I know aviation is where I’m meant to be. The pressure of choosing a major and a potential career for the rest of my future has been a new challenge these last two years of high school. My junior year, after I shadowed an architect, toured college campuses, and participated in several STEM career days, I left each event unable to see myself fitting into any of the roles my STEM classes prepared me for. While teachers flooded the halls asking my fellow classmates what majors they wanted to pursue in college, I shrunk in my seat hoping I would not be asked. My options were supposedly endless, yet I felt like I was trapped in a corner with no way out. Pursuing aviation intrigued me because of my love for travel, but that idea was too “far-fetched,” so I glossed over the possibility of becoming a pilot. Seemingly out of nowhere, a Private Pilot from the Aeronautics Program at Kent State offered to take me on a flight in a Cessna 150. That day, sitting behind the controls, staring wide-eyed out at the world beyond the cockpit, I experienced what being a pilot truly meant. For the first time, everything fell into place. Aviation is where I want to be, and from that moment I became confident I could handle whatever is required to do to accomplish my goal. Despite my own self-confidence, I needed to prove to my family that I could, and was capable of becoming a pilot. After flying in the Cessna 150, I scheduled and completed my First Class Medical exam. I then signed myself up for flight lessons through Aerotrek and began paying for them with my after school cashier job at Hartville Hardware. I avoided telling my parents for as long as I could because our previous conversations about flight school had ended poorly. My eight siblings applauded me, my mom disapproved, and my dad thought I, as a woman, was unfit for the job. From my own dad I remember hearing, “Oh, that’s not safe for you”. His main concern was that I could not be a mother and a pilot, and for a while, his doubt began to weigh on me too. None of my older family members supported my decision; all had immigrated to the United States from Ukraine and shared the same thought that women needed “safe” jobs. Far too many times I quietly sat through conversations consisting of “You’ll change your mind pretty soon” from my closest aunts and uncles, that I desperately sought the approval of, advising me against my decision. Those first few months, clutching the book, 13 Women Who Dared to Dream, I learned to stand up for myself. I diligently read that book, as it was all the proof I needed, that I too could be a pilot and a mother like many of the “Mercury 13”. Every time my choices were attacked, I thought of those women, who decades before me, overcame far worse. I reminded myself that my dream was possible; I had the inspiration I needed. I’ve experienced first hand how difficult it is to start a pilot career, or any career, without feeling supported or knowing where to find the resources. Whether it be carrying supplies to a natural disaster or carrying a doctor to a country in need, I intend to serve where I am called. Whenever I get the opportunity, I want to give back through my career and help anyone that faces a similar challenge, just as others have helped me.

Painting continually brings me joy. The blank looming walls are my empty canvas, waiting to be brought to life, simultaneously serving as an outlet to pour out emotions. I use painting to communicate my interior self by demonstrating the appreciation I have for others. A few months ago, my younger sister begged me to repaint a wall in her room. I spent weeks scrolling, planning, sketching, and practicing painting techniques to bring her vision to life. I wanted her to feel the same sense of wonder that painting gives me. After a week-long process of painting, I encapsulated the light and bliss my sister wanted her room to reflect. Now, all of the walls are constantly glistening in the sun from the strategically envisioned glitter painted across the stars. Her idea was to capture the brilliant sky into a mural on her wall. Through the project and her design, I was able to outlet my own feelings of compassion and love. Painting also allows me to remember my fondest memories. The mural in my room reminds me of the Washington mountains and my family. My paternal grandparents, aunts, and cousins moved to Washington eight years ago. Being apart from them is like having a constant missing piece. Together, we have spent countless hours chasing sunsets and hiking to breathtaking views. When I think of my family, I think of adventure. Waking up everyday and looking at the painted mountain range brings me back to them and the cherished memories we share. Through my murals I am able to paint my emotions and words that I can not easily say aloud. The ability to paint and illustrate the affection I feel enables me to convey my inner self and personal values to the outside world.

Echoing in my mind is when my dad told me in his thick accent that being a pilot was not “a job for girls.” He might have said it out of a place of worry and fear, but in that moment, my heart dropped. He proceeded to pressure me and tell me that I could never become a mother if I did become a pilot. I was so hurt that my own dad disregarded what I was so passionate about. Following that moment, I tried to forget about the whole sexist conversation and the idea of wanting to fly. After that day, I needed to prove to my family that I could, and was capable of becoming a pilot. I signed myself up for flight lessons, avoiding the conversation with my parents. My eight siblings applauded me, my mom disapproved, and my dad thought I, as a woman, was unfit for the job. None of my older family members supported my decision; all had immigrated to the United States from Ukraine and shared the same thought that women needed “safe” jobs. Far too many times I quietly sat through conversations consisting of “You’ll change your mind pretty soon” from my closest aunts and uncles, that I desperately sought the approval of, advising me against my decision. Those first few months, clutching the book, 13 Women Who Dared to Dream, I learned to stand up for myself. I diligently read that book, as it was all the proof I needed, that I too could be a pilot and a mother like many of the “Mercury 13”. Every time my choices were attacked, I thought of those women, who decades before me, overcame far worse. I reminded myself that my dream was possible; I had the inspiration I needed.

