthand the pivotal role nurses play in one's physical and mental health. Being in the hospital, I’ve built strong lifelong connections with nurses. I’ve realized that connecting with patients is essential in nursing, and my multicultural background has given me the tools to tackle cultural divides with compassion and understanding. Growing up bilingual in Mandarin and English further enhanced my ability to connect with others. Whether volunteering in hospitals or at community events, I often used my language skills to assist patients and families. Beyond translating simple phrases to Mandarin speakers, I engaged patients in friendly conversation, transforming the often monotonous hospital stay into a more positive experience. Inspired by my experience, I founded a nonprofit called Project Cloud 9, which provides gift baskets and emotional support specifically to teenage cancer patients, an age group often overlooked in traditional pediatric programs. What began as a simple way to give back during my remission has since grown into a platform for advocacy, joy, and visibility for teens with cancer. Through my nonprofit work, I’ve spoken at community events, school programs, and even in pageant interviews, using every opportunity to shed light on the unique struggles of adolescent cancer patients. Now, I’m incredibly honored to have been accepted into NYU Rory Meyers College of Nursing, where I will continue my journey toward becoming a pediatric oncology nurse. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come, from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse who calms my patients’ fears, answers their questions, and guides them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my academic knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, my hand trembled with uncertainty. But with each day, my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline, allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge, it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care. The day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, my eyes glided smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. My experience as a patient and as a camp counselor, along with volunteering on the oncology floor of my local hospital, has shown me firsthand the pivotal role nurses play in one's physical and mental health. Being in the hospital, I’ve built strong lifelong connections with nurses. I’ve realized that connecting with patients is essential in nursing, and my multicultural background has given me the tools to tackle cultural divides with compassion and understanding. Growing up bilingual in Mandarin and English further enhanced my ability to connect with others. Whether volunteering in hospitals or at community events, I often used my language skills to assist patients and families. Beyond translating simple phrases to Mandarin speakers, I engaged patients in friendly conversation, transforming the often monotonous hospital stay into a more positive experience. Inspired by my experience, I founded a nonprofit called Project Cloud 9, which provides gift baskets and emotional support specifically to teenage cancer patients, an age group often overlooked in traditional pediatric programs. What began as a simple way to give back during my remission has since grown into a platform for advocacy, joy, and visibility for teens with cancer. Now, I’m incredibly honored to have been accepted into NYU Rory Meyers College of Nursing, where I will continue my journey toward becoming a pediatric oncology nurse. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come, from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse who calms my patients’ fears, answers their questions, and guides them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal, but the reason I chose pediatric oncology nursing. I found this scholarship on Bold's Website!

"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." That line from The Fault in Our Stars has stayed with me ever since I first watched the movie. The story of Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters navigating love, loss, and hope while battling cancer resonated with me on a deeply personal level. I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia at sixteen, and their journey mirrored so many of the emotions I experienced; the fear, the anger, but also the burning desire to live fully despite everything. Watching them taught me that while our circumstances can shape us, they do not have to define us. One of the most powerful lessons I learned from The Fault in Our Stars is that even when life feels unfair, there is still beauty to be found. Hazel and Augustus were not just patients; they were complex individuals with dreams, passions, and an unstoppable love for life. Seeing them experience friendship, laughter, and love in the face of something so terrifying gave me a new outlook during my own treatment. It showed me that I could still chase my passions, love deeply, and create joyful memories, even in the midst of hardship. That lesson directly inspired me to start my nonprofit, Project Cloud9. During my treatment, I often received gifts that felt more suited for young children: coloring books, dolls, and slime kits, which made me feel even more isolated as a teenager. Through Project Cloud9, I design and deliver personalized gift baskets specifically for teenagers on the oncology floor, filled with things like journals, skincare products, and headphones — items that respect their age and individuality. I wanted to create the kinds of moments of happiness and connection that Hazel and Augustus fought so hard for. Moments that feel normal. Moments that feel infinite. Beyond just reflecting my experience, The Fault in Our Stars shaped how I move forward. It helped me understand that success is not measured by the number of days we have, but by how we fill them. It encouraged me to live purposefully, to give back, to love others, and to make sure that no teenager feels forgotten in their own fight. This story, and the lessons it taught me, will stay with me forever. It reminds me every day that even though we cannot choose the length of our lives, we can choose the depth. And sometimes, the smallest infinities, a smile, a gesture, a moment of hope, can mean everything.

