As I flipped to the fifty-third page of Order of The Phoenix, the two characters began to argue. Suddenly, I heard screams so shrill and full of fear from downstairs. It was my mother, Amma. I kept reading, making sure my door was locked, but the screams continued, increasing in intensity until they suddenly vanished. As I got to page sixty, I heard a sound not far from my bedroom. I tentatively opened it, realizing it was Amma, weeping in the bathroom. She came into my room and stared out through the window, her eyes still glazed over. At last, she spoke: “I need a divorce”. I was eight when Amma became single again. We lived in an apartment for some time before my father disappeared into obscurity across the world back to India. Taking back the house, there was a sense of emptiness, and in its place grew uncertainty and fear. However, it was during these times that made us stronger than ever. I regarded Amma’s eyebags and her tired face as a trophy of her hard work, her tears when she thought we wouldn’t be here as a humble concession of her humanity, for she seemed superhuman to us. Since those first days, I've undergone a profound evolution. Her lessons of resistance against the status quo inspired me to take up my new expectations for myself. As I shot for the stars, I remembered her conviction in her own dreams, in raising us. One of her most common sayings, “I live not for myself, but for you”, became a guiding light in my studies. In those moments, I remembered her tired face as she shouldered the weight of the world, receiving a brief respite when she saw our smiling faces. It was this statement that inspired me to find my own path, one that followed her teachings. Eventually, I found such a path in medicine. Since that revelation, I’ve attempted to live every day for others. In the summers, I’d work with the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database of over four hundred resources for vulnerable Texans to turn their lives around. Throughout the project, I saw the different issues surrounding the field of medicine, creating a much more cohesive image of what healthcare in underserved areas is like. I discovered a field that went beyond the jurisdiction of a hospital building: public health, a field that combines the best aspects of sciences with the potential to change innumerable lives. Building on that passion, I further invested myself in medicine. Later that same summer, I met with Dr. Brian Smith, Yale’s former Residency Director, who told me, “There is nothing better than fixing broken children”. At that moment, I realized something: Amma did the same for me. Since then, my dream of fixing broken children has blossomed into a journey to become an orthopedic surgeon. However, as a twin in a single-parent household, the financial demands of college are incredibly daunting. From protecting us from an abusive father to raising us all on her own, she has shown us there is no limit to what we can do. As both my brother and I aim to go to graduate school after receiving an undergraduate degree, with potentially over three-quarters of a million dollars in costs shouldered by my mother. With this scholarship, my dream of studying public health and becoming an orthopedic surgeon can be more easily realized, and I can pay forward the miracle Amma worked for me, and carry out my legacy of helping others like my mother helped me.

Over my seventeen years of life, I've reveled in a tapestry of experiences. As I ascended the steps of Cypress Ranch four years ago, a shy and diminutive figure, I've undergone a profound evolution. It's not just the height that's changed, but the fabric of my character has woven a different pattern. From avoiding public speaking to confidently addressing a sea of Mustangs and their families during the NHS Induction in the bright lights of that auditorium stage as an FBLA State Champion. From losing my fourth-grade class secretary election at Lee Elementary to emerging triumphant in Cypress Ranch’s National Honor Society presidential campaign seven years later. From an eighth grader leading Smith Middle School’s Science Olympiad team to the captain at the helm of one of the district’s most successful chapters and a state medalist in one of the organization’s most competitive events. From being afraid to change to creating it through two nonprofits I led, with the Kosmos Project sparking policy change in school districts across the Houston area to The Scalpel, where I critiqued the medical industry’s various flaws and offered my solutions. From gazing at Houston's skyscrapers to interning at Texas Children’s Hospital's Cytogenetics Lab and nervously interviewing renowned figures like Brian G. Smith, Yale’s former Residency Director and Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, my journey reflects a mosaic of growth and diverse experiences. Nevertheless, the path ahead appears more daunting than my earlier experiences might suggest. As the son of a single mother, invaluable lessons in positivity, diligence, and resilience have been ingrained in me. Yet, financial constraints loom large. I aspire to become a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, with the words of Dr. Smith resonating deeply within me: "There’s no better job in the world than fixing broken kids." Achieving this career requires a long academic journey: four years of undergraduate studies, four years of medical school, followed by a five-year orthopedic residency, and additional fellowship years for specialization, particularly in pediatrics and other disciplines. It doesn’t help that residents and fellows typically receive modest wages compared to attending physicians, exacerbating the prevailing burden of student debt. Without adequate financial support and scholarships, my dream of becoming one of America’s premier pediatric orthopedic surgeons will remain elusive. Complicating matters, my twin brother also harbors dreams of becoming an environmental lawyer, a profession that demands a minimum of seven years of academic pursuit. The challenge of affording even state universities like UT Austin looms prominently on the horizon. In spite of it all, my aspiration remains unwavering: to strive for the utmost success and uplift those around me. Looking ahead, I envision a future where, as a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, I can grant children a chance at a better life, enabling them to flourish and push for reform in the healthcare industry, helping future generations have more venues for quality healthcare.

