I scanned my census for the day to see which rooms were left. Immediately, I recognized the names of the patients staying in the unvisited rooms and quickly scribbled an 'S' next to them. I had walked into these rooms these last couple of weeks, beginning with "Hi! My name is Faiza, and I'm a Patient Ambassador here to ask you some questions about your visit experience. Is it okay to proceed?" only to be met with blank stares, "yo hablo español," and subsequent awkward silence. Dreading the repetitive, awkward encounters, I had stopped visiting, simply marking an 'S' to note that a Spanish speaker was needed for surveying. The hospital's volunteer program was in a transitional period, and tracking down the substitute supervisor for a new assignment had become elusive. With 2 hours to spare, I stood in the halls, surrounded by bustling nurses and residents perceiving me as out-of-place in my casual attire. I clutched the census, scanning it desperately for any missed visits. S. I pushed the door open, bracing for another one-sided chat. The patient stared blankly as I began my introduction. "Hablas español?" he asked. Usually, I would say, "No, sorry." This time, I pulled out my courage and the Google Translate app on my phone. Hearing the translator bot's greeting on my behalf, he nodded, sitting up. Despite the robot middleman, the conversation flowed naturally. He shared details about his stay and his month-long admission. "Gracias," I said before letting Google Translate ask one last question: "Have you been receiving visits like this?" "No." "No?" I repeated, before nodding and thanking him for his time. I visited the other rooms I had labeled off and received similar responses. On my walk home from the hospital, I could only dwell on the recent interactions and was transported back to long commutes to Jackson Heights, Queens to see the only Bangladeshi pediatrician in the area. Prolonged waiting rooms for the only pediatrician I knew since I immigrated at age 5, among faces I recognized across four boroughs. It had become an icebreaker for me to approach other Bangladeshis at school and ask, "Hey, do we have the same pediatrician?" And to memories beginning at age 6, sitting next to my mother as her doctors and medical examiners turned to me and spoke in medical tongues. I would turn back to my mother, gulping before speaking back in a mother tongue that was deteriorating. These experiences made me set my eyes on medicine, intent on serving immigrant communities like the one I belong to in the Bronx, helping them overcome the language barriers in healthcare. In this same hospital in the Bronx, where Spanish is the native tongue of nearly 50% of Bronxites, I had neglected the communication needs of other non-English speakers. In the same Bronx where pollutant-inducing infrastructure dominates and causes the highest asthma rates in the nation, catapulted by the lack of health literacy among Bronxites, health communication is inadequate. I am committed to dismantling communication barriers that can entangle minorities, such as non-English speakers, from getting quality health access in the Bronx. Beyond my daily Duolingo Spanish lessons, I am a Bronx Community Health Leader in BxCHL, a volunteer organization, and actively organize outreach events and partnerships with Bronx-based immigrant advocacy organizations. I shadow physicians serving as primary care providers for many Spanish-speaking Bronxites; observing and learning from these insightful interactions help improve my communication with this demographic. Through these steps, I hope to gain a headstart in bridging these communication barriers and fostering a better understanding of health in the Bronx.