Living with anxiety has shaped my identity in ways I didn’t always understand. At times, it felt like I was moving through life with invisible weights strapped to my shoulders—overthinking every decision, constantly doubting myself, and fearing failure in spaces where I should have felt safe. My anxiety intensified after my cancer diagnosis, when the physical pain was matched by emotional exhaustion. As someone who had always been high-achieving and involved in modeling and pageantry, I suddenly felt like I had lost control of everything that made me, me. I used to think strength meant hiding my struggles, but I’ve learned that it actually lies in the courage to face them. Anxiety taught me how to listen more closely—to others and to myself. It taught me to be gentle with people’s hidden pain and to create space for vulnerability. These realizations didn’t just change how I saw myself—they changed how I saw my purpose. Pursuing a college degree in nursing is more than a career goal for me—it’s the heart of my healing. During my cancer treatment, I saw firsthand what it means to receive care from someone who truly understands. My nurses didn’t just administer medications or monitor my vitals—they looked me in the eye and saw a scared teenage girl trying to hold onto hope. They encouraged me to continue modeling, helped me cope with hair loss, and reminded me that my dreams were still within reach. They treated me like more than just a patient, and I knew then that I wanted to do the same for others. My desire to serve and uplift others didn’t end when I finished treatment—it became the foundation of everything I do. I’ve volunteered as a camp counselor, helping children grow confidence and build friendships in a safe, supportive space. I served on the Student Leader Advisory Committee, where I helped elevate student voices and foster inclusion in our school. I also volunteered on the oncology floor of a hospital, bringing empathy and understanding to families facing the same fears I once did. In addition, I’ve spoken about childhood cancer in a medical class, using my story to raise awareness and help future healthcare professionals understand the emotional realities behind the illness. Through pageantry, I’ve advocated publicly for cancer awareness and founded Project Cloud 9, my nonprofit organization that donates gift baskets to teenage cancer patients and supports research. Teenagers are often overlooked in cancer care—my mission is to change that by making them feel seen, supported, and celebrated. Nursing is the perfect combination of science, empathy, and resilience. My anxiety, once something I feared would hold me back, has actually made me more compassionate, more detail-oriented, and more attuned to the needs of others. I plan to become a pediatric oncology nurse so I can provide the kind of holistic, emotionally intelligent care that made all the difference in my own journey. Pursuing a college degree isn’t just about academic success—it’s about transforming my lived experiences into tools for service. Nursing allows me to turn my hardest moments into hope for someone else. It’s not just what I want to do; it’s who I’m meant to be.

Growing up in a single-parent household shaped every layer of who I am. My mom has always been my constant—a woman of strength who worked multiple jobs, managed our household on her own, and still found time to tuck me in at night. But behind the resilience of our small family, there were emotional complexities I didn’t fully understand until I got older. As a child, I struggled with attachment issues. My dad wasn’t around, and while my mom did everything she could to love me double, I couldn’t help but feel the absence of that second parent. I clung tightly to people, afraid of being left, and often sought validation to fill the gap that early abandonment left behind. I became hyper-independent and high-achieving, trying to prove—maybe to myself—that I was worthy of love and attention. But at the same time, I had a deep fear of vulnerability and rejection. When I was diagnosed with cancer in high school, those emotional struggles resurfaced in full force. My identity had been built around modeling and pageantry—things that made me feel seen. But when chemotherapy stole my long, pin-straight hair, I felt like I lost the one part of me that made me beautiful. My reflection became unrecognizable. I felt invisible, not just in the mirror, but in life. I fixated on the hair falling out on my pillow and avoided mirrors. I struggled with the idea of not being "enough" without the physical traits that once gave me confidence. But during that time, I found unexpected comfort in the