My educational goal is to complete my Bachelor’s degree in Marketing at Howard University and then pursue a Master’s degree in Film at the USC School of Cinematic Arts. Education has always represented more than a career path to me—it has been a gateway to possibilities that once felt out of reach. Growing up in Northeast Portland, Oregon, many Black and Brown children were not exposed to the same opportunities that I have been fortunate enough to experience since attending Howard University. We often grew up seeing our white peers become doctors, lawyers, and business leaders, while people who looked like us were rarely shown those same possibilities. As a young Black girl, I often felt limited by both my environment and the resources available to me. There were times when I questioned whether the dreams I had for myself were realistic or attainable. So, I had very little expectations when starting my education at Howard. Young Draia could never have imagined the opportunities I have today. Because of that, I feel a deep responsibility to give back to my community and to other underrepresented communities. I want young people to know that their dreams are valid, regardless of where they come from or what obstacles they face. I have had the opportunity to return home and speak on panels at my former schools, assisting students with scholarship applications, college applications, and navigating higher education. My goal was never just to encourage students to attend college—it was to encourage them to think beyond the limitations they may have been taught to accept and to believe that they belong in any room, industry, or profession they aspire to enter. I have also participated in Howard University’s Alternative Spring Break program, where I was assigned to work with schools in Nashville, Tennessee. During that experience, I spoke with high school students about my journey to college, the challenges I faced, and the opportunities that education has provided me. Being able to serve as an example for younger students reinforced my desire to dedicate my life to uplifting others. My professional goals are equally centered on creating opportunities for underrepresented communities, particularly Black women. One day, I hope to own my own production company: Shelmor Productions, where I can produce and write television shows and films that tell meaningful stories. I want Black women to be portrayed in a multitude of ways—experiencing love without pain, success without limitations, and beauty across every shade and background. I want audiences to see complex, authentic stories that reflect the diversity of our experiences and remind people that they are worthy of being seen. Over the past year, I have also faced significant health challenges. Although doctors are still working to determine the exact diagnosis, they know that my condition is autoimmune in nature. During one severe flare-up, I lost the ability to walk, do my hair, and even eat independently. The experience was physically painful and emotionally devastating. It forced me to confront feelings of isolation, uncertainty, and fear that I had never experienced before. However, it also transformed me. I began channeling those emotions into creativity and storytelling. Through that journey, I realized how powerful it is to feel understood and how healing it can be to see your experiences reflected in the stories around you. While at Howard, I pursued a Film, Television, and Media Studies minor. Although I eventually had to drop the minor due to financial circumstances, the courses I completed taught me invaluable lessons about storytelling, production, and how media can impact audiences. Those experiences strengthened my passion for creating work that comforts, inspires, and empowers others. I believe this scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing my education at Howard University while bringing me one step closer to achieving my long-term goals. More importantly, it would help me continue using my experiences, education, and creativity to make others feel seen, valued, and hopeful. My journey has taught me that representation matters, opportunity matters, and sometimes all it takes is one person believing in you to change the course of your life. I hope to be that person for others.

Growing up in Northeast Portland, Oregon, I always stood out. Not in the ways people typically think—not just because I was often the only Black girl in my classes, or sometimes the darkest or the poorest—but because I had an unexplainable ambition. I always had this constant urge to leave the environment I grew up in and create something more for myself. A lot of the Black and Brown kids around me didn’t know how to escape, and I don’t blame them. Up until I attended my current HBCU, Howard University, I didn’t know how to leave either. Being a young Black girl with vitiligo patches, raised by a single mom, and having dreams people saw as unrealistic made me feel different in every space I entered. I tried hard to fit in, but it never felt possible. After my best friend passed away in middle school, I found myself turning to writing as a way to cope. I wrote poems, diary entries, stories, and eventually scripts. Writing became my outlet and my way of making sense of everything I was feeling. It wasn’t until I came to Howard University, where I now study marketing with a minor in film and media, that I learned how to turn that creativity into something structured and purposeful. I began to see how storytelling and marketing could work together—not just to entertain, but to connect, inspire, and reach people on a deeper level. By then, I had already written several stories, but I didn’t fully understand their purpose until recently. This past summer, I experienced a severe autoimmune flare-up for a condition that has yet to be diagnosed that completely changed my life. I wasn’t able to walk, stand on my own, or function independently. It left me feeling extremely isolated and depressed. I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts, imagining the life I wanted to return to once I regained my strength. During that time, I realized that my experiences—both the pain and the growth—were shaping me for a reason. My loneliness, my struggles, and my healing all became sources of inspiration. They pushed me to create stories that could help other people going through similar situations feel seen and understood, especially those who are creative, passionate, or living with chronic illness. As I continue to regain my strength and move forward in my education, my goal is to channel my life experiences into scriptwriting and production. I want to create films and television that comfort people, especially young Black women and others who feel overlooked or misunderstood. Through my major in marketing, I also hope to learn how to effectively share these stories with the world, making sure they reach the people who need them most. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to take more courses within my film and media minor, helping me better understand the cinematic industry and strengthen my technical and creative skills. It would also ease the financial burden of my education, allowing me to focus more on my growth, my health, and my purpose. Ultimately, my goal is to use storytelling as a way to make people feel less alone. I want to turn my experiences into something that brings comfort, representation, and connection to others—and this scholarship would be a meaningful step in helping me get there.

