I grew up in a household where my mother was both parents. For fourteen years she raised me without child support, carrying the full responsibility of supporting our family in one of the most expensive parts of New York. Every bill, every unexpected expense, every decision about how to stretch what we had fell on her shoulders. She worked constantly, often leaving early and returning home exhausted, because she believed her job was not only to keep us afloat but to make sure I had opportunities she never did. What made her sacrifices even greater was that she was protecting me from more than financial hardship. My father struggled with schizophrenia and drug addiction, and instead of bringing stability into our lives, he often brought fear. There were periods when he would send angry, unpredictable messages—late-night texts filled with confusion and hostility that would appear on my mother’s phone without warning. As a child, I did not always understand what was happening, but I understood the tension that filled the room when those messages arrived. My mother never let that chaos define our home. She handled it quietly. She dealt with the stress, the uncertainty, and the responsibility of keeping us safe while still making sure that my childhood felt normal. She showed up to my school events, asked about my classes, and encouraged my interests even when she had just finished long hours at work. Looking back now, I realize how much strength it must have taken to carry that weight alone. She never framed our situation as something tragic. Instead, she framed it as something we would overcome. She taught me that difficult circumstances do not excuse giving up on your goals or on the people who depend on you. Watching her push forward through exhaustion taught me that resilience is not a dramatic act—it is a daily decision. Growing up in that environment shaped how I approach my future. I learned early that stability and opportunity are not guaranteed; they are built through effort and persistence. Every opportunity I have today exists because my mother refused to let our circumstances define my future. In the future, I want to use my talents to help others the way she helped me. My interests lie in engineering and technology, fields that allow people to solve real problems and improve lives. Whether designing tools that make communities safer, developing technology that increases accessibility, or mentoring students who may not yet see themselves in technical fields, I want my work to open doors. I am especially passionate about mentorship and education. Many students with curiosity and talent never receive the encouragement or resources they need to pursue careers in science and engineering. I want to help create spaces where young people can discover what they are capable of. The example my mother set guides everything I hope to accomplish. She showed me that strength is not loud or dramatic. It is the quiet determination to keep showing up when life becomes difficult. Because of her, I understand that one person’s perseverance can shape another person’s future. My goal is to carry that lesson forward and use the opportunities she fought to give me to help others build futures of their own.

I grew up in a household where my mother was both parents. For fourteen years she raised me without child support, carrying the full responsibility of supporting our family in one of the most expensive parts of New York. Every bill, every unexpected expense, every decision about how to stretch what we had fell on her shoulders. She worked constantly, often leaving early and returning home exhausted, because she believed her job was not only to keep us afloat but to make sure I had opportunities she never did. What made her sacrifices even greater was that she was protecting me from more than financial hardship. My father struggled with schizophrenia and drug addiction, and instead of bringing stability into our lives, he often brought fear. There were periods when he would send angry, unpredictable messages—late-night texts filled with confusion and hostility that would appear on my mother’s phone without warning. As a child, I did not always understand what was happening, but I understood the tension that filled the room when those messages arrived. My mother never let that chaos define our home. She handled it quietly. She dealt with the stress, the uncertainty, and the responsibility of keeping us safe while still making sure that my childhood felt normal. She showed up to my school events, asked about my classes, and encouraged my interests even when she had just finished long hours at work. Looking back now, I realize how much strength it must have taken to carry that weight alone. She never framed our situation as something tragic. Instead, she framed it as something we would overcome. She taught me that difficult circumstances do not excuse giving up on your goals or on the people who depend on you. Watching her push forward through exhaustion taught me that resilience is not a dramatic act—it is a daily decision. Growing up in that environment shaped how I approach my future. I learned early that stability and opportunity are not guaranteed; they are built through effort and persistence. Every opportunity I have today exists because my mother refused to let our circumstances define my future. In the future, I want to use my talents to help others the way she helped me. My interests lie in engineering and technology, fields that allow people to solve real problems and improve lives. Whether designing tools that make communities safer, developing technology that increases accessibility, or mentoring students who may not yet see themselves in technical fields, I want my work to open doors. I am especially passionate about mentorship and education. Many students with curiosity and talent never receive the encouragement or resources they need to pursue careers in science and engineering. I want to help create spaces where young people can discover what they are capable of. The example my mother set guides everything I hope to accomplish. She showed me that strength is not loud or dramatic. It is the quiet determination to keep showing up when life becomes difficult. Because of her, I understand that one person’s perseverance can shape another person’s future. My goal is to carry that lesson forward and use the opportunities she fought to give me to help others build futures of their own.

As an aspiring mechanical engineer, I strive to advance humanity by turning ambitious ideas into reliable systems. I am drawn to the hardest problems because they demand both imagination and discipline: modeling, prototyping, testing, and iterating until a design performs safely in the real world. I’m motivated by problems that unite diverse teams and raise the ceiling for what future generations can achieve. The day after I turned three, Hurricane Irene ripped through my town. It flooded our home with raw sewage, destroyed everything, and left me sleeping on unfamiliar floors. But there cannot be light without darkness, and in the aftermath, I learned how to weather a storm. Two years later, my father, struggling with addiction and mental illness, left. My grandfather, a tradesman who had been fighting through adversity far longer than I had been alive, stepped up in his absence. He taught me the importance of leadership and love, of standing tall not just for yourself but for others who cannot. When he passed in June 2021, after battling cancer caused by 9/11 from Ground Zero and then Covid, I lost the only father I had ever known. I’ve been told “you can’t” more times than I can count. In elementary school, my neurodivergence and disabilities were discovered, and with the label came barriers and assumptions that because I was different, I couldn’t excel. I was denied entrance to advanced classes, so I pushed. I challenged, I advocated, and earned my place. More importantly, I helped open a door for other students in special education. The same pattern followed me through high school. Again and again, I was told advanced classes were “too much” or “not the right fit.” And again, I proved that wasn’t true. Over and over, I turned setbacks into pathways, creating roads to be walked upon by more than just my own two feet. I now realize that fighting for access was only one catalyst in my evolution. The other is being a creator—building bridges above the rubble of barriers I had broken down. Engineering became a natural extension of this drive. However, it was when I worked with Kiwimbi International that I saw how far this impact could go. We partnered with Saint Thomas Amagoro Girls’ School in Kenya to develop and provide STEM resources and lessons. I found myself leading the creation of instructional materials for both students and teachers. Their team later won their national competition, and in their victory, I found purpose. I realized this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life: to help build what others believe is impossible. I want to study engineering not just to build machines, but to build opportunities for everyone still being told: “you can’t.” I want to enter public service because I have seen firsthand how one person can change a system, and how leadership and service can transform a community. As someone who has had to fight simply to gain access—not to something special, but to things such as a math class offered at my high school—and to take on this fight again and again, I am determined to create entry points and pathways for others. I know that in a small way, I have left a legacy for other neurodiverse students with disabilities to join clubs and take classes at my high school, but I feel a calling to scale this work throughout my life. Like John Rowe Jr., I am determined to continue making a difference not just for myself, but for others.