My mother did not have a partner to lean on. She had her faith, her work ethic, and her children — and that was enough. Growing up in St. Albans, Queens, in a household headed by my mother alone, I came to understand early that strength is not defined by what resources you have, but by what you do with what you’ve been given. My mother worked long hours, often holding down multiple responsibilities to ensure our household was stable. I watched her manage bills, homework help, doctor’s appointments, and emotional challenges — all without a second adult to divide the weight. She never complained in front of us. She modeled something that no classroom has ever replicated: relentless forward motion in the face of adversity. That environment shaped me in profound ways. I grew up understanding the value of every dollar and the cost of every opportunity. I learned not to take anything for granted, because I had seen my mother sacrifice to make things possible for me. I learned how to be resourceful, how to problem-solve independently, and how to show up even when conditions are not ideal. Those lessons fueled my academic drive. I earned enough credits through community college to transfer with a strong foundation, and I am now a junior at Syracuse University studying Cybersecurity Administration through the School of Professional Studies. My career goal is to work in the field of cybersecurity, not just for the professional opportunity, but because I believe in using technology to protect people — including families like mine who cannot always afford to defend themselves against digital threats. Beyond academics, my upbringing made me community-oriented. During my IT internship with Piedmont Schools, I supported educational infrastructure directly serving students. Back in Queens, I organized informal technology awareness sessions for elderly neighbors being targeted by scams. Both experiences stem from the same value my mother instilled in me: you use your knowledge to serve others, especially those who are vulnerable. Growing up with a single mother also taught me emotional intelligence. She could not always explain why things were hard, but she showed me how to hold a household together through hardship. I carry that awareness into everything I do. I am a better teammate, a more empathetic leader, and a more driven student because of the home she created for us. The Sola Family Scholarship would affirm that the environment I came from — one built by a single mother’s love, sacrifice, and determination — is not a limitation. It is a launchpad. I am grateful for every challenge that household gave me, and I intend to honor my mother’s effort by continuing to grow and give back.

Growing up in St. Albans, Queens, in a single-parent household shaped every dimension of who I am today. My mother raised me largely on her own, working long hours and making extraordinary sacrifices to ensure I had access to the education and opportunities she never had. Watching her navigate the world with resilience, resourcefulness, and an unyielding belief in our family's potential became the lens through which I understood purpose and community responsibility. Being from a single-parent home taught me early that resources are not unlimited and that you have to be intentional with every opportunity given to you. I learned the value of discipline from watching my mother balance work, household responsibilities, and still showing up to every event she could. I learned empathy from observing how the absence of a financial safety net shapes decisions — from which groceries to buy to whether a school field trip is possible. These realities made me not just academically motivated, but community-conscious. As I pursued higher education at Syracuse University, studying Cybersecurity Administration through the School of Professional Studies, I carried those lessons with me. I understood that education was not just about my own mobility, but about what I would do with knowledge once I had it. That understanding pushed me toward community service early in my academic journey. During my time as an IT intern with Piedmont Schools, I discovered that technology has the power to level the playing field — but only if people have access to it and know how to use it safely. Back in Queens, I organized an informal technology awareness session for elderly residents in my neighborhood who were being targeted by phone scams and phishing attacks. I created printable guides in plain language and walked participants through real-world examples on a laptop. The feedback was immediate and powerful — people left feeling safer and more informed. That experience confirmed what growing up in a single-parent home had already taught me: service is not optional. It is how communities sustain themselves. Looking forward, I plan to use my degree in cybersecurity to continue closing the digital equity gap in communities like mine. I aim to work with nonprofits and schools in underserved neighborhoods to bring cybersecurity education to youth and adults who lack access to it. Single-parent families often bear disproportionate risks in the digital world — they may not have the time or resources to identify online threats — and I want to change that. My long-term goal is to build a free digital safety curriculum for community organizations in New York City, specifically targeting households headed by single parents and seniors. The Larry Darnell Green Scholarship would not just support my tuition — it would affirm the journey my mother and I have taken together. It would say to every child raised by a single parent that their story is not a disadvantage. It is a foundation for something powerful.

Faith has been the anchor of my life through every challenge, transition, and uncertainty I have faced. Growing up in Queens, New York, as a first-generation college student, I often found myself navigating spaces where I felt I did not fully belong. It was my faith — my belief in a God who had a purpose for my life — that reminded me I was exactly where I was supposed to be, even when the path was unclear. My faith shaped my character in the most formative moments of my journey. When I transferred from Finger Lakes Community College to Syracuse University, I carried not just my academic credits but a deeply held conviction that I was meant to serve others with the skills I was developing. I had seen how lack of access to technology and digital literacy left people in my community vulnerable. My faith called me to act, not just to accumulate knowledge for my own benefit, but to use it as a tool for protection and empowerment. During my time as an IT intern at Piedmont Schools, I had the opportunity to work on a network security audit that helped protect sensitive student data. There were moments when the technical challenges felt overwhelming, and I questioned whether I had the expertise to succeed. In those moments, I returned to what my faith had always taught me: that perseverance, humility, and service are the foundations of meaningful work. I approached each problem not just as a technical puzzle but as an opportunity to serve the students, teachers, and families who depended on those systems. Looking toward my career in cybersecurity, my faith continues to inform my purpose. I believe that protecting people in the digital world is a form of service as sacred as any other. As I pursue my degree in Computer Science with a focus on Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University, I am guided by the understanding that my skills are not just professional assets — they are gifts I am called to steward responsibly. My faith gives me the courage to pursue a career that others might see as purely technical with a sense of mission and meaning. I am confident that my faith will help me navigate the ethical complexities of cybersecurity — knowing when to speak up, how to protect the vulnerable, and how to build systems that serve everyone equitably. I hope to honor that calling every day.

The project that changed how I see technology began not with lines of code, but with a frustrated call from my grandmother. She had clicked on a suspicious email link and was terrified she had been hacked. In that moment, I realized that the cybersecurity gap in underserved communities was not just a technical problem — it was a human one. As an IT intern at Piedmont Schools in 2025, I was responsible for maintaining the technology infrastructure that supported students and staff. One of my most meaningful projects was designing and implementing a network security audit system that identified vulnerabilities across the school's internal systems. Many of the computers were running outdated software with unpatched security flaws, creating significant risk for the sensitive student data stored on those machines. I used open-source tools to scan the network, documented each vulnerability, and created a prioritized remediation plan that the IT department could act on immediately. What made this project deeply meaningful to me was the connection between technical work and real human impact. These were not just servers — they were the systems that students depended on to access their coursework, submit assignments, and communicate with teachers. Protecting them meant protecting opportunities for kids who already faced enough obstacles. Building on that experience, I designed a personal capstone project at Syracuse University focused on phishing detection using machine learning. I trained a classification model on labeled email datasets to identify phishing attempts with high accuracy. The project required integrating my coursework in cybersecurity administration with self-taught Python programming skills, and it pushed me to think critically about how algorithms can both protect and harm depending on how they are designed and deployed. Technology inspires me because it is a force multiplier. When applied thoughtfully, it can protect the vulnerable, amplify opportunity, and close gaps that have persisted for generations. My goal is to build cybersecurity solutions that do not just serve corporate clients but actively protect communities like the one I grew up in — communities where people are increasingly targeted precisely because they lack the digital literacy to defend themselves. Every line of code I write is a step toward that mission. Pursuing a degree in Computer Science with a concentration in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University has given me the academic foundation to pursue this vision seriously. Each course, each lab, and each project I complete brings me one step closer to becoming the kind of technologist who uses their skills not just to advance their own career, but to make the digital world safer and more equitable for everyone. That is what technology means to me, and that is why I keep building.

Chess has always been more than a game to me — it is a framework for thinking. From my earliest games, I learned that every move carries consequence, that patience is not weakness, and that the ability to think several steps ahead separates those who survive from those who thrive. These lessons have shaped my approach to cybersecurity, the field I am pursuing through my Cybersecurity Administration degree at Syracuse University. My career goal is to become a cybersecurity professional who protects organizations from evolving digital threats. Whether working in threat analysis, network defense, or security operations, I want to be the person organizations trust to keep their systems and data safe. This goal did not emerge in a vacuum — it grew from a deep understanding that the digital world operates like a chessboard, where every vulnerability is an open file, every unpatched system is an exposed king, and every attacker is a player waiting for you to make a mistake. Chess taught me to think like an adversary. When I sit across from an opponent, I do not just plan my own moves — I try to understand their strategy, anticipate their threats, and find weaknesses before they find mine. This is exactly the mindset required in cybersecurity. Penetration testers and threat analysts must think like attackers to effectively defend systems. During my IT internship at Piedmont Schools, I applied this thinking daily. I assessed network vulnerabilities, documented potential entry points, and helped implement safeguards — all while anticipating what a malicious actor might attempt. Chess gave me the mental muscle memory to approach each problem with structure and calm. Chess also taught me the value of sacrifice. Sometimes you give up a piece to gain positional advantage. In my academic journey as a first-generation college student managing financial pressure, I have had to make sacrifices — taking heavier course loads, working during breaks, and prioritizing long-term gain over short-term comfort. These sacrifices have made me more resilient and more focused. Every challenging cybersecurity module I complete is another piece traded for a stronger position on the board of my future. Finally, chess taught me that losing is not failure — it is information. Every game I lost taught me something I could not have learned by winning. In cybersecurity, this translates directly to incident response: when a system is compromised, the most important thing is not to assign blame, but to analyze what happened, learn from it, and make the system stronger. I carry this mindset into every challenge I face. My chess experience has given me a strategic intellect that I bring into every aspect of my education and career preparation. I am not just learning cybersecurity — I am building a disciplined, adaptive approach to a field that demands exactly those qualities. The skills I developed across a chessboard are the same skills that will allow me to protect systems, serve communities, and build a career centered on impact and excellence.