If given the opportunity to improve my community, I would create more opportunities for kids to explore the many fields they could pursue — and give them hands-on experiences to make those dreams feel possible. Growing up in Northeast Portland, Oregon, where the community is just as small as the opportunities, many of us don’t see a path beyond becoming a teacher, counselor, retail worker, or bus driver — including me. We were taught convenience more than ambition, which equated to settling for a simpler life with no dreams attached; especially as Black and brown students. That mindset left many kids who didn’t see themselves in those fields feeling discouraged, leading some to turn to the streets, sell drugs, or end up in jail. This cycle has always disappointed me and made me wish I could instill in them the belief that they have power — that the world is so much bigger than the blocks we grew up on and the small-minded thinking that surrounded us. For me, my mother — an HBCU graduate — always encouraged me to follow in her footsteps so I wouldn’t settle for a life or career that didn’t reflect my true potential. Attending Howard University in the fall of 2023 completely changed my life and perspective. In a course called Business Orientation, CEOs from around the world came to speak about leadership, entrepreneurship, and their journeys to success. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by thriving Black professionals who inspired me beyond words. Their bags were expensive, their cars were new, and their watches twinkled as they spoke. But it was more than the luxury that caught my eye; they represented possibility. These were people who looked like me, who came from communities like mine, and who proved that success doesn’t make you unrelatable — it makes you an example. That realization shifted something in me. From that moment on I was inspired to be that example for my community to hopefully shift their mindset as well, and eventually provide opportunities for them to gain a similar experience to mine. I quickly added a minor in Film and TV, aligning my path with my passion and purpose. Now, my drive and determination are stronger than ever. My biggest dream is for kids back home to experience that same awakening — to see the dream so they can believe it. I want them to know that success isn’t easy, and it takes hard work, but it’s possible. We are all capable of becoming something greater than just being another kid from Northeast Portland who settled for something below their potential.

Going to a Historically Black College or University (HBCU) aligns greatly with my educational goals because it offers a great/ supportive, empowering environment where I can grow academically and personally. I want to be surrounded by individuals who share similar cultural experiences and values, and I believe HBCUs foster a sense of community that inspires success. My sister currently x Howard University, and watching her thrive there and build a sense of belonging has had a major impact on my own ambitions. Seeing her excel in her studies, build lifelong connections, and take pride in her identity motivates me to follow a similar path. Her journey has shown me that HBCUs do more than educate—they uplift, challenge, and prepare students to lead and succeed. I want to experience that same encouragement and legacy. My sister often shares her exciting experiences, from engaging in classroom discussions to campus traditions that celebrate Black excellence, and it excites me to imagine being part of that world. Attending an HBCU would give me the academic foundation I need while surrounding me with mentors and peers who inspire greatness. Ultimately, going to an HBCU isn’t just about where I’ll learn—it’s about being part of a legacy that continues to motivate me, just like my sister and my mom do every day.