As I flipped to the fifty-third page of Order of The Phoenix, the two characters began to argue. Suddenly, I heard screams so shrill and full of fear from downstairs. It was my mother, Amma. I kept reading, making sure my door was locked, but the screams continued, increasing in intensity until they suddenly vanished. As I got to page sixty, I heard a sound not far from my bedroom. I tentatively opened it, realizing it was Amma, weeping in the bathroom. She came into my room and stared out through the window, her eyes still glazed over. At last, she spoke: “I need a divorce”. I was eight when Amma became single again. We lived in an apartment for some time before my father disappeared into obscurity across the world back to India. Taking back the castle that was our house, there was a sense of emptiness, and in its place grew uncertainty and fear. The world was unforgiving. The many aunties and uncles at house parties shot looks of pity at my twin brother and me, looks of disgust at Amma. However, it was during these times that made us stronger than ever. I regarded Amma’s eyebags and her tired face as a trophy of her hard work, her tears when she thought we wouldn’t be listening as a humble concession of her humanity, for she seemed superhuman to us. Her rebellion against a patriarchal household, against the stigmas of society, inspired me to transform myself as well. Since those first days, I've undergone a profound evolution. Her lessons of resistance against the status quo inspired me to take up my new expectations for myself. From a timid third grader, I worked to let go of my fears and to become independent in my own right. As I overcame my fear of public speaking, going from anxious to speak in front of tens to confident in front of thousands, I remembered and still remember her every time I spoke. As I became unabashedly extraverted, letting go of my investment in how others perceived me, I remembered her persistent confidence. As I shot for the stars, I remembered her affirmations of “I will succeed no matter what”, one of many things she would tell herself at the start of every day. Another one of her favorite sayings was only heard when she hugged us tightly, many times at random intervals: “I live not for myself, but for you”. In those moments, I remembered her tired face as she shouldered the weight of the world, receiving a brief respite when she saw our smiling faces. It was this statement that inspired me to find my path, one that followed her teachings. Eventually, I found such a path in medicine. Since that revelation, I’ve attempted to live every day for others. In the summers, I’d work with the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database of over four hundred resources for vulnerable Texans, from single-parent households to the homeless finding ways to turn their lives around. After creating the foundation for a full-fledged program there, I worked with Dr. Brian G. Smith, Yale’s former Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, who told me, “There is nothing better than fixing broken children”. At that moment, I realized something: Amma did the same for me. Since then, my dream of fixing broken children has blossomed into a journey to become an orthopedic surgeon, where I can pay forward the miracle Amma worked on me.