Selflessness is not a concept I learned from a book—it is something I have lived. Growing up in St. Albans, Queens, I watched neighbors look out for each other in ways that shaped my understanding of community and service. Those early lessons became the foundation of how I carry myself today. One of the clearest examples of this was during my time as an IT intern at Piedmont Schools. While my role was defined by technical responsibilities, I often went beyond what was asked of me. I noticed that many teachers and administrative staff were overwhelmed by technology they did not fully understand. Instead of completing my tasks and clocking out, I sat with them, walked them through systems patiently, and answered their questions no matter how many times they had to ask. I could see the stress lift from their faces when things finally clicked. That feeling—knowing that my time and skills made someone else's day easier—is something I carry with me. Beyond my professional life, I have made it a priority to help those in my immediate community. I assist family members who are not tech-savvy in protecting themselves from online scams and phishing attacks. As digital threats grow more sophisticated, people in underserved neighborhoods are increasingly targeted. I have hosted informal tech safety sessions with neighbors and younger relatives, teaching them how to identify suspicious links, secure their accounts, and protect their personal information. I do this not because I am paid to, but because I believe everyone deserves to feel safe—especially in spaces where many feel lost. I also give back through mentorship. I connect with younger students in my community who are curious about tech This commitment to selflessness is deeply tied to my academic and career goals. I am pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration precisely because I want to protect people—not just systems. Communities like mine deserve advocates with technical knowledge who understand their struggles and fight for their safety. My education is not separate from my service; it is the vehicle through which I hope to multiply my impact and reach more people who need support.nology but do not see people who look like them in that field. I share my journey, my mistakes, and my lessons honestly. I tell them that being an adult learner, a transfer student, and a Black man in tech does not make their path harder—it makes their eventual success more powerful. Selflessness, to me, means showing up even when no one is watching, giving without expecting recognition, and using whatever gifts you have to make life a little better for someone else. I am not perfect in this, but I am consistent. And that consistency, I believe, is what true service looks like.

Selected Paragraph (from Plato, The Republic, Book VII — The Allegory of the Cave, translated by Benjamin Jowett): "And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: Behold! Human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads." --- Thesis: In this foundational passage from The Republic, Plato uses the image of chained prisoners in a cave not simply as an illustration of ignorance, but as a diagnosis of the human condition in which familiarity with limitation is mistaken for knowledge of reality — a warning that what feels like certainty may, in fact, be the most dangerous form of blindness. Plato's choice of imagery in this passage is deliberate and philosophically precise. The prisoners are not simply ignorant; they have been chained "from their childhood." This detail is critical, for it suggests that the condition Plato is describing is not an accident or a temporary state — it is structural and deeply embedded. The chains are not imposed by a momentary tyrant but by circumstance, upbringing, and the limitations of an environment the prisoners did not choose. Plato thus implies that the problem of false knowledge is not a failure of intelligence, but a failure of exposure and liberation. One cannot reason one's way out of chains one cannot see. The positioning of the den is equally significant. The mouth of the cave is "open towards the light," meaning the source of true illumination exists and is accessible — but only to those who are freed. For those still chained, the light is both near and utterly unreachable. This spatial arrangement conveys a paradox at the heart of Plato's epistemology: truth is not hidden; it is those who seek it who are constrained. The cave is not designed to deceive — it simply does not permit the angle of vision necessary to perceive anything beyond its walls. This is a subtle but crucial distinction. Evil, for Plato, is not primarily active malice; it is structural limitation that has been naturalized. The phrase "can only see before them" communicates the narrowness of perception that defines the prisoners' world. They are not incapable of sight — they can see perfectly well, within the confines of their range. This is what makes their condition so philosophically insidious: they possess the capacity for perception but lack the freedom of movement that would expand it. Their cognition functions correctly within its limited domain, leading them to build an entire epistemology — a way of knowing, judging, and valuing — based on what are ultimately shadows cast on a wall. Plato here anticipates a deeply modern concern: that the confidence born of consistent experience can become the greatest obstacle to genuine understanding. This passage speaks directly to the relationship between education and freedom. For Plato, the purpose of philosophy — and by extension, education — is not merely to convey information but to turn the soul toward light. The chains in the allegory are not broken by more information about the shadows; they are broken by a reorientation of the whole person. The prisoner must be physically freed, turned, and led upward before the light can be tolerated, let alone understood. This suggests that genuine learning is not passive reception but active transformation — a process that is often painful, disorienting, and resisted. As a student returning to formal education after years in the workforce, I find in this passage a resonance that is more than academic. I spent years operating within a particular domain — practical IT work, technical troubleshooting, the world of systems and screens — that felt complete and sufficient. But entering the study of cybersecurity at a university level has been something like the experience Plato describes: turning to face the light. The underlying structures of digital systems, the philosophical questions about privacy, ethics, and the nature of digital security, are not simply "more information" about what I already knew. They represent a different angle of vision entirely — one that makes the previous view look, if not like shadows, then at least like an incomplete picture. Plato's underlying meaning in this passage is not pessimistic. He does not suggest that the prisoners are stupid or that their world is worthless. He suggests, rather, that human beings are by nature capable of far more than their circumstances typically allow — and that the first step toward wisdom is the recognition that what we take for reality may be a projection, a shadow, a representation of something deeper that we have not yet turned to face. That is a message not only for ancient philosophy students but for anyone who has ever decided, mid-life, to go back to school.

My "awkward" thing? I am a grown man who still gets genuinely excited about video games — not just playing them, but taking them apart, understanding how they work, and rebuilding them into something new. While most of my peers in a typical college dorm might bond over weekend parties, I have spent countless hours modding game files, creating ISO images, and experimenting with emulation software. For a long time, I thought this was something to keep quiet about. Now I realize it is exactly what makes me stand out. I am not a traditional college student. I spent years working, living life, and figuring out my path before deciding to return to school as an adult learner. When I finally enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College and later transferred to Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies to pursue a degree in Cybersecurity Administration, I brought with me something most 18-year-olds in a classroom do not have: real-world perspective and a technical curiosity sharpened by years of self-directed learning. That gaming obsession I mentioned? It turns out it is not so awkward after all — it is a gateway to cybersecurity. Understanding how software can be modified, how system files are structured, and how security vulnerabilities can be exploited starts with curiosity about how things work at a fundamental level. My hours spent modding games and working with virtual machines gave me hands-on skills before I ever sat in a college computer science classroom. When I later served as an IT intern at Piedmont Schools, I could troubleshoot issues and think critically about system security because I had already been thinking like that for years, just in a different context. What truly makes me stand out is not just the gaming, though. It is the combination: an adult learner who chose to bet on himself, a self-taught technologist who turned a hobby into a career path, and a student who is not afraid to be the oldest person in the room — or the most passionate one. I walk into every class knowing I chose to be there, not because I had to, but because I want to build something meaningful with my life. I think Charles B. Brazelton's story resonates with me more than most. He had a thing — swimming — that he was unexpectedly exceptional at, even when the conventional expectation pointed elsewhere. My "thing" is different, but the principle is the same: lean into what makes you different, because that is often where your greatest strength is hiding. I am pursuing a future in cybersecurity where I can protect people and systems from digital harm. Every module I complete, every lab I run, every certification I work toward is a step toward that goal. The kid who spent hours in front of a screen learning how software ticks is becoming the professional who understands how to keep it secure. That awkward gaming obsession is turning into a career — and I could not be more proud of that.

The path to where I stand today was not a straight line. Growing up in St. Albans, Queens, New York, I navigated the same pressures that derail countless young people from underserved communities—limited resources, competing responsibilities, and a lack of clear guidance about what higher education could look like for someone like me. After graduating from Andrew Jackson High School, I did not immediately take the traditional college route. Life intervened. But I never stopped believing that education was the key to the future I wanted to build. When I finally committed to pursuing my degree full-time, I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College, where I completed 60 credit hours and built a strong academic foundation. That decision—to return, to persist, to take my education seriously—was one of the hardest and most important choices of my life. I was not just overcoming inertia; I was overcoming self-doubt, financial uncertainty, and the quiet pressure of being a first-generation student without a roadmap. I transferred to Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, where I am now pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Cybersecurity Administration with a perfect 4.0 GPA. I also secured an IT internship at Piedmont Schools, where I supported network infrastructure and helped educators use technology safely and effectively. That experience reinforced something I had long believed: technology, especially cybersecurity, is a form of public service. Every school, clinic, or community organization that operates online is vulnerable to attack. The people inside those organizations—students, patients, residents—depend on professionals who take their digital safety seriously. I feel a deep call to public service rooted in where I come from. In Queens, I watched family members fall victim to phishing scams. I saw small businesses in my neighborhood crippled by cyberattacks they never saw coming and could not afford to recover from. These are not abstract threats—they are real consequences that land hardest on people who already have the least. My career in cybersecurity is my answer to those problems. I intend to serve communities like mine by offering the protection and expertise that well-resourced organizations take for granted. John F. Rowe, Jr. believed in service and perseverance. I carry those same values into every course, every internship, and every conversation I have about what it means to give back. This scholarship would allow me to stay focused on my mission without the burden of financial stress derailing the momentum I have worked so hard to build. I am proud of how far I have come, and I am committed to using every opportunity I receive in service of something greater than myself.