nurses who cared for me. They didn’t just manage my medications—they managed my spirit. They reminded me of my worth, even without my hair or makeup. They treated me like I was more than a patient, and for the first time in a long time, I felt truly seen. That experience completely shifted my perspective. I realized that healing is not just physical—it’s emotional. Inspired by the nurses who showed me grace and humanity, I decided to become a pediatric oncology nurse, to bring that same light to others who are hurting. To prepare for that path, I’ve immersed myself in volunteer work, combining my lived experience with a desire to serve. I’ve volunteered on the oncology floor of a hospital, where I saw firsthand how patients and families cope with the weight of illness. I also spoke to students in a medical class about childhood cancer, helping future healthcare professionals understand the emotional side of the patient experience. Outside of the hospital, I served as a camp counselor, learning how to support kids through both fun and fear, and I joined my school’s student leader advisory committee to advocate for student needs. Pageantry has also become a powerful tool for advocacy. I’ve used my platform to raise awareness for childhood cancer and to share my journey of resilience, aiming to show others—especially teens—that bald is beautiful, and hope is always possible. I also launched my nonprofit, Project Cloud 9, just one month into remission, to support teenage cancer patients through personalized gift baskets and emotional encouragement. My upbringing gave me the drive. My illness gave me the mission. And my volunteer work gave me the tools to turn compassion into action. Today, I’m healing those childhood wounds by becoming someone I needed when I was younger. I hope to continue bringing hope to others, one patient, one care package, and one act of compassion at a time.

Throughout high school, I was fortunate to have many great teachers, but none impacted my life quite like Mr. Kinzler, my Human Anatomy and Physiology teacher. He wasn’t just a teacher—he was a mentor, an advocate, and a source of unwavering support, especially during the most challenging time of my life. His influence extended far beyond the walls of the classroom, shaping not only my academic interests but also the person I aspire to be. When I was diagnosed with cancer, my world turned upside down. Suddenly, my focus shifted from homework and tests to chemotherapy and hospital visits. Many people treated me differently, unsure of what to say or how to act, but Mr. Kinzler remained a constant. He never pitied me or made me feel like a patient; instead, he treated me like the student he had always known—capable, ambitious, and determined. He advocated for me to stay at my high school despite my health challenges, ensuring that I could continue my education without disruption. His belief in me gave me strength on days when I doubted myself. Mr. Kinzler had a way of making the classroom feel alive, even when discussing the most complex topics. His humor could turn a seemingly dry lesson on the integumentary system into an engaging discussion filled with laughter. Learning about the human body under his guidance became more than just memorizing terms—it became a passion. I remember the moment I connected what I learned in his class to my own treatment, realizing that the "subq shot" my nurse mentioned referred to the subcutaneous layer of my skin. That lightbulb moment solidified my desire to become a nurse, a field where I could combine my love for science with my deep-seated empathy for others. Beyond the classroom, Mr. Kinzler supported me in ways I never expected. When I started my nonprofit, Project Cloud 9, to support teenagers battling cancer, he went out of his way to spread the word. He shared my GoFundMe campaign, ensuring that more people knew about my mission and could contribute to making a difference. His willingness to champion my cause showed me that he believed in my ability to create change, reinforcing my determination to uplift others in the same way he uplifted me. Even beyond my time in his class, Mr. Kinzler continues to go above and beyond for his students. He writes every recommendation letter requested, ensuring that each student feels supported in their pursuit of higher education. He sees potential in everyone and encourages them to chase their dreams, no matter how big. I am forever grateful for his impact—not just for shaping my career aspirations, but for showing me the kind of difference one person can make. Because of him, I hope to be a nurse who not only heals but also uplifts and inspires, just as he did for me.