As I flipped to the fifty-third page of Order of The Phoenix, the two characters began to argue. Suddenly, I heard screams so shrill and full of fear from downstairs. It was my mother, Amma. I kept reading, making sure my door was locked, but the screams continued, increasing in intensity until they suddenly vanished. As I got to page sixty, I heard a sound not far from my bedroom. I tentatively opened it, realizing it was Amma, weeping in the bathroom. She came into my room and stared out through the window, her eyes still glazed over. At last, she spoke: “I need a divorce”. I was eight when Amma became single again. We lived in an apartment for some time before my father disappeared into obscurity across the world back to India. Taking back the castle that was our house, there was a sense of emptiness, and in its place grew uncertainty and fear. The world was unforgiving. The many aunties and uncles at house parties shot looks of pity at my twin brother and me, looks of disgust at Amma. However, it was during these times that made us stronger than ever. I regarded Amma’s eyebags and her tired face as a trophy of her hard work, her tears when she thought we wouldn’t be listening as a humble concession of her humanity, for she seemed superhuman to us. Her rebellion against a patriarchal household, against the stigmas of society, inspired me to transform myself as well. Since those first days, I've undergone a profound evolution. Her lessons of resistance against the status quo inspired me to take up my new expectations for myself. From a timid third grader, I worked to let go of my fears and to become independent in my own right. As I overcame my fear of public speaking, going from anxious to speak in front of tens to confident in front of thousands, I remembered and still remember her every time I spoke. As I became unabashedly extraverted, letting go of my investment in how others perceived me, I remembered her persistent confidence. As I shot for the stars, I remembered her affirmations of “I will succeed no matter what”, one of many things she would tell herself at the start of every day. Another one of her favorite sayings was only heard when she hugged us tightly, many times at random intervals: “I live not for myself, but for you”. In those moments, I remembered her tired face as she shouldered the weight of the world, receiving a brief respite when she saw our smiling faces. It was this statement that inspired me to find my path, one that followed her teachings. Eventually, I found such a path in medicine. Since that revelation, I’ve attempted to live every day for others. In the summers, I’d work with the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database of over four hundred resources for vulnerable Texans, from single-parent households to the homeless finding ways to turn their lives around. After creating the foundation for a full-fledged program there, I worked with Dr. Brian G. Smith, Yale’s former Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, who told me, “There is nothing better than fixing broken children”. At that moment, I realized something: Amma did the same for me. Since then, my dream of fixing broken children has blossomed into a journey to become an orthopedic surgeon, where I can pay forward the miracle Amma worked on me.

Where does my perspective originate? Is it a product of being the child of a single mother, an Indian immigrant, and an immensely positive free spirit? Is it a result of exposure to diverse cultures and cuisines across the world and living in one of the most multicultural cities in the nation? Does it stem from my extensive travels, from the peaks of Interlaken to the valleys of the Black Forest? Or does it come from my childhood days playing soccer barefoot with a stray baby greyhound in the courtyard of Sunil Navas, my family home in India? To answer that question is an impossible task. Over my seventeen years of life, I've reveled in a tapestry of experiences. As I ascended the steps of Cypress Ranch four years ago, a shy and diminutive figure, I've undergone a profound evolution. It's not just the height that's changed, but the fabric of my character has woven a different pattern. ` From avoiding public speaking to presentations to confidently addressing a sea of Mustangs and their families during the NHS Induction in the bright lights of that Auditorium stage and an FBLA State Champion. From losing my fourth-grade class secretary election at Lee Elementary to emerging triumphant in Cypress Ranch’s National Honor Society presidential campaign seven years later. From an eighth grader leading Smith Middle School’s Science Olympiad team to the captain at the helm of one of the district’s most successful chapters and a state medalist in one of the organization’s most competitive events. From being afraid to change to creating it through two nonprofits I led, with the Kosmos Project sparking policy change in school districts across the Houston area to The Scalpel where I critiqued the medical industry’s various flaws and offered my solutions. From gazing at Houston's skyscrapers to interning at Texas Children’s Hospital's Cytogenetics Lab and nervously interviewing renowned figures like Brian G. Smith, Yale’s former Residency Director and Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, my journey reflects a mosaic of growth and diverse experiences. Nevertheless, the path ahead appears more daunting than my earlier experiences might suggest. As the son of a single mother, invaluable lessons in positivity, diligence, and resilience have been ingrained in me. Yet, financial constraints loom large. I aspire to become a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, with the words of Dr. Smith resonating deeply within me: "There’s no better job in the world than fixing broken kids." Achieving this career requires a long academic journey: four years of undergraduate studies, four years of medical school, followed by a five-year orthopedic residency, and additional fellowship years for specialization, particularly in pediatrics and other disciplines. It doesn’t help that residents and fellows typically receive modest wages compared to attending physicians, exacerbating the prevailing burden of student debt. Without adequate financial support and scholarships, my dream of becoming one of America’s premier pediatric orthopedic surgeons will remain elusive. Complicating matters, my twin brother also harbors dreams of becoming an environmental lawyer, a profession that demands a minimum of seven years of academic pursuit. The challenge of affording even state universities like UT Austin looms prominently on the horizon. In spite of it all, my aspiration remains unwavering: to strive for the utmost success and uplift those around me. Looking ahead, I envision a future where, as a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, I can grant children a chance at a better life, enabling them to flourish and push for reform in the healthcare industry, helping future generations have more venues for quality healthcare.