Growing up in St. Albans, Queens, I learned early that success is not something you stumble upon—it is something you build, deliberately and with purpose. My light has always been my drive to solve problems that others overlook, particularly in the world of cybersecurity. One day, I plan to channel that drive into a business that will define my legacy. My goal is to launch a cybersecurity consulting firm that serves small businesses and nonprofits in underserved urban communities. These organizations are frequent targets of cyberattacks, yet they rarely have the resources to defend themselves. Large corporations can afford chief information security officers and enterprise-grade security tools. A barbershop in Queens, a community health clinic in the Bronx, or a nonprofit in Harlem cannot. My business would change that by offering affordable, accessible cybersecurity services tailored to the realities of small operations. I am building the foundation for this vision right now. As a Cybersecurity Administration major at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, I am learning risk management, network defense, compliance, and incident response. My IT internship at Piedmont Schools gave me hands-on experience supporting technology infrastructure in an educational setting—an environment with real stakes and real vulnerabilities. I saw firsthand how small organizations struggle to protect sensitive data with limited budgets, and I left that experience more committed than ever to bridging that gap. Creating a legacy means more than earning money—it means leaving something behind that makes life better for others. In my community, I have watched people lose savings to phishing scams, have their identities stolen, and fall victim to ransomware attacks on the small businesses they spent years building. I want my company to be the answer to those problems. I want to be the person they can call, the expert they can trust, and the resource they previously could not afford. I shine my light by showing up. I show up to my courses with a 4.0 GPA, I show up to opportunities before I feel ready, and I show up for my community by sharing what I know. In college, I have already started mentoring peers on digital safety basics and helping family members understand how to protect their devices and accounts. These small acts are the seeds of the legacy I intend to grow. This scholarship would help me stay focused on that mission. Financial pressure is real, and every dollar of support I receive allows me to spend more time studying, building skills, and developing the entrepreneurial mindset that will carry my business from concept to reality. The entrepreneur I am becoming will create jobs, protect communities, and prove that kids from Queens can lead in cybersecurity.

Going to college means everything to me. It represents the realization of a dream that was deferred, challenged, and ultimately transformed into something even more meaningful than I originally imagined. I grew up in St. Albans, Queens—a community full of culture, resilience, and hardworking people. Like many in my neighborhood, the path to higher education was not straightforward. After graduating from Andrew Jackson High School, I spent years working and building life experience before making the decision to invest in myself through college. I started at Finger Lakes Community College, where I completed 60 credits and proved to myself that I had what it takes. Now, as a transfer student and Cybersecurity Administration major at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, I am living proof that it is never too late to pursue your goals. For me, college is not just about earning a degree. It is about breaking cycles, opening doors, and becoming the person I was meant to be. As an African American man who has navigated obstacles that many of my peers may not fully understand, college represents access—to knowledge, to opportunity, and to the tools I need to build a better future for myself and my community. What am I trying to accomplish? First and foremost, I am working toward a career in cybersecurity, one of the fastest-growing fields in technology. Through my internship at Piedmont Schools, I gained hands-on IT experience that confirmed my passion for protecting systems and empowering people through technology. I am building toward a career where I can help organizations—especially nonprofits and underserved institutions—strengthen their digital defenses. Beyond career success, I am trying to become a model for the young men and women in my community who are watching and wondering if someone who looks like them can make it in the tech world. Representation matters. When I earn my degree and step into a leadership role in cybersecurity, I want the kids from St. Albans to see themselves in me. College is transforming me in ways I did not expect. Every course, every challenge, every connection pushes me to grow intellectually and personally. I am not just learning technical skills—I am learning how to think critically, communicate effectively, and lead with purpose. This scholarship would allow me to focus fully on my studies without the financial pressure that so many first-generation and minority students face. It would be more than financial support—it would be an investment in a student who is committed to using his education to give back.

Service has always been a core part of who I am, not something I do occasionally, but a way of life that has shaped my journey from growing up in Queens, New York, to pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University. Growing up in St. Albans, a community rich in culture but challenged by systemic inequalities, I witnessed firsthand how access to knowledge and technology could transform lives—or how the lack of it could hold communities back. This observation planted a seed of purpose in me: to use whatever skills and education I could acquire to give back to those who needed it most. My path to higher education was not a straight line. As an adult learner and transfer student who started at Finger Lakes Community College before arriving at Syracuse, I understand what it means to push forward despite obstacles. I've worked alongside other students who felt invisible in traditional academic settings, and that experience has made me passionate about creating spaces where everyone, regardless of background, feels supported and seen. During my time as an IT intern at Piedmont Schools, I discovered the power of technology as a tool for service. I helped staff and students troubleshoot technical issues, set up systems, and navigate digital environments that many found intimidating. Seeing the relief and empowerment on someone's face when a problem is solved is something I carry with me every day. Technology, in my hands, is not just a career—it is a way to serve my community. I am actively involved in mentorship and community outreach efforts, particularly helping young people in underserved neighborhoods understand cybersecurity, digital literacy, and the importance of protecting themselves online. As social media scams and digital threats increasingly target vulnerable populations, I have taken it upon myself to educate family members, neighbors, and peers on how to stay safe in digital spaces. With my education in Cybersecurity Administration, I plan to channel these efforts on a larger scale. I aim to work with nonprofit organizations and public institutions to build stronger digital defenses for communities that cannot afford enterprise-level protection. I also hope to develop accessible cybersecurity training programs for young people from underserved backgrounds, so that the next generation is not just protected from digital threats, but empowered to lead in this field. Mrs. Marion Makins' legacy of academic excellence, leadership, and service resonates deeply with me. Like her, I believe that true success is measured not just by personal achievement, but by the positive impact you leave on those around you. I intend to honor that legacy by continuing to show up—for my community, my family, and the students who will follow in my footsteps. My education is not just for me. It is a gift I am preparing to give back.

Higher education is not simply a credential for me — it is the bridge between the experience I have built over the last fifteen years and the impact I intend to make in the next thirty. As a low-income adult learner who returned to school after being laid off during the COVID-19 pandemic, every course I complete, every certification I earn, and every semester I persevere through is a testament to what determined people can accomplish when they have access to the right opportunities. I spent over a decade working in IT, from Tier 1 helpdesk roles at Dell and American Fidelity to IT Security Analyst positions at Continental Resources and Eze Castle Integration. I saw firsthand how cybersecurity threats evolved, and I watched organizations scramble to defend themselves against attacks they were not prepared for. I was on the front lines but did not have the academic credentials to move into the leadership positions where the most critical decisions were made. Higher education is filling that gap. Pursuing my B.P.S. in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University has given me the theoretical frameworks to complement my practical experience. I am learning enterprise risk management, network security architecture, threat analysis, and policy design at a level that no amount of on-the-job training could replicate. This knowledge will allow me to move from being someone who responds to security incidents to someone who designs systems that prevent them in the first place. I am also pursuing a Master's in Enterprise Risk Management at Columbia University, which will equip me to operate at the executive level and advise organizations on protecting their most critical assets. My plan to create positive impact operates on two levels. First, professionally: I intend to become a Chief Information Security Officer within the next decade. In that role, I will not only protect organizations from cyber threats but will also build diverse security teams that bring varied perspectives to the most complex technical challenges we face. The cybersecurity industry has a well-documented diversity problem, and I plan to use my position to address it actively. Second, at the community level: I live in Queens, New York, in a neighborhood where technology is all around but access to tech careers remains limited. I want to create mentorship pathways and community programs that open the door to cybersecurity careers for young people in underserved communities. My own journey from low-income adult learner to graduate student at an Ivy League institution is proof that the pipeline exists. It just needs infrastructure and investment. This scholarship would directly support my ability to focus on that mission. As a low-income student navigating tuition, living expenses, and technology costs in one of the most expensive cities in the country, every dollar of support translates directly into more time studying and less time worrying. I am grateful for the opportunity to be considered and committed to making this investment count.