“Draia, why do you think God lets people experience pain?” my therapist said to me during one of our sessions summer 2025. I’d just got done explaining to her the unbearable pain of my, at the time, undiagnosed disease that was causing me my first ever auto-immune flare up. I hadn’t been able to walk, sit up, stand, feed myself, or keep food down in almost two months by that point. The doctors assumed it could be anything from Lupus to Lymphoma. I pleaded with God when it first started to heal me as soon as possible just so I could get back to my life — I was finally starting to live again. I mean, I felt like I’d been through enough for a 20-year-old; parents divorced at 7, chronically ill mom, lost my auntie at 12, best friend at 13, homeless at 15, kicked out at 19 — I didn’t need any more college essay topics to write about. But this obstacle hurt in more ways than one; I was at my lowest and primarily incapacitated. My lower back and wrists ached as I slowly yawned in the chair staring at the small square showing my therapist's face, waiting for an answer. “For the Glory of God,” I responded matter-of-factly. I didn’t even mean to say it, but it made sense to. She asked me to elaborate. I told her the pain and hardships we watch each other go through as humans is proof of God's work. We witness these miracles that motivate us and give us faith to persevere once we face struggles of our own. Then that's when it hit me — my story wasn’t just for me. Even before my diagnosis, my goal post-graduation was to create my own production company producing films and TV shows that comfort those going through strife. My experience this summer made that motive more intentional and personal to me. I want what I create to give those that feel like God has dealt them an unfair hand in life the chance to see my story and feel empowered; for them to know God hasn’t given up on them and never will. Today, I can walk, sit up, stand, feed myself, and keep food down — things I once prayed for without knowing if I’d ever do them again. My heart still sits heavy at times remembering what I endured this summer, and every day is a different battle I choose to let God fight. The pain, the healing, the faith — they all pushed me toward my purpose. I want my production company to create films and TV shows that remind people they are not defined by their struggles but by how they rise from them. If even one person sees my work and realizes that God hasn’t forgotten them, that their story is still being written, then every flare, every unanswered question, and every sleepless night will have been worth it. Because I’ve learned that sometimes, God allows us to be broken — not to destroy us, but to rebuild us into something stronger. And I’m still being rebuilt, one frame, one story, and one answered prayer at a time.

November 2025 — my sophomore year of college — I saw a flyer to try out for my school’s newest stroll team. I was ecstatic. I hadn’t danced in three years or performed for anyone besides my mom in what felt like forever. Growing up, dance and cheerleading were my outlets, my confidence boosters, and my safe space. It came naturally to me, and everyone could tell. I had prayed countless times for God to give me one more opportunity to dance again, and finally, that moment had arrived. I didn’t make the majorette or cheer teams when I first got to campus, but I stayed motivated, believing my time would come. When tryouts finally arrived, I was nervous but determined. My roommate Bobbi spent hours helping me practice different stroll moves, and when I made the team, we celebrated together. It felt like my prayers had been answered. Then, everything changed. During Thanksgiving break, I was choreographing a routine that required doing the splits — something I hadn’t done in years. The moment I hit the ground, I felt a sharp pain and couldn’t get back up. My knee swelled instantly, and within weeks, I had a limp that wouldn’t go away. Months passed, and my condition worsened; the pain had miraculously spread to the rest of my body. After countless doctor visits, bloodwork, and MRIs, I learned something I never expected: they suspected an autoimmune disease flare-up. By the end of May, after more lab work and consultations, I was diagnosed with Adult-Onset Still’s Disease, a rare autoimmune disorder affecting one in a million people. Suddenly, I couldn’t walk or sit up without help. I lost my appetite, my energy, and overall functionality. The thing that once gave me so much confidence — my ability to dance — was gone, and the thought of returning to school felt impossible. I became someone I didn’t recognize or understand. At one point, I thought I couldn’t keep going. I had lost all hope that I’d ever be the same Draia again. But my mom sat me down and said something that shifted everything: “If you give up, so will your body.” That stayed with me. From that day forward, there was no question — I was going back to school. People around me said I should take a semester or even a year off, but I knew in my heart that God wanted me to try — to keep going despite my obstacles. I started making an effort, little by little, to push myself to move, regain strength, and prepare my mind and body to return to campus. I read Psalm 91 almost every night during my flare-up. I needed reminders of who God is, that He is my refuge, and that no matter what I felt–I wasn’t alone. I truly believe God is guiding me, showing me my life wasn’t on pause forever.My faith told me this wasn’t a punishment but a part of my testimony. Now, I’m back on campus, still overcoming the obstacle; still managing pills, swelling, and fatigue — but I’m here by the grace of God. Everyday is a different battle I chose to let God fight. I’m trusting His plan over mine, believing that my perseverance is leading me to my purpose. This experience has strengthened my faith, my resilience, and my commitment to graduate college no matter what. With the support of this scholarship, I can continue to pursue my education, focus on my future, and live out my testimony — one step, one prayer, and one act of grace at a time.