As I flipped to the fifty-third page of Order of The Phoenix, the two characters began to argue. Suddenly, I heard screams so shrill and full of fear from downstairs. It was my mother, Amma. I kept reading, making sure my door was locked, but the screams continued, increasing in intensity until they suddenly vanished. As I got to page sixty, I heard a sound not far from my bedroom. I tentatively opened it, realizing it was Amma, weeping in the bathroom. She came into my room and stared out through the window, her eyes still glazed over. At last, she spoke: “I need a divorce”. I was eight when Amma became single again. The world was unforgiving. However, it was during these times that made us stronger than ever. I regarded Amma’s eyebags and her tired face as a trophy of her hard work, her tears when she thought we wouldn’t be listening as a humble concession of her humanity, for she seemed superhuman to us. Since those first days, I've undergone a profound evolution. Her lessons of resistance against the status quo inspired me to take up my new expectations for myself. From a timid third grader, I worked to let go of my fears and to become independent in my own right. As I overcame my fear of public speaking, going from anxious to speak in front of tens to confident in front of thousands, I remembered and still remember her every time I spoke. As I became unabashedly extraverted, letting go of my investment in how others perceived me, I remembered her persistent confidence. As I shot for the stars, I remembered her affirmations of “I will succeed no matter what”, one of many things she would tell herself at the start of every day. Another one of her favorite sayings was only heard when she hugged us tightly, many times at random intervals: “I live not for myself, but for you”. In those moments, I remembered her tired face as she shouldered the weight of the world, receiving a brief respite when she saw our smiling faces. It was this statement that inspired me to find my path, one that followed her teachings. Eventually, I found such a path in medicine. Since that revelation, I’ve attempted to live every day for others. In the summers, I’d work with the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database of over four hundred resources for vulnerable Texans, from single-parent households to the homeless finding ways to turn their lives around. After creating the foundation for a full-fledged program there, I worked with Dr. Brian G. Smith, Yale’s former Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, who told me, “There is nothing better than fixing broken children”. At that moment, I realized something: Amma did the same for me. Since then, my dream of fixing broken children has blossomed into a journey to become an orthopedic surgeon, where I can pay forward the miracle Amma worked on me.