Education has always represented something more than a credential to me. It represents a choice — the conscious decision to invest in yourself even when the circumstances around you say you should not. I grew up in Oklahoma City, in an environment where the path forward was rarely laid out clearly. You figured it out, or you did not. What I did have was a natural affinity for technology. At an early age, I was drawn to computers, to how systems worked, and to the invisible logic that made things function or fail. That curiosity became my first career. Starting at Dell as a Tier 1 and 2 helpdesk technician, I began building the technical foundation that would shape my professional life. I moved through increasingly technical roles at American Fidelity and Continental Resources in Oklahoma, managing security tools like Proofpoint, Palo Alto Networks, and Digital Guardian, and administering Active Directory in enterprise environments. By 2018, I had enough confidence to take a leap of faith and relocate to New York City, where I secured a position as an IT Analyst at Eze Castle Integration. Life in New York was everything I had hoped it would be — challenging, fast-paced, and full of possibility. Then the pandemic hit, and I was laid off in 2020 along with millions of others. That single moment became the defining crossroads of my life. I could have done what many others in my situation did: updated my resume and looked for the next IT job. Instead, I looked inward and asked a harder question: Am I building something that will matter in twenty years, or am I just keeping pace? Cybersecurity was exploding in importance. Organizations were being hit by ransomware, phishing campaigns, supply chain attacks, and insider threats. The defenders were outnumbered and underqualified. I had spent years watching that happen from the inside, but without a degree, I had a ceiling. I decided to remove that ceiling. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College and pursued my A.A.S. in Networking and Cybersecurity. Returning to school in my mid-thirties was not easy. I had to relearn how to study, manage time around financial pressures, and push through the moments when the path seemed too long. But the challenges did not discourage me — they sharpened me. I made the Dean's List and graduated with honors before transferring to Syracuse University to pursue my B.P.S. in Cybersecurity Administration. At Syracuse, the classroom and the real world began to converge. My internship at Piedmont Public Schools brought everything into focus. Protecting the digital infrastructure of a school — the personal data of children, the systems that teachers rely on — showed me exactly what was at stake when cybersecurity fails. It was not abstract. It was deeply human. And I knew that this was the kind of impact I wanted to have: not just securing servers, but protecting communities. My goal is to become a Chief Information Security Officer. I want to sit at leadership tables and advocate for security strategies that are proactive rather than reactive, equitable rather than exclusionary. I am also pursuing a Master's in Enterprise Risk Management at Columbia University, building the graduate-level knowledge that will position me to lead organizations through the most complex security challenges of our time. Beyond my own career, I want to use my education to create a better future for others who look like me. African Americans are significantly underrepresented in cybersecurity leadership. The pipeline of Black security professionals into senior roles is too narrow, and I intend to be part of widening it. Whether through mentorship, speaking, or community programs, I want the path I carved to become a road that others can follow. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents validation that the dream is worth chasing, that the challenges I have overcome matter, and that rising higher — from Tier 1 helpdesk to Chief Information Security Officer — is not just possible. It is inevitable, with the right support behind it. I also recognize that my journey is not just personal — it is structural. The cybersecurity industry faces a workforce gap of millions of unfilled positions globally. Communities that need protection the most are often served by the least diverse teams. I intend to change that by bringing lived experience and technical excellence into spaces that have historically lacked both. My background in Queens, New York, my years working through financial instability while pursuing education, and my decade-plus of technical experience all contribute to a perspective that is rare in this field and invaluable in its leadership. Education gave me the tools. Ambition gave me the direction. And opportunities like this scholarship give me the fuel to keep going.

The challenge that changed my life came wrapped in a pink slip. In the spring of 2020, I was laid off from my position as an IT Analyst at Eze Castle Integration in New York City due to the pandemic. I had uprooted my life two years earlier, leaving Oklahoma City and everyone I knew to move to one of the most competitive cities in the world. In one phone call, that calculated risk felt like it had crumbled. I spent the first few weeks managing the immediate crisis. But somewhere in that silence, I started asking myself a harder question than what do I do now. I asked, what do I actually want to build. Over a decade of IT experience had taught me the mechanics of systems. But I had never formally studied what I was passionate about: cybersecurity. The field was growing. Threats were evolving faster than organizations could respond. And I had spent years on the front lines watching it happen without the credentials to step into leadership roles. That realization was the pivot point. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College and began my A.A.S. in Networking and Cybersecurity. Being a returning adult student was humbling in the best way. I had to rebuild habits I had not used in years while managing the financial pressure of being unemployed in New York. There were difficult nights and moments of doubt. But every time I sat in a lecture on network security or configured a lab environment, I felt more certain I was finally on the right path. The growth from that challenge has been compounding. I made the Dean's List. I transferred to Syracuse University to pursue my B.P.S. in Cybersecurity Administration. I secured an IT internship at Piedmont Public Schools, where I discovered that protecting the technology infrastructure of a school was some of the most meaningful work I had ever done. I am now also pursuing a Master's in Enterprise Risk Management at Columbia University. Looking back, the layoff was not the obstacle I feared. It was the doorway I needed. It taught me that personal growth rarely happens during comfort. I am a better professional, a sharper thinker, and a more resilient person because of that challenge. This scholarship would support the next stage of that climb. Beyond the academic and professional gains, the experience reshaped my relationship with adversity itself. I no longer wait for conditions to be perfect before I move forward. I have learned to build momentum in the middle of uncertainty, which is exactly what the cybersecurity field demands of its leaders every single day. Every new threat, every zero-day vulnerability, every evolving attack vector requires someone who can think clearly under pressure and make decisions without complete information. That is the professional I have become, forged not in a classroom alone, but in the crucible of real adversity.

I remember the exact moment my circumstances forced me to make a choice that would change my entire trajectory. It was the spring of 2020, and I was sitting alone in my apartment in St. Albans, Queens — a place I had moved to after leaving Oklahoma City to build a better life in New York. I had no family nearby, no financial safety net, and I had just received the phone call telling me I was being laid off from Eze Castle Integration due to the pandemic. In an instant, over a decade of steady IT work felt as though it might unravel. Growing up, I was raised to be self-sufficient. I did not have the luxury of relying on a large support system. I came from a background where you learned early that you had to work twice as hard to get half as far. When I moved to New York City in 2018, I left everything I knew behind in Oklahoma — friends, family, and familiar ground. I did it because I believed in myself and believed something greater was waiting on the other side of that leap. When COVID-19 hit, that same belief was put to its greatest test. In that moment of uncertainty, I made a decision I will never regret: I chose education over fear. Instead of scrambling to find the next IT job that might disappear just as quickly, I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College to formally pursue my A.A.S. in Networking and Cybersecurity. I was in my mid-thirties, sitting in virtual classrooms alongside students ten years younger than me, relearning how to be a student while managing the financial pressures of being unemployed in one of the most expensive cities in America. There were nights when I questioned whether this path made sense. But every morning, I reminded myself why I started. That experience shaped everything about how I approach my future. I stopped waiting for stability to find me and started building it deliberately. I went from student to Dean's List candidate. I earned certifications, built technical labs in my home, and secured an IT internship at Piedmont Public Schools. I transferred to Syracuse University to complete my B.P.S. in Cybersecurity Administration. I am now also pursuing graduate studies in Enterprise Risk Management at Columbia University. The moment I received that layoff notice could have been the period at the end of my story. Instead, I chose to make it a comma. My upbringing taught me that challenges are not stop signs — they are redirections. My circumstance as a self-made Black man navigating an industry with few people who look like me only deepened my resolve to not only succeed but to leave a path that others can follow. I intend to become a Chief Information Security Officer, protect organizations from cyber threats, and mentor the next generation of young Black professionals in technology. This scholarship honors that kind of journey, and I am grateful for the opportunity to be considered.

My interest in computer science and cybersecurity began long before I returned to school. Over a decade working in IT — at companies like Continental Resources, Eze Castle Integration, and American Fidelity — I watched cyber threats evolve from occasional nuisances into existential risks for organizations. Every time I monitored email traffic in Proofpoint, investigated suspicious network activity, or administered Active Directory accounts, I realized I was on the front line of something critically important. That hands-on exposure sparked a passion to go deeper and truly understand the architecture of digital defense. In 2020, when a pandemic-era layoff forced me to reassess my career, I made the most important decision of my life: to go back to school and formalize what I had learned through years of experience. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College for my A.A.S. in Networking and Cybersecurity, and I am now pursuing my B.P.S. in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University. Every course has deepened my understanding of how to protect systems, networks, and the people who depend on them. My dream is to become a Chief Information Security Officer. Within five years of graduating, I want to lead security operations at an organization where I can design resilient defenses, mentor the next generation of security professionals, and ensure that communities — especially underserved ones — are protected from cyber threats. I currently intern at Piedmont Public Schools, where protecting student data and teacher systems shows me every day how meaningful this work is beyond the technical domain. I am the best candidate for this scholarship because I bring something rare: real-world IT experience combined with academic rigor and an unshakeable comeback story. I did not take the traditional path. I am an adult learner who returned to education out of genuine passion and strategic purpose. This scholarship would directly support my ability to focus on my studies and move one step closer to a career where I can make computer science education and cybersecurity protection a reality for everyone.