My parents separated before I was even a year old, so I never grew up with the idea of a "complete" family. While I was too young to remember their relationship falling apart, I grew up feeling the impact of their separation in every aspect of my life. My mom and grandma raised me, providing unwavering love and stability, but my dad was always a distant figure—someone I saw rarely, someone whose presence felt more like an obligation than a relationship. Because my parents were never married, my mom never received consistent child support. I watched her work tirelessly to provide for me, juggling responsibilities that should have been shared. The financial struggles were apparent, but more than that, the emotional weight she carried shaped the way I viewed relationships, trust, and security. Every time I saw my dad, it was overshadowed by tension, with arguments between him and my mom filling the air like static. Their inability to coexist peacefully made me feel like I had to choose a side, even when all I wanted was to exist in both of their worlds without conflict. As a child, I struggled with separation anxiety. My mom worked long hours to support us, and my grandma was my primary source of comfort. But when my grandma moved away, I was sent to daycare—a place I dreaded. I remember clinging to my mom’s leg, crying as she left for work, feeling abandoned even though I knew she had no choice. The unfamiliar faces, the noisy environment, and the absence of a familiar caregiver made each day feel like an uphill battle. I longed for stability, but instead, I learned early on that sometimes the people you love have to leave, even if they don’t want to. When I was diagnosed with cancer, my world shattered in a way I never expected. I was forced to confront my own mortality, and I hoped that if anything could bring my parents together, it would be this. Instead, it drove them further apart. My dad blamed my mom for my illness, and in response, she banned me from speaking to him. At a time when I needed support the most, I was caught in the crossfire of their unresolved anger and pain. I understood my mom’s frustration—she had always been the one who stayed, the one who sacrificed—but I also couldn't ignore the gnawing ache of being forced to cut ties with my dad completely. Now, even though I have the freedom to reach out to him, I hesitate. Speaking to him feels like a betrayal of my mom, the woman who has given me everything. Yet, he is still my dad, and a part of me longs to hold onto some semblance of a relationship with him. I navigate this emotional tightrope, trying to balance love, loyalty, and self-preservation, but the fear of disappointing my mom keeps me from taking a step forward. Despite everything, this experience has taught me resilience. It has shown me the power of unconditional love through my mom and grandma’s sacrifices. It has also made me deeply empathetic toward others navigating broken families. As I move forward, I want to create a future where I don’t carry the same cycles of hurt, where I can find peace in my relationships without the weight of the past defining them. My parents' separation shaped my childhood, but it will not define my future.

From the moment I heard the words "you have cancer," my life changed forever. At just a teenager, I found myself navigating the world of chemotherapy, hospital stays, and medical uncertainty. But amidst the hardship, I also found my purpose. The nurses who cared for me weren’t just medical professionals—they were my source of strength, comfort, and hope. Their compassion inspired me to become a pediatric oncology nurse, determined to provide the same unwavering support to future patients facing similar battles. I’ve always believed in turning adversity into advocacy. During my treatment, I noticed how often teenagers like me were overlooked in pediatric cancer care. This realization led me to launch my nonprofit, Project Cloud 9, which focuses on raising awareness about childhood cancer and ensuring that teenage patients receive the recognition and support they deserve. Through my platform, I have been able to connect with fellow survivors, advocate for increased representation of childhood cancer patients, and inspire confidence in others facing unimaginable challenges. My passion for making a difference extends beyond the hospital walls. As a pageant competitor and speaker, I use my voice to promote diversity, inclusion, and bullying prevention. Growing up as one of the only Asian American students in my small town, I experienced the sting of exclusion firsthand. Moving to a more diverse area allowed me to embrace my identity, and now, I strive to ensure that no one feels out of place because of their background. By combining my personal experiences with my advocacy work, I aim to create a world where every individual feels seen, heard, and valued. Overcoming cancer and the challenges that came with it was not easy, but it shaped me into the resilient, determined individual I am today. The journey taught me that hardship does not define a person—rather, it is how they rise from it that matters. My battle with cancer ignited my desire to pursue nursing, and my acceptance into NYU’s nursing program is a testament to the dedication and perseverance I have poured into this goal. I am eager to continue my education, gain hands-on experience, and ultimately, become a nurse who not only heals but also empowers and uplifts those in her care. With my nursing career, nonprofit work, and advocacy efforts, I plan to leave a lasting impact on the world. I want to be a nurse who not only treats patients medically but also ensures they feel understood and supported. I want to continue fighting for increased awareness of childhood cancer, uplifting marginalized voices, and fostering a culture of kindness and inclusion. My journey has been filled with obstacles, but each challenge has only strengthened my resolve to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my academic knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, my hand trembled