“Quantum physics”, Dr. Oppenheimer said, the colors of his gaunt face reflecting in my eyes, “postulates that everything is empty space, even us”. As he continued his analogies and explanations, he became a blob of colors as my vision blurred, a coat of tears dripping down my face. However, it wasn’t the idea of physical emptiness that caused such distress. It was the memory of family photos throughout the years that played like a montage in my mind. They were happy for a long time. Then, suddenly my father was gone, a tired look in my mother’s eyes accentuating the photos that followed. The story of his departure is not as morbid as it may seem. One day, he seemed to feel the same emptiness that Dr. Oppenheimer explained, this time with his family. When he left, in his place was emptiness, which coupled with uncertainty and anger, became a terrible mix. With every shadow I saw, there was hope that he’d jump out smiling. With every knock, I hoped it would be him, carrying a load of presents from an unannounced vacation. However, as I heard my mother’s tears every night, my illusions began to fade, my heart drained of hope and joy, and I became empty as well. Still empty, I sat at my computer one day in the spring, and an interesting opportunity flashed before me. The colors lit up my eyes with curiosity: HELP OTHERS FEEL WHOLE. Beneath it was the logo of the Southeast Health Center of Texas. I quickly penned an email asking some of my questions about the initiative. Days later, Dr. Jasmine Sulaiman flashed across my inbox as she offered to talk with me about the project. It would entail creating a massive database of resources to help all those who had some part of their lives missing, a healthcare plan, a place to sleep, a job, or even a guiding light. I sat back as I read the email. The man who was supposed to be a guiding light had disappeared. However, it was his absence that proved to guide me even more. Immediately, I typed back “Yes”. Across that summer, I took on the gargantuan task. At first, I sat at my computer and created a sheet, stratified by the different issues that the Center and I compiled. Multiplying the issues by the numerous counties resulted in a massive database, full of empty cells. I sat back again: This was my life. A feeling of emptiness. Full of problems. So, I decided to solve this issue the same way I solved the latter. With persevering optimism, I took on one issue at a time, finding smaller institutes working on the same issues. Just as I had gotten over the heartbreak of losing my father, I took the project one day at a time, sending countless emails daily, and despite the silence, there were moments of ecstasy as I began to fill up the database. For me, each resource I added felt like more than a link: it was a step at repairing a life, a step at taking away the anguish my family and I had felt since my father’s abrupt departure. In the end, I found four hundred patient resources regionwide, and the database became the bedrock of a program the Center runs today. Throughout the massive solo initiative, it was my one hardship that motivated me to help others end theirs. Though some of the pain of my hardship still resides within me today, I feel better knowing my work has helped many overcome theirs.

“Amma”, I called to my mom, “Pick a number!”. “Four”, she said back. “Pick another number.”, I asked again. “Okay… eleven.”, she responded. I picked up the remote and scrolled until I reached the image of a tall middle-aged woman in a pantsuit leaning against an ornate wooden desk, a huge American flag in the background. “Madam Secretary”, I said under my breath, Season four, episode eleven is… the episode about her navigating an agreement with Russia over the adoption of Russian orphans and finding out her daughter is dating her husband’s former intelligence asset… who is being hunted by Russian agents. That is the beautiful thing about my favorite show, which I first started watching in middle school when I became enthralled by a perfect mix of information and emotion. The show follows the meteoric rise of a former CIA analyst Elizabeth McCord, who is tapped to become the next U.S. Secretary of State after a sudden vacancy. Even if one does not love the foreign policy that the show informs the viewer in every episode, one falls in love with the character of Elizabeth McCord, who perfectly portrays a woman who slowly grows to excel as the nation’s top diplomat. Every episode is unique, filled with its own issue regarding foreign policy, from lighthearted battles like a diplomatic fight with China over its pandas to serious debates about the ethics of artificial intelligence in military weapons. Beyond Elizabeth’s work, the show also chronicles life outside of Washington politics. From start to finish, one can watch her kids, Alison, Stevie, and Jason grow from young children into forces of fashion, policy, and change throughout the five seasons of the show. The ethical plights of her husband Henry, a religious scholar in his teaching and intelligence affairs, shift between moral stories and suspense-filled operations that put viewers on the edge of their seats. Even with all these narratives going on, the wonderful storytelling blends them all into one cohesive storyline, making Elizabeth’s life relatable to any busy parent or adult, and her childrens’ lives comparable to any ambitious young individual. However, perhaps the most unique characteristic of Madam Secretary is not the storytelling, but the effect on the viewer. At the same time, one can enjoy it just as much as the regular drama, romance, or action genre show, for it has ample amounts of all, it does far more. It educates as much as it entertains, creating a sense of understanding of the issues that plague the nation and the world and offers inspiring solutions on how to solve those issues, together as a country and a society. It contextualizes such issues with daily life, showing the complex reactions within Washington’s circle of decision-makers, and all those who have to grapple with their choices. With its nuanced, and sometimes bold debates about the ethical and moral foundations of this nation, it serves as a shining example of what can be accomplished when policymakers put the people above partisanship. In all, Madam Secretary is a show by the people, by the people, an incredibly candid take on what kind of people we should aspire to be, and the nation we should aspire to live in.