My name is Draia Shelton. I’m 20 years old, born and raised in the hippiest part of the world—Portland, Oregon, or as I like to call it, the City of Roses. I’ve got two wonderful parents who decided to split when I was seven, a little sister I basically raised, and three best friends—Skans, Kam, and Bobbi—who’ve all saved my life in some way. Up until a few months ago, I was your average 20-year-old. I’m obsessed with TikTok and SZA. I love McDonald’s. I procrastinate too much. I’m always doing my hair or makeup. I’m a passionate dancer—it’s where I feel most alive—and I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression here and there. But I always had my outlets: books, music, movement. Things that helped me feel whole. I attend Howard University—one of the most prestigious HBCUs in the world—where I study marketing and film. My dream? To create my own production company and tell stories that make young Black girls feel seen, heard, and comforted. But in May of 2025, everything shifted. It started during a dance team tryout. My knee gave out, but I assumed it was minor—just one of those things. Except the pain didn’t stop. It spread. Knees, ankles, wrists, fingers, neck. I could barely walk, eat, think, or sleep. I was stuck in a loop of pain with no answers. My body felt like it was failing me—and no one could explain why. I held on to hope in the quietest ways: a verse someone whispered on TikTok, a voice note from a friend, the right song at the right moment. But no playlist or makeup look could ease what I was feeling. After two months of wheelchairs, crutches, tears, and unanswered questions, doctors finally gave it a name: Adult-Onset Still’s Disease. A rare autoimmune condition. It was a relief just to know what I was fighting—but I wasn’t the same girl anymore. I now live with more gratitude—for mobility, for function—but also with a deeper purpose. Before AOSD, I wanted to make films that inspired. Now, I want to make films that heal. I want to reach the girls who thought life was over when God decided they couldn’t be “normal” anymore. I want them to see themselves on screen—not as broken, but as soft, radiant survivors. I want to turn my pain into beauty—and help them do the same. That’s why this scholarship matters. It’s more than just support—it’s fuel for this new chapter. It would allow me to continue my education at Howard without financial stress and prepare me to tell stories that matter. Stories that remind people they aren’t alone. Outside of the classroom, I’ve made it a point to return to the schools in my hometown. I’ve spoken to students about college, chasing dreams, attending an HBCU, and believing there’s more out there beyond our tight-knit Portland communities. I love talking to kids, seeing their faces light up when they realize someone who looks like them did it—and is still doing it. I’ve always felt called to inspire, but now my story carries something even more powerful. And I think this new chapter will help me reach even more hearts. This pain gave me a new voice. This journey gave me new eyes. And with the support of this scholarship, I’ll continue turning all of it—every detour, diagnosis, and dance I couldn’t finish—into something beautiful.

Born and raised in Northeast Portland, Oregon—a place filled with beauty, resilience, and creativity, yet often overlooked when it comes to opportunity and representation. Growing up, I didn’t see many people who looked like me in the spaces I wanted to enter. I didn’t have a clear example of what success could look like for someone like me—Black, ambitious, artistic, and from a city not known for its entertainment industry. It wasn’t until I came to Howard University that I realized just how much I had been missing. Being surrounded by powerful, driven, and inspiring Black creatives helped me see not only what’s possible for my future, but what’s necessary for my community. My upbringing shaped my passion for storytelling. Coming from a household shaped by divorce, responsibility, and high expectations, I often turned to television and media as a form of comfort. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the shows and stories that made me feel seen and safe were doing more than entertaining me—they were helping me survive. That’s when I knew that one day, I wanted to be a creator of that same comfort for someone else. My love for storytelling is rooted in the desire to make people feel less alone, to give them space to breathe, laugh, cry, and heal. Now as a marketing major and film & television minor at Howard, I am building the skills and knowledge to turn that passion into a lifelong purpose. I’m not just here to make content—I’m here to build a legacy. I want to create meaningful and comforting bodies of work that speak to the experiences of people who have been told they’re too emotional, too different, or too late to achieve their dreams. Through my writing, production, and community work, I want to be the example I didn’t have growing up—the one I didn’t even know I needed until I was surrounded by others doing it for themselves. That’s why this scholarship means more to me than just financial support. It represents a step forward in my mission to give back to the place that raised me. I plan to launch my own media company, Shelmor Productions, and make its headquarters in Portland. I want young, ambitious, creative people from NE Portland to look at me and say, “If she can, I know I can.” Because I never had that growing up. I want to be that visual reminder that success doesn’t have a zip code, and dreams don’t expire at 18. One of the first initiatives I plan to launch through Shelmor Productions is an annual music and arts festival in my hometown. It will feature local talent, provide performance and networking opportunities, and spotlight the creativity that exists in our community but rarely gets the recognition it deserves. Portland has so many hidden gems—musicians, writers, dancers, designers—and I want to create platforms that uplift them and put our city on the cultural map. I should be selected for this scholarship because I carry not only my own dreams but the hopes of an entire community that often goes unseen. I am committed to creating impact—not just through what I build professionally, but in the way I choose to lead, give back, and stay rooted in my story. My journey is personal, but it’s not just about me. It’s about every young person from a small, quiet, or doubted place who needs someone to show them they’re not alone, they’re not too late, and they’re more than enough. I plan to be that person—for them, for my city, and for the world.