with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day, my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline, allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. The day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, my eyes glided smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. My experience as a patient and as a camp counselor, and volunteering on the oncology floor of my local hospital has shown me firsthand the pivotal role nurses play in one's physical and mental health. Being in the hospital, I’ve built many strong lifelong connections with nurses. I’ve realized that connecting with patients is essential in nursing, and my multicultural background has given me the tools to tackle cultural divides with compassion and understanding. Growing up bilingual in Mandarin and English further enhanced my ability to connect with others. Whether volunteering in hospitals or at community events, I often used my language skills to assist patients and families. When dedicating hours a week to volunteering at my local hospital, I ensured that all patients felt informed and supported. Beyond translating simple phrases to other Mandarin speakers, I engaged patients in friendly conversation, transforming the often monotonous hospital stay into a more positive experience. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse who calms my patient’s fears, answers their questions, and guides them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose pediatric oncology nursing. This dedication and perseverance led to my acceptance into NYU's nursing program, where I will continue to grow, learn, and prepare to make a difference in the lives of my future patients.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my academic knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, my hand trembled with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day, my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline, allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. The day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, my eyes glided smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. My experience as a patient and as a camp counselor with over two hundred hours working with kids has allowed me to develop everlasting empathy, care, and understanding for my future patients. Furthermore, my fifty hours volunteering on the oncology floor of my local hospital have shown me firsthand the pivotal role nurses play in one's physical and mental health. Being in the hospital, I’ve built many strong lifelong connections with nurses. I’ve realized that connecting with patients is essential in nursing, and my multicultural background has given me the tools to tackle cultural divides with compassion and understanding. Growing up bilingual in Mandarin and English further enhanced my ability to connect with others. Whether volunteering in hospitals or at community events, I often used my language skills to assist patients and families. When dedicating four hours a week to volunteering at my local hospital, I ensured that all patients felt informed and supported. Beyond translating simple phrases to other Mandarin speakers, I engaged patients in friendly conversation, transforming the often monotonous hospital stay into a more positive experience. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse who calms my patient’s fears, answers their questions, and guides them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my academic knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, my hand trembled with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day, my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline, allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. The day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, my eyes glided smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. My experience as a patient and as a camp counselor with over two hundred hours working with kids has allowed me to develop everlasting empathy, care, and understanding for my future patients. Furthermore, my fifty hours volunteering on the oncology floor of my local hospital have shown me firsthand the pivotal role nurses play in one's physical and mental health. Being in the hospital, I’ve built many strong lifelong connections with nurses. I’ve realized that connecting with patients is essential in nursing, and my multicultural background has given me the tools to tackle cultural divides with compassion and understanding. Growing up bilingual in Mandarin and English further enhanced my ability to connect with others. Whether volunteering in hospitals or at community events, I often used my language skills to assist patients and families. When dedicating four hours a week to volunteering at my local hospital, I ensured that all patients felt informed and supported. Beyond translating simple phrases to other Mandarin speakers, I engaged patients in friendly conversation, transforming the often monotonous hospital stay into a more positive experience. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse who calms my patient’s fears, answers their questions, and guides them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after chemotherapy. My mind spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours looking at the layers of skin. Finally, I pieced the puzzle together. “Subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest, fattiest layer of skin. The slow absorption of medication through this layer allowed for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each consent form felt overwhelming, with side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day, my understanding of organ systems grew, empowering me. Anatomy lessons became a lifeline, helping me navigate treatments with clarity and control. This knowledge was a tool to advocate for the best care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my subq shot, I confidently signed my name instead of scrutinizing every word with apprehension. The connection between scientific knowledge and patient care inspired me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor, and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. These