“Calculus is for the cream of the crop”, my vibrant teacher Mr. Fred croaked in his deep North Dakotan drawl, “Right here, in this classroom, you will find every answer to your life”. The class chortled but Mr. Fred’s face didn’t change a bit. It soon became apparent that the words Mr. Fred uttered on that day were not fiction: for every concept, there was a corresponding analogy. For derivatives, there was the slope of our own lives, for integrals, it was our progress thus far; while some concepts received rather mundane analogies, others produced thoughts that persisted long after the bell rang. It was these discussions, these battles inside my head that made calculus just as much of a philosophy class as it was math. However, the next year, I sat in a well-lit long classroom with a man named Mr. Rosado who keenly taught physics, and as he scribbled derivatives and integrals and the like on his own board, he infused his own, more applied take on the discipline. On the first day, he remarked “Calculus was created by the father of modern physics, Isaac Newton.”, pausing for a few seconds, “It’s very fitting, as physics can be regarded as a study of change. He wrote on the board: change in position, of velocity, of acceleration, of momentum, and the like. Upon such a seemingly mundane revelation, I traveled to the library, and there I pored over the history of my new favorite subject, and I found there was much more than just a philosophical tinge. A whole world of STEM awaited calculus as the silver bullet to the issues of the field. I found calculus to be the bedrock of many of humankind’s most technical innovations: the studies of Newton and his theories were infused with the ideas he had birthed, the planetary motions of Kepler revolved around calculus; the revolutionary ideas of Einstein, the differential equations used in the mammoth atomic invention by Oppenheimer, and the hand-done calculations by extraordinary mathematicians who helped send the first humans into space all followed the same pattern. Today, calculus is used in everything, from the humanities to the sciences, and within the sciences, it is foundational to engineering, physics, chemistry, mathematics, and so many more fields. However, as I sat back in my chair upon understanding these revelations, I realized Mr. Fred was wrong. Calculus should not be for ‘cream of the crop’. If calculus was the reason for the world we live in today, it should be ubiquitous. Many languages divide us, yet math is its own lingua franca. With calculus, the world of STEM can solve more of humanity’s problems, with calculus as the most important educational tool for future generations of engineers, scientists, and all those who wish to make a change in this world. As I venture into Calculus III, and hopefully beyond, I hold this hope. The young men and women I will sit next to, learn from, and teach, will go on to be some of the greatest drivers of change in all of humankind. For it is calculus that will craft the next Newton, the next Einstein. With calculus in hand, find an integral of humankind’s achievements, and you shall see something Mr. Fred said very often: “The limit does not exist”.

My grandfather used to tell me “I am a polyglot. I know over ten languages.” When I asked him what they were, he could only speak two: Malayalam and English. However, he sai, “I can write algebra, geometry, general calculus, differential equations, statistics, game theory, and many more.” When I looked at him as if he had just thrown the hardest math problem in my face, he chuckled and flashed a cheeky smile, “You may know English, I may know Malayalam, the neighbors may know Spanish, but the world knows math.” It was through him that my love for math blossomed. As a third grader, I would do my math problems next to him as he pored over calculus, his own passion for math igniting my own. It soon became apparent that the words he had uttered were not fiction: math is a lingua franca in its own right, a way to communicate ideas, problems, passions, and hints of a new revelation that can change a field forever. The more I pored over math, the more I became entrenched with the history of it. From the idea of zero pioneered by ancient Indian civilization to the creation of al-gebra in the House of Wisdom in Baghdad, to calculus, an art form in its own right, I realized math is the reason for everything tangible. I sit in a library as I write this, and as I look around, I see it as such. Meticulous calculations determined the pillar structure needed to support the roof, decimal numbers guided me toward my next book, and numbers embedded in lines of code created my functioning computer. With math, the world can solve more of humanity’s problems, with its countless dialects as the most important educational tool for future generations of engineers, scientists, and all those who wish to make a change. The young men and women in my future math classes that I will sit next to, learn from, and teach, will go on to be some of the greatest drivers of change in all of humankind. For it is math that will craft the next Newton, the next Einstein. With math in hand, one can find an integral of humankind’s achievements, and you shall see something my beloved calculus teacher Mr. Fred said very often: “The limit does not exist”.