Option 2: The Future of Human Connection Technology has fundamentally changed how we communicate, but I am not sure it has yet resolved the deeper challenge of how we connect. As someone studying Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse Univs rsity, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the infrastructure that digital communication runs on. What cybersecurity teaches me above all else is that communication systems are only as strong as the trust that holds them together. And trust, at its core, is a function of human relationship. I grew up in Queens, New York, one of the most densely populated and diverse places on the planet. My neighborhood is the kind of place where you hear four languages on a single block. That environment shaped how I think about connection: not as something that happens automatically between people who share a background, but as something that requires deliberate effort, genuine curiosity, and mutual respect. Strong relationships do not emerge from convenience; they are built through patience, honesty, and showing up consistently. As technology continues to reshape how people interact, I believe we face two divergent paths. On one, technology becomes a substitute for real connection, algorithmically optimized to maximize engagement while minimizing the kind of discomfort and vulnerability that actually deepens relationships. On the other, technology becomes a scaffold: a tool that extends our reach, lowers barriers of geography and access, and allows us to maintain and strengthen ties that distance would otherwise erode. The path we take is not determined by the technology itself. It is determined by the values we bring to how we design and use it. In cybersecurity, we talk frequently about the human factor. Most breaches do not happen because an algorithm failed; they happen because someone was deceived, pressured, or isolated. Social engineering works precisely because it exploits human needs. The antidote is not more suspicion; it is stronger communities and deeper relationships that create resilience. When people know each other well, when they communicate openly and with care, they are less vulnerable to manipulation and more capable of recognizing when something feels wrong. This is why I believe the future of human connection depends on people in technology fields making deliberate choices about what they build and why. I want to be one of those people. My long-term goal is to work in cybersecurity in a way that protects not just systems but the human relationships that run through those systems: the conversations between family members, the professional trust between colleagues, the communities that form online and offline alike. We preserve authentic human connection in a technological world by insisting that technology serve human values rather than replace them. That means building systems that prioritize transparency and consent. It means designing platforms that support genuine dialogue rather than just reaction. And it means raising a generation of practitioners who understand that behind every endpoint on a network is a person, and that person's capacity to connect meaningfully with others is worth protecting. I am committed to that work. And I am grateful for the opportunity to be supported in it by a scholarship that takes the value of human connection seriously.

There is a moment I return to often when doubt tries to creep in — a gray winter morning during my second semester at Syracuse University, sitting at my desk surrounded by textbooks, a screen full of coursework, and a bank account that was nearly empty. I was 36 years old, a first-generation college student returning to school after years away, carrying the weight of what felt like a decision I had made far too late. In that moment, I bowed my head and prayed — not for an easy path, but for the strength to keep walking the one I was on. My journey to higher education was not linear. After high school, circumstances pulled me into work and survival mode. I spent years in gig work and hourly employment, watching opportunities pass while wondering if education was truly meant for someone like me. But faith — the quiet, persistent kind — kept whispering that it was not too late. That whisper grew louder when I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College in my mid-thirties, determined to rebuild my academic foundation. The obstacle was not just financial, though the financial burden was real. The deeper challenge was the internal one: the voice that said I was too old, too behind, too different from the 18-year-olds in my classes. I am a Black man from a community where higher education is not always accessible, and where systemic barriers can feel like walls rather than hurdles. Faith told me those walls were not permanent. I leaned on my faith community during the hardest semesters. My mother, a woman of deep spiritual conviction, reminded me that every gift — including intellect — is God-given and carries responsibility. I prayed before exams. I found solace in Scriptures that spoke of perseverance, of running the race set before you. I carried that conviction into every assignment, every late-night study session, every moment of uncertainty. The results have been transformative. I completed 60 credits at Finger Lakes Community College and transferred to Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, where I am now pursuing graduate studies in cybersecurity. I maintain a 4.0 GPA — not because the work was easy, but because faith gave me the endurance to push through when it was hard. Nabi Nicole's story resonates deeply with me. A woman of faith who poured herself into her community, who served others even as she pursued her own calling — her legacy is a reminder that ambition and faith are not in tension; they amplify each other. I aspire to use my cybersecurity education to protect communities that have historically been vulnerable to digital exploitation, to mentor young people who look like me and wonder if they belong in tech. Faith did not remove my obstacles. It gave me the courage to face them. And on that cold morning when doubt reached its peak, it was faith — not certainty, not resources, but faith — that kept me moving forward.

Growing up in Queens, New York, I learned early on that education is not a luxury — it is the foundation upon which every meaningful goal is built. That conviction has driven every decision I have made in pursuit of my academic and professional aspirations, even when the path required patience, sacrifice, and starting over. After completing 60 credits at Finger Lakes Community College, I transferred to Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, where I am now pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration. That transition was not simple. It meant rebuilding routines, adapting to a more rigorous environment, and balancing coursework that spans networking security, information security policy, computer programming, and enterprise risk management — all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. That cumulative grade point average is not just a number to me; it represents the discipline I bring to every assignment, every lab, and every late study session. My career field is cybersecurity, and I chose it deliberately. We live in a world where nearly every system that governs daily life — healthcare records, financial transactions, government databases, personal communications — exists in a digital space that is under constant threat. The demand for professionals who can protect that space is urgent and growing, and I want to be one of the people who answers that demand. My coursework has given me a strong theoretical and practical foundation. I have developed proficiency in Python and PowerShell scripting, explored virtual machine management, and studied the frameworks that organizations use to assess and mitigate cyber risk. Beyond the technical skills, I am drawn to cybersecurity because of the problem-solving it demands. Every vulnerability is a puzzle. Every incident response is a test of critical thinking under pressure. I thrive in that kind of environment, where the work is never static and the stakes are always real. My long-term goal is to work in a cybersecurity operations or risk management role, contributing to an organization's resilience against evolving digital threats. I am also motivated by the communities I come from. Queens is one of the most diverse places on earth, and I understand what it means to pursue higher education without a clear roadmap, without legacy networks, and without abundant financial resources. Scholarships like this one make a direct difference for students in that position. They allow us to stay focused on our goals rather than dividing our attention between academic work and financial anxiety. I am committed to finishing my degree, entering the cybersecurity field with both competence and purpose, and eventually giving back to the next generation of students who are navigating this same road. I am grateful for the opportunity to be considered, and I am ready to represent the values this scholarship honors — ambition, drive, and real-world impact.

Why should we consider you for this scholarship? Please write about your academic accomplishments, extracurricular activities, and anything else you would consider noteworthy to us. The cost of higher education has never been more daunting, and for adult learners returning to school later in life, the financial barriers are even steeper. I am Gerald Lewis, a graduate student currently enrolled at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies pursuing an advanced degree in technology management with a concentration in cybersecurity. I am writing to respectfully request consideration for this scholarship, and I believe my academic journey, personal drive, and professional aspirations make me a deserving candidate. My path to graduate school was not a straight line. I spent years in the workforce before deciding that advancing my education was essential to reaching my full potential. That decision required real sacrifice. Balancing coursework, personal responsibilities, and the ever-rising costs of tuition has been one of the most challenging chapters of my life. Prior to enrolling at Syracuse University, I completed 60 credit hours at Finger Lakes Community College, building a strong academic foundation that I now carry into graduate-level work. Throughout my academic career, I have maintained a strong grade point average and developed a genuine passion for the field of cybersecurity. At Syracuse University, I have immersed myself in subjects that are both technically demanding and critically important to our society. My coursework spans risk management, social media security, technology ethics, and coding fundamentals. I approach every assignment with a high standard of academic integrity, understanding that the skills I develop now will one day be applied in real-world environments where errors have serious consequences. Whether completing a Python scripting project, analyzing security vulnerabilities for a group presentation, or writing technical reports on emerging cyber threats, I bring precision and purpose to everything I do. Beyond the classroom, I stay engaged with developments in the field by independently studying cybersecurity frameworks, exploring virtual machine environments, and experimenting with scripting tools. I have developed hands-on proficiency with Python and PowerShell, skills I apply not only in academic exercises but in personal projects that deepen my technical competency. My curiosity extends to understanding how adversaries operate, how systems can be hardened, and how organizations can be better prepared against threats that evolve daily. This self-directed learning reflects an initiative that goes beyond what any syllabus requires. I am also deeply aware of what it means to pursue education as a member of a community that has historically faced systemic barriers to advancement. As a Black adult learner in a field where representation remains limited, I understand the importance of pushing forward even when the road is harder. I want to become part of a generation that changes the face of cybersecurity, bringing diverse perspectives to a discipline that desperately needs them. I know that the work I put in now will create opportunities not just for myself but for others who come from similar backgrounds. Financially, I am managing the cost of graduate school with limited support. Scholarships like this one make a tangible difference. They represent the difference between being able to focus on academics and being forced to take on additional work that stretches time and attention thin. I am grateful for organizations that recognize the value of investing in dedicated students regardless of their path to enrollment. I aspire to use my degree to enter the cybersecurity field in a meaningful role, whether in threat analysis, security operations, risk management, or technology policy. Long term, I hope to work at an institution or organization where I can mentor others from underrepresented backgrounds into careers in technology. Education opened a door for me, and I intend to hold it open for those who follow. I am ambitious, disciplined, and driven by purpose. I am not simply checking boxes on a path to a degree. I am building a foundation for a career that will contribute to the safety and resilience of the organizations and communities I serve. I would be honored to be considered for this scholarship and deeply grateful for any support that helps me continue moving forward. The field of cybersecurity is one that society cannot afford to leave undermanned or underdeveloped. Every day, organizations face threats that grow more sophisticated and more damaging. From ransomware attacks crippling hospitals to data breaches exposing the personal information of millions of individuals, the stakes are real and the need for skilled professionals is urgent. I am determined to be one of those professionals. My decision to pursue graduate study in this area was not made lightly. It reflects years of watching technology reshape the world and recognizing that I wanted to be more than a bystander in that transformation. I wanted to be someone who understands how to protect systems, defend organizations, and educate communities about the risks they face. That is the future I am working toward, and this scholarship would help me get there.