Born and raised in Northeast Portland, Oregon—a place filled with beauty, resilience, and creativity, yet often overlooked when it comes to opportunity and representation. Growing up, I didn’t see many people who looked like me in the spaces I wanted to enter. I didn’t have a clear example of what success could look like for someone like me—Black, ambitious, artistic, and from a city not known for its entertainment industry. It wasn’t until I came to Howard University that I realized just how much I had been missing. Being surrounded by powerful, driven, and inspiring Black creatives helped me see not only what’s possible for my future, but what’s necessary for my community. My upbringing shaped my passion for storytelling. Coming from a household shaped by divorce, responsibility, and high expectations, I often turned to television and media as a form of comfort. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the shows and stories that made me feel seen and safe were doing more than entertaining me—they were helping me survive. That’s when I knew that one day, I wanted to be a creator of that same comfort for someone else. My love for storytelling is rooted in the desire to make people feel less alone, to give them space to breathe, laugh, cry, and heal. Now as a marketing major and film & television minor at Howard, I am building the skills and knowledge to turn that passion into a lifelong purpose. I’m not just here to make content—I’m here to build a legacy. I want to create meaningful and comforting bodies of work that speak to the experiences of people who have been told they’re too emotional, too different, or too late to achieve their dreams. Through my writing, production, and community work, I want to be the example I didn’t have growing up—the one I didn’t even know I needed until I was surrounded by others doing it for themselves. That’s why this scholarship means more to me than just financial support. It represents a step forward in my mission to give back to the place that raised me. I plan to launch my own media company, Shelmor Productions, and make its headquarters in Portland. I want young, ambitious, creative people from NE Portland to look at me and say, “If she can, I know I can.” Because I never had that growing up. I want to be that visual reminder that success doesn’t have a zip code, and dreams don’t expire at 18. One of the first initiatives I plan to launch through Shelmor Productions is an annual music and arts festival in my hometown. It will feature local talent, provide performance and networking opportunities, and spotlight the creativity that exists in our community but rarely gets the recognition it deserves. Portland has so many hidden gems—musicians, writers, dancers, designers—and I want to create platforms that uplift them and put our city on the cultural map. I should be selected for this scholarship because I carry not only my own dreams but the hopes of an entire community that often goes unseen. I am committed to creating impact—not just through what I build professionally, but in the way I choose to lead, give back, and stay rooted in my story. My journey is personal, but it’s not just about me. It’s about every young person from a small, quiet, or doubted place who needs someone to show them they’re not alone, they’re not too late, and they’re more than enough. I plan to be that person—for them, for my city, and for the world.