I still remember the light of Hyde Park, my eyes scouring the horizon for a glimpse of Kensington Palace. My mother, an avid traveler, frequently muses, "Travel is the only investment yielding enriched wealth, expanding one's horizons." Over the years, my mind has been broadened; its evolution is often imperceptible in the moment, yet vividly evident in retrospect. Fond memories arise – the delectable churros near Sagrada Familia, the succulent cherry tomatoes at a quaint Madrid eatery, the post-rain stroll fish and chips in London, and the delight of a Dairy Queen banana split in Seattle. These experiences, seemingly simple, have profoundly shaped my worldview. Each bite of foreign cuisine, each conversation with locals, has been a stepping stone in my journey of personal growth. The churros in Barcelona weren't just a treat for my taste buds; they were a gateway to understanding the rich tapestry of Spanish culture. The fish and chips in London, enjoyed amidst the pitter-patter of rain, taught me about British resilience and the comfort found in tradition. Nourishing an appetite for global flavors and cultures, I delight in immersing myself in the diverse cuisines this planet has to offer. Each travel experience has challenged me to step out of my comfort zone, fostering adaptability and problem-solving skills I never knew I possessed. Navigating the labyrinthine streets of Madrid or deciphering London's complex tube system has honed my cognitive flexibility, a skill that I know will serve me well in my future medical career. My enthusiasm for worldly experiences goes far beyond taste buds. By exploring the world, I can begin to contribute to great changes. These programs bring together students from every discipline, creating an experience tied together by curiosity and a conviction to create change. The diversity of perspectives I've encountered through travel has deepened my empathy and cultural sensitivity. I've learned that healthcare challenges in Seattle can differ vastly from those in rural Spain, and this understanding fuels my passion for global health equity. This fall, at the University of Texas at Austin, I plan to join many organizations such as Global Medical Brigades and Doctors Without Borders. These organizations focusing on improving medicine and healthcare in underserved communities, specifically in Latin American countries. However, trips to these countries take funding from the members; as the son of a single mother with another child in college, I am not sure if I will be able to afford to go on these expeditions to help expand medical infrastructure in the Southern hemisphere. Every experience in these types of programs will allow me to invest more of myself into creating a framework for equitable medicine, and allow me to further enrich my understanding of cultures across the globe. I believe that true transformation comes not just from observing different cultures, but from actively engaging with them. Whether it's learning a new language to better communicate with patients or understanding local customs to provide culturally sensitive care, I'm eager to embrace these challenges.

Imagine the mind entrenched in a prison of worry, the body aching, trapped in a small flat, and more issues just outside the door. Imagine having an incurable illness, at least in their country. Imagine being unable to go to treatment because a pandemic rages on, the state of residence the epicenter of the virus. Imagine that this pandemic could’ve ended long ago if the central government had been more worried about protecting its citizens from COVID-19 than punishing the state government for its communist ideologies. This was the final chapter of my grandmother, Ammomma, that occurred in the most literate state in India: Kerala. Her struggles opened my eyes to medical inequities, precipitated by a combination of technological deficits and governmental malpractice. This is not only an issue in India or any other country in the developing world, but one that is prevalent even in the United States, and is one that I have been attempting to understand and help tackle. To this end, I plan to pursue a major in Public Health, specializing in biostatistics. Statistics is like a language, a key to endless locks, whether in the classroom, in the pathology reports I read while shadowing, in the papers I sorted through at my hospital internships, or in the research I hope to do in biostatistics one day. Using this tool, I aspire to find correlations and create new pathways for underserved communities. Furthermore, a major in Public Health will unlock new opportunities for enrichment wherever I go to school. Whether that’s at Northwestern, working with Operation Asha to alleviate the issues that those in the southside of Chicago face, or in Texas’ capitol, at UT Austin, working with MedLife to eradicate medical deserts in Texas' rural areas. I've been closely involved with rural clinics like the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database that helped families without the financial means to afford quality healthcare get