roles taught me how to create a nurturing environment for kids, building trust and supporting them during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who makes a meaningful difference in pediatric oncology patients’ lives. As a young woman in STEM, I’ve faced challenges like imposter syndrome and stereotypes about women in science. Yet, these obstacles fueled my determination. Volunteering on the oncology floor at my local hospital for over 100 hours and serving as a camp counselor for pediatric patients taught me resilience and leadership. I’ve worked closely with children facing health battles, developing the empathy needed to create trust in vulnerable moments. These experiences showed me the importance of fostering inclusive, compassionate spaces in healthcare. Beyond the hospital, my extracurricular STEM activities have honed my leadership skills. Founding Project Cloud 9—a nonprofit supporting teenagers with cancer—allowed me to transform personal struggles into advocacy. I’ve organized events to raise awareness about childhood cancer and distributed care packages tailored to teenage patients, a demographic often overlooked. Through Project Cloud 9, I’ve built a platform that fosters collaboration, innovation, and empathy, skills I plan to bring into my nursing career to address complex healthcare challenges. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of the future to someone ready to take control of their care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer of skin allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. Through these roles, I learned how to create a safe and nurturing environment for kids, building trust and helping them feel supported during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who can make a meaningful difference in specifically pediatric oncology patients, during their most critical times of need. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer of skin allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. Through these roles, I learned how to create a safe and nurturing environment for kids, building trust and helping them feel supported during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who can make a meaningful difference in specifically pediatric oncology patients, during their most critical times of need. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. I knew nothing was going to last forever but I always thought my pin-straight hair would accompany me to my grave. Throughout my whole life, I’ve always been invested in my looks. It all started with me playing with Barbie dolls, then gradually developing my unique sense of style, and eventually becoming a fashion model and pageant competitor myself. My high school years were filled with modeling and pageant events, my appearance was imperative to me. However, no matter how much I prayed or wished when the clock struck 11:11, at the ripe age of sixteen, my worst fear of losing my appearance became a reality. What seemed like a small rash and an unstoppable fever turned into a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia. I spent the next few weeks mindlessly lying in the hospital thinking of the worst to come. As the clock continued to tick chemo treatments began. Nausea set in, fevers were endured, but my mind was set on the hair that covered my pillow. Hence, I turned myself away from my reflection in mirrors and iPhone screens, and I moved and showered delicately, hoping to preserve my hair forever. Nonetheless, my dream did not become a reality as I started to see patches of bald spots on my head. Knowing that my hair’s growth pattern was going to change, the mirror became a constant reminder of my struggle, and each day, my heart continued to sink, a piece of myself that had always been there was now slipping away. Thus, when it became time for the “big shave” I faced it with a heavy heart. Some may have celebrated it with their friends and family by recording it to lighten up the mood, but I just couldn’t bear to have anyone see me without my long locks. However, amidst this hardship, I encountered unexpected support from the world of healthcare professionals. I was especially fascinated by the nurse’s careers. I watched as they used various tools to inject medications, but what captivated me most was how they comforted their patients during their toughest times. Nurses didn’t simply provide me with Tylenol; they offered a shoulder to cry on when I lost my friends, helped me with my schoolwork, and even encouraged me to follow my dreams of pageantry and modeling. With the encouragement of my nurses, I realized that competing in pageants and modeling with my new hair became a platform for advocacy. Winning a crown or gracing the cover of a magazine was not about the glitz or the glamor, it was about spreading a message and being an inspiration to others. I dedicated my platform in the pageant world to raising awareness about childhood cancer, launching my nonprofit “Project Cloud 9” just one month into remission. Through this initiative I collected two thousand dollars in just six months, with the proceeds going toward creating gift baskets for teenagers in the hospital, a group often overlooked by traditional donations. My short hair, once a symbol of my struggle, was now celebrated and opened new doors in the modeling industry, catching the eye of new agencies. Best of all, I was able to share my journey through my Instagram posts and TikToks with hundreds of cancer survivors and those in the fashion industry, proving that any dream can be achieved despite challenges. Through this, I’ve received multiple heartfelt testimonies from fellow pageant competitors, models, nurses, and patients who told me my story has motivated them. One day I hope to continue to share my story and dedicate my career to inspiring more individuals as a pediatric oncology nurse. We can reminisce and recreate but sometimes we won't be able to retrieve, I know my hair will never be the same, but I am so grateful for the little infinity we shared.