I know aviation is where I’m meant to be. The pressure of choosing a major and a potential career for the rest of my future has been a new challenge these last two years of high school. My junior year, after I shadowed an architect, toured college campuses, and participated in several STEM career days, I left each event unable to see myself fitting into any of the roles my STEM classes prepared me for. While teachers flooded the halls asking my fellow classmates what majors they wanted to pursue in college, I shrunk in my seat hoping I would not be asked. My options were supposedly endless, yet I felt like I was trapped in a corner with no way out. Pursuing aviation intrigued me because of my love for travel, but that idea was too “far-fetched,” so I glossed over the possibility of becoming a pilot. Flying allows me to do what I love most, which is explore the world around me and learn from it. Recently, I was asked how I felt while flying, and what exactly drew me to the career. My answer to this question is that flying makes me feel calm. Regardless of how hectic a day may be, being in the air, behind the controls of the plane ironically grounds me. All my worries melt away as I look out of the cockpit, down to the expanding world below. I am motivated by the fact that I can one day use my career to travel limitlessly, instill the same joy in others, and help people get from place to place for whatever the circumstance may be.

Whenever I am asked my role model, I immediately think of my Grandma, Babusa. Growing up, she was only a street away and not only willing, but excited to take me and my eight siblings for the day. Babusa, who had grown up in the former Soviet Union and was educated as a forestry agent, knew the answer to every question my rambunctious childhood mind could think of. She would pick me up from school and take me to the farm, either to go strawberry picking or to show me the different animals I was only able to see in pictures. Patiently, she would take my hand and guide me through the farm teaching me about the world around me. Nature reminds me of Babusa. Now that I am older, looking out onto the world below from a mountain's peak to the expanding sky, I think of her. I notice the trees around me, look at the bark closely to observe and learn from the tree's history, exactly as she would. Sometimes I sneak a berry, only if I know it is one that is safe, because she taught me that those are the ones that taste the sweetest. I appreciate the beauty nature has, reminded of my role model and my fondest memories. To share the I appreciation I hold, I exhibit my love for nature, teaching my younger siblings, and those around me in the same ways Babusa once did.

Echoing in my mind is when my dad told me in his thick accent that being a pilot was not “a job for girls.” He might have said it out of a place of worry and fear, but in that moment, my heart dropped. He proceeded to pressure me and tell me that I could never become a mother if I did become a pilot. I was so hurt that my own dad disregarded what I was so passionate about. Following that moment, I tried to forget about the whole sexist conversation and the idea of wanting to fly. Besides, I had no clue where to start; no one in my life could help me. I chose to forget countless conversations with various family members following the same format, I realized that I not only wanted to follow my passion; I wanted to follow my own path. I signed myself up for flight lessons and began paying my own way through. Each day I bustled between working, taking care of my five younger siblings, and my classes to finish off my senior year. I persisted through the late nights and struggles that came with the hectic weight I was bearing. Obtaining my Private Pilot's Certificate without the support of my close family was an obstacle I once saw as impenetrable. Now, as my lessons progress and graduation approaches, my goals feel reachable. My persistence and irrefutable determination to pave my own way to becoming a pilot has shown my parents that I am capable of whatever may lie ahead. Although my education is my own financial responsibility, pursuing my career in aviation through college, with their newfound support, is a challenge I am excited to face.

I know aviation is where I’m meant to be. The pressure of choosing a major and a potential career for the rest of my future has been a burden these last two years of high school. My junior year, after I shadowed an architect, toured college campuses, and participated in several STEM career days, I left each event unable to see myself fitting into any of the roles my STEM high school classes prepared me for. While teachers flooded the halls asking my fellow classmates what majors they wanted to pursue in college, I shrunk in my seat hoping I wouldn't be asked. My options were supposedly endless, yet I felt like I was trapped in a corner with no way out. Pursuing aviation intrigued me because of my love for travel, but that idea was too “far-fetched,” so I glossed over the possibility of becoming a pilot. Seemingly out of nowhere, a student pilot from Kent offered to take me on a flight in a Cessna 172. That day, sitting behind the controls, staring wide eyed out to the world beyond the cockpit, I experienced what being a pilot truly meant. For the first time, everything fell into place. Aviation is where I want to be, I was clueless as to what I needed to do to accomplish my goal, but I became certain I could handle whatever is required. Despite my own self confidence, I needed to prove to my family that I could, and was capable of becoming a pilot. After flying in the Cessna, I scheduled a medical and received my long awaited green light, the Class 1 Certification clarifying that I am FAA qualified. I signed myself up for flight lessons through Aerotrek and began paying for them with my after school cashier job at Hartville Hardware. I avoided telling my parents for as long as I could because our previous conversations about flight school had ended poorly. My eight siblings applauded me, my mom disapproved, and my dad thought I, as a woman, was unfit for the job. From my own dad I remember hearing, “Oh, that’s not safe for you”. His main concern was that I could not be a mother and a pilot, and for a while, his doubt began to weigh on me too. None of my older family members supported my decision; all had immigrated to the United States from Ukraine and shared the same thought that women needed “safe” jobs. Far too many times I quietly sat through conversations consisting of, “You’ll change your mind pretty soon” from my closest aunts and uncles, that I desperately sought the approval of, advising me against my decision. Those first few months, Clutching the book, 13 Women Who Dared to Dream, I learned to stand up for myself. I diligently read that book as it was all the proof I needed that I too could be a pilot, and a mother like many of the “Mercury 13”. Every time my choices were attacked, I thought of those women, who decades before me, overcame far worse. I reminded myself that my dream was possible; I had the inspiration I needed. Although I have come a long way since my first flight, I have far to go before I attend Kent State University as an Aviation major this fall. My current and future lessons and coursework have been my own financial responsibility, as will be my checkride and upcoming written exam. Within the next four years, I am determined to soar among the clouds, one day giving back like those who have helped me.