My brand new Love Island Challenge is called the "Career Crossroads Challenge," and it's designed to test compatibility at a deeper level than most challenges on the show. Here's how it works: Each Islander is given a career scenario card that describes a realistic life dilemma — things like "You get your dream job offer, but it requires moving to another country. Does your partner come with you?" or "You have to choose between attending your partner's big event or showing up for an important work deadline. What do you do?" Both partners answer the question separately in confessional-style settings without knowing what the other said. Then they come together in front of the group to share their answers. The challenge scores points based on how aligned their values and priorities are — not on whether they gave the same answer, but on whether they genuinely considered each other while making their decision. The beauty of this challenge is that it strips away surface-level attraction and forces Islanders to confront real-life compatibility: ambition, sacrifice, communication, and respect. Love Island is at its most compelling when it explores whether relationships can survive the pressures of real life — and this challenge brings that question to the forefront in a fun, structured way. As a graduate student in cybersecurity who thinks a lot about decision-making under pressure, I'd love to see contestants navigate these kinds of human challenges. The Love Island Fan Scholarship celebrates creativity and passion for the show, and this challenge idea captures both.

Wicked resonates with me on a deeply personal level because it tells the story of two people who don't fit neatly into the world's expectations of them — and how they navigate that reality in entirely different ways. For Elphaba, being misunderstood, underestimated, and unfairly judged despite her talents mirrors an experience many BIPOC individuals understand intimately. For Glinda, it's the journey of realizing that popularity and appearance don't define true character or purpose. As a Black graduate student pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, I've spent time in rooms where I had to prove my belonging. The themes in Wicked — of defying gravity, of refusing to shrink yourself to make others comfortable, of finding power in your difference rather than apologizing for it — speak directly to that experience. The moment in "Defying Gravity" when Elphaba chooses her own path over acceptance is one of the most powerful scenes in musical theater. It captures something essential: sometimes the bravest thing you can do is step into your own power even when the world isn't ready for you. That theme has carried me through difficult semesters, financial pressure, and moments of self-doubt. Wicked also explores the complexity of friendship and growth, which resonates with my experience of building community in graduate school. The relationship between Elphaba and Glinda shows how two very different people can shape each other for the better. The Wicked Fan Scholarship represents that same spirit of recognizing potential in unexpected places, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to apply.

Sabrina Carpenter's career resonates with me in a way that goes beyond surface-level fandom. As someone navigating the pressures of graduate school while managing financial hardship, her journey from a Disney Channel actress to a chart-topping artist who refuses to be limited by others' expectations speaks directly to the experience of outgrowing the boxes people put you in. What I admire most about Sabrina is her consistency. She didn't become an overnight sensation — she built her craft over years, through smaller projects, through criticism, and through periods where the mainstream music world wasn't paying full attention. Songs like "Skin" showed she could respond to adversity with grace and creativity rather than bitterness. Her growth from "Girl Meets World" to albums like "emails i can't send" and then the cultural phenomenon of "Short n' Sweet" demonstrates what dedicated, authentic work actually looks like over time. For me as a BIPOC adult learner pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, Sabrina's story is a reminder that the path is rarely straightforward. She reinvented herself multiple times without losing her core identity — witty, bold, and deeply personal. That kind of identity-grounded reinvention is something I aspire to in my own life, as I transition from earlier career experiences into a new chapter in technology and information security. Sabrina's willingness to be unfiltered and unapologetic in her storytelling — whether through heartbreak or humor — has also made me a more honest writer and communicator. The Sabrina Carpenter Superfan Scholarship represents not just financial support but recognition of the ways art shapes how we see ourselves and our futures.

Of all of Taylor Swift's performances throughout her remarkable career, the one that stands out to me most is her performance of "All Too Well (Ten Minute Version)" during Saturday Night Live in November 2021. This performance was more than just a musical showcase — it was a raw, unfiltered emotional moment that showcased Taylor's unique ability to transform personal pain into something universally understood. What makes this performance particularly moving is the vulnerability Taylor brought to every word. She stood essentially still, relying entirely on the weight of her voice and the poetry of the lyrics to carry the audience through a story of loss, longing, and the sharp ache of memory. There were no elaborate production elements, no dramatic stage effects — just an artist and her truth. As someone who grew up navigating hardship and uncertainty, I've always connected with music that doesn't sugarcoat difficult emotions. Taylor's ability to articulate feelings that many people struggle to put into words has always resonated with me. In "All Too Well," she captures the bittersweet complexity of remembering something beautiful that was also deeply painful, and she does so with a precision that feels almost literary. This performance also represented something larger: an artist reclaiming her own narrative. After years of public battles over the ownership of her music and her story, here was Taylor Swift standing at the center of that story again, on her own terms. There was a quiet power in that moment that went far beyond entertainment. For me as a graduate student balancing financial hardship with ambitious academic goals, Taylor's resilience is genuinely inspiring. Her career demonstrates that setbacks, criticism, and obstacles don't have to define an outcome — dedication, craft, and authenticity can carry a person through. The Taylor Swift Fan Scholarship represents that same spirit of perseverance, and I'm honored to apply.

Mental health doesn't announce itself with a dramatic moment — sometimes it creeps in quietly, wearing the face of exhaustion, self-doubt, and the weight of doing everything alone. As a first-generation graduate student pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, I have lived that quiet struggle, and it has shaped every aspect of my academic and personal journey. Growing up in a household with limited financial resources meant that seeking mental health support was never framed as an option. Stress was something you pushed through, not something you discussed. That mindset followed me into adulthood and into my graduate studies, where the pressure to succeed, to justify every dollar of tuition, to prove I belonged in rooms where people like me were underrepresented — all of it compounded into something heavier than I was prepared to carry alone. During my first year at Syracuse, the intersection of financial pressure, academic rigor, and social isolation hit me all at once. I was balancing coursework in networking, cybersecurity risk management, and technology leadership while simultaneously navigating the financial aid system as an adult learner returning to school later in life. There were nights I questioned whether I had made the right choice — not because I lacked ability, but because the weight of everything external made it hard to see clearly. I struggled to focus, to sleep, to feel confident in spaces where I felt constantly scrutinized. What changed things for me was finally allowing myself to acknowledge that what I was experiencing was real. I began reading about the mental health challenges disproportionately faced by Black male graduate students — the pressure to outperform expectations, the emotional labor of navigating predominantly white academic institutions, and the stigma around seeking help within Black communities. Understanding the systemic context helped me stop blaming myself and start advocating for my own wellbeing. I began practicing intentional self-care: structuring my days, building in recovery time between study sessions, connecting with peers who understood the specific pressures of being a BIPOC student in a technical field. I became more open about my struggles with trusted mentors and faculty, which led to accessing resources I hadn't known existed. That shift — from silent suffering to active self-advocacy — became one of the most important turning points of my educational career. My experience with mental health has also deepened my professional purpose. In cybersecurity, we talk often about human vulnerability as the greatest attack surface. I believe the same is true in life — when we are mentally exhausted and unsupported, we are more susceptible to failure, exploitation, and despair. Part of my long-term goal is to work in organizations that prioritize psychological safety for their teams, particularly for underrepresented professionals who often carry burdens that go unseen. Elijah's Helping Hand Scholarship represents exactly the kind of support that changes trajectories. Not because money solves mental health — it doesn't — but because financial relief removes one layer of the crushing weight that so many students carry silently. I am honored to apply, and I carry forward the belief that speaking openly about mental health is not weakness, but one of the most courageous things a person can do.

Math has always been, for me, more than a subject — it is a language. It is the one language that does not change depending on who is speaking it, where you are in the world, or what background you come from. That universality is what first drew me to it, and what continues to anchor my passion for it today. As a graduate student in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, I live mathematics every day. Encryption algorithms depend on number theory. Network security relies on graph theory and combinatorics. Risk modeling is rooted in probability and statistics. Every time I design a secure system or analyze a potential threat, I am applying mathematical thinking — whether I label it that way or not. Math is not just a tool I use; it is the foundation on which my entire field is built. But beyond practical application, what I love most about math is the way it teaches you to think. It rewards patience, precision, and persistence. There is no shortcut to solving a complex problem. You have to work through it step by step, and that discipline has shaped how I approach every challenge — academic, professional, and personal. I grew up in an environment where math was not always encouraged. Resources were limited, and advanced coursework was not always accessible. But I gravitated toward numbers because they made sense in a world that often did not. Math gave me clarity, structure, and confidence. It showed me that real problems have real answers, and that with enough effort, you can find them. That belief — that effort plus rigor equals results — is what drives me forward. I love math because it never lies. It challenges you, rewards you, and teaches you that the most complex problems are just simpler ones stacked together.