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer of skin allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. Through these roles, I learned how to create a safe and nurturing environment for kids, building trust and helping them feel supported during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who can make a meaningful difference in specifically pediatric oncology patients, during their most critical times of need. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer of skin allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. Through these roles, I learned how to create a safe and nurturing environment for kids, building trust and helping them feel supported during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who can make a meaningful difference in specifically pediatric oncology patients, during their most critical times of need. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. I knew nothing was going to last forever but I always thought my pin-straight hair would accompany me to my grave. Throughout my whole life, I’ve always been invested in my looks. It all started with me playing with Barbie dolls, then gradually developing my unique sense of style, and eventually becoming a fashion model and pageant competitor myself. However, no matter how much I prayed or wished when the clock struck 11:11, at the ripe age of sixteen, my worst fear of losing my appearance became a reality. What seemed like a small rash and an unstoppable fever turned into a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia. I spent the next few weeks mindlessly lying in the hospital thinking of the worst to come. As the clock continued to tick chemo treatments began. Nausea set in, fevers were endured, but my mind was set on the hair that covered my pillow. Hence, I turned myself away from my reflection in mirrors and iPhone screens, and I moved and showered delicately, hoping to preserve my hair forever. Nonetheless, my dream did not become a reality as I started to see patches of bald spots on my head. Knowing that my hair’s growth pattern was going to change, the mirror became a constant reminder of my struggle, and each day, my heart continued to sink, a piece of myself that had always been there was now slipping away. However, amidst this hardship, I encountered unexpected support from the world of healthcare professionals. I was especially fascinated by the nurse’s careers. I watched as they used various tools to inject medications, but what captivated me most was how they comforted their patients during their toughest times. Nurses didn’t simply provide me with Tylenol; they offered a shoulder to cry on when I lost my friends, helped me with my schoolwork, and even encouraged me to follow my dreams of pageantry and modeling. With the encouragement of my nurses, I realized that competing in pageants and modeling with my new hair became a platform for advocacy. Winning a crown or gracing the cover of a magazine was not about the glitz or the glamor, it was about spreading a message and being an inspiration to others. I dedicated my platform in the pageant world to raising awareness about childhood cancer, launching my nonprofit “Project Cloud 9” just one month into remission. Through this initiative I collected two thousand dollars in just six months, with the proceeds going toward creating gift baskets for teenagers in the hospital, a group often overlooked by traditional donations. My short hair, once a symbol of my struggle, was now celebrated and opened new doors in the modeling industry, catching the eye of new agencies. Best of all, I was able to share my journey through my Instagram posts and TikToks with hundreds of cancer survivors and those in the fashion industry, proving that any dream can be achieved despite challenges. Through this, I’ve received multiple heartfelt testimonies from fellow pageant competitors, models, nurses, and patients who told me my story has motivated them. One day I hope to continue to share my story and dedicate my career to inspiring more individuals as a pediatric oncology nurse. We can reminisce and recreate but sometimes we won't be able to retrieve, I know my hair will never be the same, but I am so grateful for the little infinity we shared.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after my hard fight through chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind suddenly spiraled back to my human anatomy class, where I spent hours every week looking at the layers of skin in one’s body. Finally, my brain pieced the puzzle together. “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest and fattiest layer of skin in the human body. The slow absorption of medication through this layer of skin allows for a sustaining effect of white blood cells. While my mom flooded the nurse with questions, I stood there with a smile on my face. For the first time, there was a connection between my school knowledge and the medications that were used to save my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, the connection between scientific knowledge and patient care led me to choose nursing. Drawing from my experience as a patient, camp counselor and hospital volunteer, I have developed the empathy and patience necessary to care for others, especially children. Through these roles, I learned how to create a safe and nurturing environment for kids, building trust and helping them feel supported during challenging times. I’ve seen firsthand how caregivers impact both physical and mental health, providing comfort and guidance at life’s most vulnerable moments. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to becoming a nurse who can make a meaningful difference in specifically pediatric oncology patients, during their most critical times of need. As I held the subq syringe in my hand, I thought about how far I had come—from a scared patient unsure of what the future held to someone ready to take control of their own care. One day, I hope to be the nurse to calm my patient’s fears, answer their questions, and guide them with the same patience and care that my nurses showed me. Helping others find confidence in moments like these is not only a goal but the reason I chose nursing.