some of the help they need. To create more awareness, I wrote articles about medical inequity and shared my concerns with Texas Children’s Hospital staff during my summer internship. This is an issue that must be combatted. Countless people across the world have their own Ammomma, and together, through leadership and policy reform, we can save them. Apart from these endeavors, I’ve also created two nonprofits, The Kosmos Project and the Scalpel. The latter is a youth medicinal journal fostering medicinal interest in the community; the Kosmos Project specializes in enviro-economic research and other initiatives. I only hope to continue this at the college I attend next fall. As a prospective pediatric orthopedic surgeon, my heartfelt desire is for each and every child or parent who enters the hospital to be able to set aside worries and find a serene space to unwind and fully focus on their path to recovery and well-being. With the memories of my grandmother's ordeal igniting a fervent flame within me, I aspire to become a beacon of hope in the healthcare domain, helping to create a world where each touch, each diagnosis, and each treatment is infused with empathy, erasing the shadows of inequity and suffering. Whether it's contributing to my son's flag football team's victory in the broad daylight of a Sunday morning or saving lives in the operating room at 4 AM on a Wednesday, I aim to make a beneficial difference. I once expressed in an FBLA presentation, "Money may come and go, but the memories of helping others last forever." This quote encapsulates the ethos I wish to personify as I continue on my life's journey.

Imagine the mind entrenched in a prison of worry, the body aching, trapped in a small flat, and more issues just outside the door. Imagine having an incurable illness, at least in their country. Imagine being unable to go to treatment because a pandemic rages on, the state of residence the epicenter of the virus. Imagine that this pandemic could’ve ended long ago if the central government had been more worried about protecting its citizens from COVID-19 than punishing the state government for its communist ideologies. This was the final chapter of my grandmother, Ammomma, that occurred in the most literate state in India: Kerala. Her struggles opened my eyes to medical inequities, precipitated by a combination of technological deficits and governmental malpractice. This is not only an issue in India or any other country in the developing world, but one that is prevalent even in the United States, and is one that I have been attempting to understand and help tackle. To these ends, I plan to pursue a major in Public Health, specializing in biostatistics. Statistics is like a language, a key to endless locks, whether in the classroom, in the pathology reports I read while shadowing, in the papers I sorted through at my hospital internships, or in the research I hope to do in biostatistics one day. Using this tool, I aspire to find correlations and create new pathways for underserved communities. Furthermore, a major in Public Health will unlock new opportunities for enrichment wherever I go to school. Whether that’s at Northwestern, working with Operation Asha to alleviate the issues that those in the southside of Chicago face or in Texas’ capitol, at UT Austin, working with MedLife to eradicate medical deserts in Texas' rural areas. I've been closely involved with rural clinics like the Health Center of Southeast Texas, where I created a database that helped families without the financial means to afford quality healthcare get some of the help they need. To create more awareness, I wrote articles about medical inequity and shared my concerns with Texas Children’s Hospital staff during my summer internship. This is an issue that must be combatted. Countless people across the world have their own Ammomma, and together, through leadership and policy reform, we can save them. As a prospective pediatric orthopedic surgeon, my heartfelt desire is for each and every child or parent who enters the hospital to be able to set aside worries and find a serene space to unwind and fully focus on their path to recovery and well-being. With the memories of my grandmother's ordeal igniting a fervent flame within me, I aspire to become a beacon of hope in the healthcare domain, helping to create a world where each touch, each diagnosis, and each treatment is infused with empathy, erasing the shadows of inequity and suffering. Looking ahead, my aspiration is to be certain that my actions, both past and future, have had a positive effect on people's lives. Whether it's contributing to my son's flag football team's victory in the broad daylight of a Sunday morning or saving lives in the operating room at 4 AM on a Wednesday, I aim to make a beneficial difference. I once expressed in an FBLA presentation, in response to a judge's question, "Money may come and go, but the memories of helping others last forever, and that's the legacy I strive to leave." This quote encapsulates the ethos I wish to personify as I continue on my life's journey.