Mental health is not a peripheral concern for students — it is central to everything we do. As a graduate student pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, I have come to understand this in a deeply personal way. The demands of graduate-level study, financial pressure, and the responsibility of building a future in a high-stakes field create an environment where mental wellness can quickly become fragile. Understanding and prioritizing mental health is not just beneficial for students like me — it is essential. For many students, mental health struggles remain invisible. We are taught to project confidence and capability, to push through difficulty without complaint. I grew up in a community where vulnerability was seen as weakness and where access to mental health resources was limited. The idea of discussing anxiety, stress, or burnout openly felt foreign — even dangerous to one's image. But over time, and especially through the rigors of higher education, I have come to recognize that suppressing these struggles does not eliminate them. It amplifies them. Mental health matters to me as a student because I have seen firsthand how its neglect can derail even the most talented individuals. I have watched classmates withdraw from programs they loved because the weight of unaddressed stress became too heavy. I have felt the creeping doubt of imposter syndrome during late study nights, the physical fatigue of anxiety before major assessments, and the emotional toll of managing complex group projects while simultaneously managing financial hardship. These experiences have shaped how I show up for my peers. In my academic community, I advocate for mental health awareness by being intentionally open about my own experience. I normalize conversations about stress and burnout in group study settings. I encourage classmates to use campus mental health resources rather than suffering in silence. I approach group projects with empathy, checking in on teammates beyond just the academic deliverables, because I know that what is going on in someone's life profoundly affects their performance and wellbeing. I also see mental health advocacy as part of my future career in cybersecurity. Technology professionals are among the highest-risk groups for burnout and mental health challenges due to the high-pressure, always-on culture of the field. As I develop into a leader in this space, I intend to carry a culture of psychological safety — environments where people can ask for help, admit mistakes, and discuss their well-being without fear of judgment. This is not just a humanitarian goal; it leads to stronger teams and better outcomes. The Learner Mental Health Empowerment Scholarship represents exactly the kind of investment that matters: not just in academic achievement, but in the whole person behind the degree. I am committed to being a voice for mental wellness in my community, my profession, and the world I am working to help protect.

Mental health is not a topic I have always been comfortable discussing. Like many students navigating graduate school while managing financial pressure, academic expectations, and the weight of building a future in a competitive field, I have experienced the quiet struggle that rarely gets talked about — the anxiety that comes with imposter syndrome, the isolation of long study nights, and the exhaustion of constantly pushing forward when it feels like the ground beneath you might give way. Growing up in a low-income household and being a first-generation college student means that vulnerability often felt like a luxury I could not afford. There was always another obstacle to overcome, another barrier to fight through. The culture I was raised in, and the communities I have been part of, often treated mental health as something to push aside rather than address. Weakness, it seemed, was not an option. But the longer I have pursued my academic goals — and especially during my time as a graduate student at Syracuse University studying cybersecurity — the more clearly I have come to understand that ignoring mental health does not make you stronger. It makes you more fragile in the moments when resilience matters most. I have watched peers silently struggle with depression and burnout. I have felt the weight of anxiety on the nights before major deadlines. I have seen how mental health challenges, left unaddressed, can derail even the most talented, driven individuals. These experiences have fundamentally shaped how I approach my work and my goals. I have come to believe that true strength means seeking support when you need it, being honest about struggle, and creating space for others to do the same. In the field of cybersecurity, where the stakes are high and the pressure is relentless, a culture of mental health awareness is not just beneficial — it is essential. I want to be part of changing that culture. I want to use my platform as a technology professional to advocate for mental wellness in STEM fields, where it is least often discussed. I believe that when we destigmatize mental health, we build stronger communities, better professionals, and a more just world. This scholarship’s mission aligns deeply with how I have come to understand my own journey — that healing and ambition are not opposites, but partners.

Growing up in a low-income household shaped my understanding of resilience and purpose. Financial constraints were a constant reality, but they also became the foundation of my determination to build a better future — not just for myself, but for my community. Those early experiences taught me to be resourceful, disciplined, and focused on what truly matters. Today, I carry those lessons with me as a graduate student pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity at Syracuse University. I did not take the traditional path — I navigated community college, worked to support myself, and managed competing responsibilities before earning my place in a rigorous graduate program. Each obstacle reinforced the drive that adversity first sparked in me. My goal is to use my cybersecurity expertise to protect communities that are often left vulnerable — low-income neighborhoods, small businesses, and underserved institutions that cannot afford robust digital defenses. I want to bridge the gap between advanced technology and the people who need it most. I am actively pursuing this vision by excelling in my coursework, seeking scholarships to reduce my financial burden, and developing skills that will position me to give back. Every degree I earn, every skill I build, brings me closer to the meaningful impact I know is possible when determination meets opportunity.

The Language Beneath the Code: Why Calculus Matters in STEM As a graduate student pursuing a Master's degree in cybersecurity, I did not initially consider calculus to be central to my field. Cybersecurity, I assumed, was primarily about code, networks, and human behavior. What I have come to understand, however, is that calculus is not merely an academic prerequisite — it is the foundational language through which the entire STEM ecosystem communicates. Calculus provides the mathematical framework for understanding change, optimization, and rates of interaction. These are not abstract concepts. In cybersecurity, anomaly detection systems rely on statistical models rooted in calculus. When a machine learning algorithm identifies suspicious network behavior, it calculates derivatives and optimizes functions to distinguish normal from abnormal patterns. Without understanding how calculus underpins these processes, a cybersecurity professional cannot critically evaluate or improve the tools they rely on. Beyond cybersecurity, calculus is the common thread running through nearly every STEM discipline. In physics, it explains laws of motion and electromagnetic fields. In biology, differential equations model disease spread and population dynamics. In engineering, integral calculus allows designers to calculate stress loads and fluid dynamics. In economics, it enables analysis of marginal utility. Every STEM discipline is, at its core, an application of calculus in a specific context. Calculus is especially critical in artificial intelligence and big data. Machine learning is built on calculus. Gradient descent, the optimization algorithm that trains neural networks, is a direct application of multivariable calculus. Without understanding how derivatives guide a model toward minimum error, practitioners are limited to using AI as a black box rather than an instrument they can refine. Calculus also develops thinking that transcends specific applications. It teaches students to reason about limits, fosters precision, and demands exactness. This precision is invaluable in technical work and the analytical thinking required for any complex problem. Personally, studying calculus has deepened my appreciation for the mathematical rigor behind cybersecurity tools. When I analyze a cryptographic algorithm, I understand that its security rests on computational complexity rooted in calculus. When I evaluate risk models, I recognize the probability distributions that calculus made possible. Calculus is not just a gatekeeping requirement; it is the engine powering discovery. Investing in calculus education means investing in future innovators who will build secure digital infrastructures. For any student serious about contributing to STEM, calculus is not optional — it is essential. It is truly indispensable.

Building a Cybersecurity-Resilient Future As a graduate student in cybersecurity at Syracuse University, I am building something that extends beyond my own career. I am working to construct a more secure and equitable digital future for the communities I come from. For me, building starts with education. I am pursuing my Master's degree while navigating the financial demands of graduate school, determined to transform myself into a certified cybersecurity professional. Every course, every late-night study session, and every complex assignment is a brick in the foundation of something larger than myself. The structure I am building has both personal and communal dimensions. I am developing expertise in risk management, network security, and information assurance, skills desperately needed across every sector. Cybersecurity threats disproportionately affect organizations in low-income communities that lack resources to protect themselves. As an African American professional entering this field, I see myself as a bridge between technical expertise and communities historically left behind in the digital divide. My long-term goal is to work in public service or with nonprofit organizations, providing cybersecurity guidance to schools, hospitals, and community organizations protecting vulnerable populations. I hope to make cybersecurity accessible, not just a privilege of wealthy corporations. Building requires discipline and resilience. Like any worthwhile construction project, my journey has had setbacks including financial challenges and competing obligations. But each obstacle has strengthened my resolve. I am not just building a career; I am building the character needed to make a lasting difference. This scholarship would serve as critical scaffolding, providing financial support that allows me to focus more fully on my studies. I am building a legacy where a determined individual used education and ambition to become a force for s I am committed to building not just a successful career, but a meaningful life dedicated to protecting others through the power of technology and education.ecurity and equity in the digital age.