My name is Draia Shelton, and I’m a marketing major and film and television minor at Howard University. I’m originally from Portland, Oregon, and from a young age, I’ve always had a deep passion for storytelling and helping others feel seen, valued, and understood. My journey hasn’t been easy, but the challenges I’ve faced have shaped not only who I am but also what I feel called to do in this world. At thirteen, I experienced a heartbreak that shifted the course of my life. One of my closest friends, Qunisha, took her own life over spring break. The shock and grief that followed were unlike anything I had ever known. I lost her, and soon after, the rest of my friend group stopped speaking to me without any explanation. That season of isolation and confusion led me into a deep depression. I withdrew from the world around me, barely able to hold conversations or stay present in class. But even in the midst of that pain, I found something that would carry me forward—my faith in God. In that lonely and difficult time, I turned to prayer, scripture, and reflection. Matthew 6:34—“Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself”—became my anchor. God became my safe space, my healer, and my strength. And in the quiet moments of grief, I discovered something else: my creativity. I started writing—poems, songs, stories—pouring all my emotions into the page. Through writing, I realized I had a voice. I had something to say. But for a long time, I didn’t believe in myself enough to share it with the world. Coming to Howard changed that. Being surrounded by driven, talented Black students helped me see the value in my own story. I found community, inspiration, and purpose. I started taking my creative gifts seriously and began thinking about how I could use them to make a real impact. That’s when I started dreaming of Shelmor Productions—my future media and production company, named after my last name and rooted in love, healing, and purpose. My goal with Shelmor Productions is to create films, series, and digital content that comfort and empower people, especially young Black women who feel like they don’t belong, aren’t enough, or are silently struggling. I want to tell stories that reflect the real and raw experiences we go through—stories of heartbreak, growth, faith, and joy. I want my work to be a mirror and a message: you are not alone, and your story matters. In addition to my creative passions, I’m also committed to building my foundation in marketing. I believe that knowing how to strategically promote, brand, and connect with audiences is just as important as creating the content itself. My studies at Howard are helping me sharpen those skills and prepare me for the business side of media so I can build something that lasts and reaches those who need it most. Ultimately, I hope to be a light in a world that can feel incredibly dark. I want to use my voice and my vision to remind people of their worth, their power, and the beauty of their journey. I want to honor the people I’ve lost by lifting up the ones who are still here. Through my studies, my creativity, and my faith, I plan to make a positive impact—one story, one person, one moment at a time.

When I was 13 years old, my life changed in a way I could have never prepared for. Over spring break, one of my closest friends, Qunisha, took her own life. The moment I heard the news, it felt like my world cracked open. It wasn’t just the pain of losing someone I loved—it was the confusion, the unanswered questions, and the silence that followed. My entire brain chemistry shifted. I couldn’t think straight. I found myself zoning out constantly, unable to focus or be present. Conversations became draining, and soon, I stopped trying to hold them at all. Not long after Qunisha’s passing, the rest of my friend group distanced themselves from me without any explanation. That abandonment was another layer of pain I wasn’t ready for. I became extremely depressed and intentionally isolated myself from others. I didn’t have the words to explain how I felt, and even if I did, I didn’t believe anyone would truly understand. But in that dark, lonely space, something unexpected happened—I grew closer to God. He became the only constant in my life, the only one I could talk to without fear of judgment or misunderstanding. I prayed every morning before walking into school, hoping just to make it through the day. I clung to scripture like a lifeline. My favorite verse became Matthew 6:34: “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” Those words calmed my anxious mind and reminded me that even in my deepest pain, God was still with me. During that period of isolation, I began to discover the creativity that had always lived inside me. I started reading and writing—poems, short stories, songs, journal entries. I found comfort in creating things from nothing. It was a way to process what I was going through and give voice to the emotions I couldn’t speak out loud. But even as I tapped into this part of myself, I didn’t believe in it enough to share it. I didn’t believe in ME enough. That started to change when I came to Howard University. Being surrounded by talented, driven students who looked like me helped me see the power in my own voice. It gave me the confidence to revisit the creative ideas I had stored away and begin imagining what it would look like to bring them to life. I realized that everything I went through—the grief, the silence, the growth—wasn't in vain. It was shaping me into someone who could take pain and turn it into purpose. Now, I’m working toward launching my own production company, Shelmor Productions. Through it, I want to tell stories that comfort, empower, and uplift people—especially those who are hurting and feel alone. I want to create films and content that remind people of their strength, their purpose, and God’s unfailing love. I want someone out there, going through what I went through, to see something I’ve made and feel a little less alone. Losing Qunisha was one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. But her life—and her passing—pushed me to grow in ways I couldn’t have imagined. She made me realize how fragile life is and how deeply people need love, comfort, and understanding. My future work will always honor her by making sure others know they are seen, heard, and loved.