Growing up I wondered why movie stars, television hosts, and pageant competitors never looked like me—why my dreams felt like they belonged to someone else. Asians were rarely seen in positive roles in the media and were often portrayed through harmful stereotypes. While I watched others take center stage at award shows and fashion runways, it felt like Asians had no place on my TV. Thus, being one of the two Asian Americans in my elementary school, I struggled to fully embrace my culture. From the food I brought to school to the holidays I celebrated, I constantly felt like an outsider. However, when our family moved to a more diverse community that celebrated Asian culture, I began to appreciate and love my heritage, which empowered me to pursue my dreams as a host and pageant competitor. Being involved in the entertainment industry, I’ve seen how the lack of diversity and stereotypes can affect one’s self-esteem. If the Asian community was lucky enough to have some sort of representation, they’d always be cast as the nerds who didn’t care about the way they looked or dressed. Which was the opposite of who I wanted to be. I wanted the world to know that Asians could have both beauty and brains. Determined to change this, I used my platform to advocate for greater representation of Asian Americans in the media. My mission was clear: to inspire other girls like me to dream big and feel seen. I started to attend more public events. I was crowned Chinese Rose Princess, competed in Miss Oregon Teen USA, and served as a host for multiple Asian culture events. Whether it was speaking in front of judges, parents, or an audience, I consistently emphasized the importance of diversity in media and its impact on confidence. I shared my personal journey of how representation and embracing my culture transformed me, which inspired other Asian American pageant participants and hosts to join in, sharing their own stories, and expanding our advocacy. Through these speeches, I not only raised awareness on this topic but also broke down stereotypes and connected with individuals who had experienced similar challenges. Because of the large Asian community I was able to connect with here in Beaverton Oregon I was able to feel more confident in my skin and take that next step to accomplishing my dreams. Seeing the impact my advocacy had on my small community in Oregon, reinforced my commitment to this issue to a bigger community in college. By sharing my stories and promoting cultural diversity in clubs and events around campus, I hope to inspire others to celebrate their own identities.

“Subq shot.” My nurse's voice echoed through my hospital room. Those words were so new, yet oddly familiar. I watched closely as she taught me how to inject the shot that would stimulate my white blood cells after chemotherapy. As I observed, my mind spiraled back to my anatomy class, where I spent hours studying the layers of skin. Suddenly, it clicked: “subq” was short for subcutaneous, the deepest, fattiest layer of skin. It wasn’t just a shot; it was a connection—between my school knowledge and the medicine saving my life. During my cancer journey, I encountered countless medical terms, procedures, and decisions. Each time I signed a consent form, I felt my hand tremble with uncertainty as I faced the overwhelming list of side effects tied to medications, transplants, and surgeries. But with each day my understanding of the organ systems grew, giving me a new sense of empowerment. Each anatomy lesson became a lifeline allowing me to navigate my treatments with clarity and a sense of control. It wasn’t just knowledge—it was a tool I used to advocate for the best possible care during the toughest fight of my life. Thus, the day I signed a consent form for my at-home subq shot, I found my eyes gliding smoothly over the text instead of scrutinizing every word on the page with apprehension. Instead of bombarding my nurses and doctors with anxious questions, I confidently signed my name. Ultimately, this connection between scientific knowledge and patient care inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to bridge this same gap for my future patients, especially children facing cancer. Drawing on my experiences as a patient, camp counselor, and hospital volunteer, I’ve learned that empathy and education are equally important in healing. I envision myself as the nurse who calms a child’s fears, explains treatments in ways they understand, and makes them feel safe—just as my nurses did for me. As a woman in healthcare, I hope to make a unique impact by combining my medical knowledge with compassionate advocacy. Women in healthcare often lead with empathy, yet our voices are still underrepresented in leadership roles and specialized fields. I aim to change that by becoming not only a trusted caregiver but also a role model who shows young girls that they can excel in healthcare and science. By using my personal story and professional expertise, I hope to inspire confidence in patients and empower families to make informed decisions about their care. One day, I’ll be on the other side of the hospital bed, holding a syringe, guiding my patient’s hand, and helping them feel strong in a moment of fear—just as I once did. For me, nursing is more than a career; it’s the culmination of my journey, my passions, and my purpose: to make a meaningful difference for others during life’s most vulnerable moments.