Growing up in Northeast Portland, Oregon, I was surrounded by people who looked like me, yet very few of us had seen examples of success outside the usual paths. In my neighborhood, dreams often stopped at “making it out,” but no one quite knew what “out” looked like. Many of my peers either stayed in Oregon to attend the same universities as generations before them or chose work that felt safe and familiar. Some gave up on the system entirely, believing success wasn't made for people like us. But I believe economic empowerment and business innovation can be the blueprint for rewriting that story—for changing the trajectory of underrepresented communities like mine. Real, lasting change starts with exposure, opportunity, and the creation of systems that work for us, not against us. That’s the foundation of my vision. My career goals are deeply rooted in both creativity and justice. As a Marketing major and Film and TV minor at Howard University—an HBCU that changed my life—I’ve found my purpose in storytelling and entrepreneurship. I’m building Shelmor Productions, my future media company, not just to create content but to build infrastructure. I plan to use Shelmor as a vehicle for job creation, mentorship, education, and generational wealth, especially in underserved Black communities. Economic empowerment means giving people the tools and access they’ve been historically denied. Through Shelmor, I want to invest in local schools, offer scholarships to students who may not have perfect grades but have powerful potential, and fund arts programs that allow youth to explore creativity. Business innovation means using nontraditional methods—like media, digital storytelling, and community-based initiatives—to foster connection, educate, and inspire. I want to host hometown film festivals, partner with schools on creative career pipelines, and create internship opportunities that pay and prepare. My vision is not just about giving back, but about building up. I believe true social equity happens when people don’t just receive help—they receive ownership, opportunity, and the chance to become leaders in their own right. I want the next generation of Black and Brown creatives to know they don’t have to leave their culture behind to be successful. They can bring their full selves into the room and lead. This drive comes from my own story. In 2020, during the pandemic, my mom, sister, and I were homeless. We didn’t know what would happen next. But during that time, strangers and organizations offered food, service, and support. It wasn’t just survival—it was love in action. That experience taught me what it feels like to be helped and reminded me of the importance of helping others when I reach a position of power. I don't take that responsibility lightly. In a world where systemic barriers have held too many of us back for too long, I’m determined to be part of the solution. My career in business is not about wealth for its own sake—it’s about worth, willingness, and widening the path for those who come after me. With every story Shelmor tells and every dollar it makes, I want it to echo one truth: we are worthy, we are powerful, and we can change the world—starting with our own communities.

In 2020, during the height of the pandemic, my mom, my sister, and I experienced homelessness. We didn’t have much, and every day felt heavy—uncertain. Being in lockdown while the world was falling apart was already stressful, but not having a stable place to call home added a level of fear and sadness that’s hard to put into words. It was one of the hardest times of my life. But in the middle of all that darkness, people showed up. Volunteers brought meals, organizations offered resources, and strangers reminded us that we weren’t alone. I’ll never forget how it felt to receive food and support when we didn’t have anything. Those small acts of kindness brought so much light to me, my family, and so many others. That was the moment I truly understood the power of charity—not just as a donation, but as hope. That experience changed me. It made me promise myself that when I’m in a better position, I’ll do everything I can to give back. After graduating and building my production company, Shelmor Productions, I plan to use my success to pour into others. I want to donate to schools, give out scholarships to students who need a second chance, and—most importantly—bring joy to kids who are going through what I went through. Because I know what it feels like to have nothing. And I know how much it means when someone gives anyway.

I’ve always been the girl with big feelings, big thoughts, and an even bigger heart—but for a long time, I didn’t know what to do with all of it. Growing up in a small community in Northeast Portland, Oregon, I was surrounded by familiarity—same schools, same families, same expectations. We were all Black and Brown kids, walking the same halls our older siblings did, attending the same schools our parents once walked through. Everyone knew everyone—what street you lived on, your sibling’s name, and how your mom was doing. But the one thing we rarely knew was what lay beyond our neighborhood. Beyond Oregon. Beyond the limitations placed on us by what we saw—and didn’t see. In our world, ambition didn’t stretch too far. Most people either went to the University of Oregon, stayed local, or skipped college altogether. Dreams were practical—maybe becoming a teacher at our old high school or working a job that paid the bills until something “stuck.” For those who didn’t feel seen by the school system, the streets were the other option. A life that promised quick money but often ended behind bars, sometimes before 21. I didn’t fully understand how much this lack of exposure affected me until I left. Howard University became my turning point. Choosing an HBCU was about more than education—it was about identity. I wanted to see people who looked like me doing things I had never imagined possible. And when I got to Howard, that’s exactly what I found. My freshman year, I took a course called Business Orientation. CEOs, entrepreneurs, and leaders from all over the world came in to share their stories. They wore cufflinks, carried designer bags, and spoke with a confidence that was magnetic. But more importantly, they spoke about seeing someone else do something great—and how that moment lit a fire in them. That hit me. It made me realize that I’d never had that moment back home. I had never seen someone from my background dream boldly and make it happen in fields outside the traditional path. And now that I had? I couldn’t unsee it. Originally, I came to Howard as a Marketing major with plans to move back to Oregon and work for Jordan. That made sense to me—it felt like a safe version of success. But something shifted. I started to ask myself: What do I really love? What am I truly passionate about? That honesty led me to add a Film and TV minor and chase what had been in my heart all along: storytelling. Creating. Connecting. That’s when Shelmor Productions was born. Named from a blend of my last name and legacy, Shelmor Productions is more than a company—it’s a purpose. I plan to use it as a platform to produce films, television shows, music videos, and documentaries that center underrepresented voices and inspire those who’ve never seen their stories reflected on screen. I want to host music festivals in my hometown, bringing creative spaces to Portland that allow Black and Brown kids to see art, magic, and bliss beyond our same generic communities. I want them to dream as wide and loud as they want—and believe that dream is possible. Going to an HBCU taught me that excellence doesn’t have one look. It taught me that my story matters. That being a “chocolate girl with a slightly above-average GPA from Portland” was never something to hide or shrink. It’s my superpower. Howard surrounded me with peers and professors who not only believed in my vision but challenged me to stretch it. Here, I found examples of success that didn’t require me to change who I am, just to grow into everything I’m meant to be. And yes, I still have doubts. I still wrestle with imposter syndrome and fear of the unknown. But what keeps me grounded is faith—faith that God put me on this Earth to impact lives, and that everything I’ve experienced up to this point was preparation for something greater. I believe Shelmor Productions will change lives because my life changed the moment I saw what was possible. I just want to give that moment to someone else. In the future, I see Shelmor not just as a production company but as a movement. A place where authenticity, ambition, and artistry collide. I want to create a space where little Black girls with big dreams see themselves not just on screen, but behind the camera, in the writer’s room, and on the credits as executive producers. I want to use every lesson I’ve learned—from Portland to Howard—to build something that lives on long after I’m gone. I know my journey is just beginning, but I’m already walking in purpose. And if even one young person from my neighborhood sees my path and dares to take a different one because of it, then I’ve done exactly what I was meant to do.

If given the opportunity to improve my community, I would help them truly see the world around them—to realize how much it has to offer and how much more they’re capable of becoming. I grew up in a tight-knit neighborhood in Northeast Portland, Oregon. I went to a lower middle-class middle and high school where the student body was predominantly Black and Brown. Most of us had known each other since kindergarten. Everyone knew which street you lived on, your siblings’ names, and your mom’s go-to order at the corner store. We were different in personality but the same in mindset—most people wanted to go to the University of Oregon, or no college at all. Maybe become a teacher at our old high school or work a sales job and hope something better came along. That was the blueprint. That’s what generations before us did. For those who didn’t feel school was for them, or didn’t believe they had other options, the alternative path often involved selling drugs, carrying guns, or slipping into a life that landed them behind bars before turning 21. I didn’t realize how limiting it was to never see successful Black people in different fields—or anyone dreaming beyond doctor or lawyer—until I came to Howard. Freshman year, I took a class called Business Orientation. CEOs from around the world came in to speak to us. They wore cufflinks and big watches, carried nice handbags, and spoke with such intelligence and purpose. Most importantly, they had SEEN someone else do something incredible, and that gave them permission to dream. That’s when it hit me: exposure changes everything. When I first came to Howard, my plan was to major in Marketing and move back to Oregon to work for Jordan. But hearing those CEOs and witnessing how their stories lit a fire in my newfound peers—it sparked something in me that I didn’t know existed. Once I got honest with myself about what I was truly passionate about, I added a Film & TV minor and began working toward my real goal: launching my own production company, Shelmor Productions. I want to write and produce films and TV shows, direct music videos, and one day throw music festivals in my hometown. There was a time when I thought someone like me wouldn’t make it far. Because the people who looked like me didn’t. So I thought—What’s so special about an average chocolate girl with a slightly above-average GPA from Portland, Oregon? All I ever knew was what I had been shown, and that didn’t make me dream very big. That’s why this matters so much to me. Our youth need to see they can be anything. Not just told it, but shown it. They need to be reminded—over and over—that it’s okay not to have it all figured out; and that sometimes, in order to grow, you have to go. If I hadn’t moved across the country to attend Howard, I don’t know if I would’ve ever seen the potential in myself or the heights I could reach. I truly believe God put me on this Earth for something bigger than I ever imagined a few years ago. And yes, I still doubt myself sometimes—but the environment and examples around me remind me to keep going. My community needs that reminder too. They need to see people who left and came back to build something beautiful. They need ambition, guidance, and role models to show even if Plan A doesn’t work out, Plan B can still be beautiful. I just want them to know things work out.