As a first-generation college student and adult learner pursuing a Master's degree in Cybersecurity at Syracuse University, managing student loan debt is one of the most pressing financial challenges I face. I am approaching this challenge with the same strategic mindset I apply to my studies: through careful planning, active scholarship pursuit, and career-focused positioning. Currently, I am actively applying to scholarships through platforms like Bold.org to offset my tuition costs and reduce the amount I must borrow. Every scholarship award I receive directly reduces my loan burden, which is why I dedicate significant time to crafting thoughtful applications. I am also leveraging any available institutional aid, grants, and work opportunities to supplement my income while studying. On the income side, I work part-time while pursuing my degree, which allows me to cover living expenses without taking on additional consumer debt. I am disciplined about budgeting and avoid unnecessary spending so that I can direct more of my income toward education-related costs. Looking ahead, I am positioning myself to enter the cybersecurity field, which offers strong earning potential. The Bureau of Labor Statistics projects cybersecurity roles to grow significantly over the next decade, and professionals in this field command competitive salaries. With a graduate degree from Syracuse University, I anticipate being able to secure employment that will allow me to aggressively pay down my student loans through a combination of income-driven repayment strategies and lump-sum payments whenever possible. I also plan to explore employer tuition assistance programs and Public Service Loan Forgiveness if I pursue a role in government cybersecurity or public sector technology, both of which are career paths I am actively considering. These programs could significantly reduce or eliminate a portion of my remaining debt after graduation. The Ruthie Brown Scholarship would be transformative for me. As a BIPOC adult learner who has navigated higher education without the safety net that many traditional students benefit from, this award would directly reduce the financial pressure I carry, allowing me to focus more fully on my studies and career development. I am committed to using my degree to build a stable future and to giving back to my community by mentoring other students who, like me, are the first in their families to pursue graduate Beyond financial strategies, I am also committed to academic excellence as a means to reduce my reliance on debt in the future. By maintaining a strong GPA and building a robust professional network at Syracuse University, I am positioning myself for merit-based opportunities, research assistantships, and industry partnerships that could offset future educational expenses. Every step I take is intentional and directed toward a debt-free or debt-minimal future.education.

I plan to make a positive impact on the world through a career in cybersecurity and technology education, with a specific focus on protecting and empowering underserved communities. As an African American adult learner at Syracuse University studying Cybersecurity Administration, my work is both technical and deeply human. For over a decade, I worked in IT administration in New York City, gaining hands-on experience with enterprise systems, network security, and organizational technology management. Throughout that career, I watched how digital threats affected people who had the fewest resources to defend themselves. Schools, nonprofits, small businesses, and community organizations were targets precisely because they lacked dedicated security teams and expertise. I made a commitment to eventually be someone who could help change that. Returning to school as an adult was one of the most challenging decisions I have ever made. I transferred from Finger Lakes Community College, where I graduated with a 4.0 GPA, to Syracuse University to complete my degree. That journey has reinforced my belief that education, opportunity, and community support can change the trajectory of any life — including mine. My positive impact will take several forms. As a cybersecurity professional, I will help organizations protect themselves and the people they serve. I will pursue certifications and take on roles that keep communities safer online. As a mentor and educator, I will open doors for young people from underrepresented backgrounds who do not yet see themselves in technology careers. Volunteering and community engagement have always been central to my identity. I have informally mentored younger colleagues throughout my career, shared technical knowledge freely with neighbors and community members, and worked to make technology accessible to people who might otherwise be left behind. These are not side projects for me. They are the reason I do this work. I believe that the greatest impact any individual can have is not just personal success, but the ability to bring others along. This scholarship wo The memory of Destiny McClain and the values her life represented — generosity, giving, and making an impact — are a reminder of why this work matters. I carry those values in everything I do. Whether I am protecting a system, tutoring a student, or mentoring someone navigating a new career path, my goal is always the same: leave people better than I found them. That is the impact I am committed to making, and this scholarship would help me pursue it with everything I have.uld help me complete that mission by supporting my education and enabling me to give back to my community with even greater capacity and purpose.

I am Gerald Lewis, an African American adult learner pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies. My path to this field has been shaped by more than a decade of hands-on work in IT, a deep commitment to community, and a conviction that technology can either protect people or harm them depending on who controls it. My career is fundamentally about helping people. Cybersecurity is not a behind-the-scenes technical discipline — it is a front-line public service. Every hospital that gets hit by ransomware and cannot access patient records, every school district that loses student data to a breach, every small business that shuts down because of a cyberattack: these are human stories. They affect real families in real communities. I want to be someone who prevents those stories from happening. Growing up in Oklahoma City and working in New York City, I saw how technology shaped life chances differently depending on where you lived and how much money you had. The communities least equipped to defend themselves digitally were often the most vulnerable in every other way too. I became committed to being a defender for those communities. As an adult learner who returned to school while managing financial and professional responsibilities, I also understand the importance of creating educational pathways that serve people who do not fit the traditional student mold. I plan to contribute to that work by eventually mentoring and teaching cybersecurity to underrepresented students who need guidance and support. I believe that cybersecurity is one of the most caring fields a person can enter today. It is about protecting people, institutions, and communities from harm. When I think about the communities I grew up in, the people I have worked alongside throughout my career, and the students I hope to mentor in the future, I see clearly why this work matters. Safety online is not a luxury. It is a right. And I intend to spend my career making sure more people have access to it. My background as an adult learner from a low-income community has given me both the perspective and the drive to carry this mission forward with integrity and purpose. My impact will not be limited to technical work. I will show up as a mentor, an educator, an advocate, and a professional who demonstrates that caring about people and excelling in technology are not opposites. They are the same mission. This scholarship would help me fulfill that mission by supporting my continued education and professional development at Syracuse University.

The greatest adversity I have faced is not a single moment, but a decade of decisions made in the gap between where I was and where I knew I needed to be. I am an African American adult learner who spent years in the workforce before returning to school. That decision to go back was not easy, and the years leading up to it were not smooth. After years of working in IT administration, I had built real expertise but lacked formal credentials. I watched colleagues with degrees advance past me despite having less hands-on experience. I carried the weight of that gap silently for a long time. Returning to school as an adult meant confronting fears that many people never have to face: feeling like you don't belong in a classroom, worrying about finances, navigating systems that are not designed with adult learners in mind, and managing the vulnerability of starting over while everyone around you seems younger and less burdened. I overcame that adversity by reframing what I was doing. I was not starting over. I was formalizing what I had already earned. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College and threw myself into every course with the discipline and focus of someone who understood exactly what they were working toward. I graduated with a 4.0 GPA and transferred to Syracuse University, where I am now pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration. The journey has not gotten easier, but it has gotten clearer. This adversity has shaped me in ways I am genuinely grateful for. I no longer take learning for granted. I understand the financial and emotional weight of education in a way that many traditional students do not. And I have developed a deep empathy for anyone who is trying to build a better life while managing the pressures of adulthood. My advice to someone facing similar circumstances is simple: the cost of going back is real, but the cost of not going back is higher. Do not let the fear of being out of place stop you from being exactly where you belong. Your experience is not a liability. It is an advantage. And every day you choose to show up is proof that you are already someone worth investing in. Being underrepresented in my field has also been a form of adversity I have had to face daily. But it has also made me stronger and more deliberate. I know that my presence in cybersecurity matters not only for what I can achieve professionally, but for what it signals to the next generation of Black students who are watching. That knowledge gives me purpose that goes far beyond any single degree or scholarship.

The values of service, sacrifice, and bravery are not abstract ideas to me. They are the foundation on which I have built my life. Sgt. Albert Dono Ware embodied these values in uniform, but I believe they apply with equal force to every arena in which we choose to show up for our communities. For me, that arena is information technology and cybersecurity. Every day I commit to this field is an act of service to the people and communities I care about. My personal journey reflects the tension that many in the African diaspora know well: the pull between survival and vision. I grew up in Oklahoma City in a community where I watched technology open doors for some while locking others out entirely. I became the informal IT support for my neighborhood — fixing computers, setting up networks, explaining digital tools to people who had no one else to ask. That was my first form of service. I was not earning a salary. I was meeting a need. When I moved to New York City, I formalized that service into a career in IT administration. For over a decade, I worked in enterprise environments, supporting systems and teams, learning the technical and organizational challenges of the field. I was often the only Black person in the room at a certain level, and I understood what that meant. It meant I had to succeed not just for myself, but to demonstrate what was possible for people who looked like me. Returning to school as an adult learner, first at Finger Lakes Community College and now at Syracuse University, where I am pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration, was one of the most difficult decisions I have made. It required sacrifice: financial, personal, and professional. But it was also an act of bravery. I chose to bet on myself and on a future where I could serve my community at a higher level. The challenges facing the African diaspora in the United States are deep and structural. In the technology sector specifically, Black professionals remain dramatically underrepresented at every level, from entry-level roles to executive leadership. This is not a pipeline problem alone. It is a systemic problem rooted in unequal access to education, mentorship, and opportunity. The communities most vulnerable to cybercrime are often the ones with the least access to cybersecurity professionals who look like them and understand their needs. The policy reforms I see as most critical are twofold. First, workforce development programs that specifically target African American and African diaspora students for technology career pathways, funded and supported at the municipal and federal level. Second, investment in digital equity infrastructure that ensures broadband access, device access, and technology education in underserved communities. These are not charity programs. They are investments in national security and economic equity. The stakeholders who must be involved are government agencies, HBCUs and minority-serving institutions, community organizations, and technology corporations who have the resources and the responsibility to act. I plan to be one of those stakeholders. This scholarship will help me complete my degree, pursue advanced certifications, and build the career platform from which I can serve as a voice, a mentor, and an advocate for the African American community in technology for years to come.

I want to pursue a career in STEM, specifically in cybersecurity, because I have seen both the power and the inequity of technology firsthand. Growing up in Oklahoma City and later working in New York City, I witnessed how digital tools transformed the lives of people with access while leaving others behind. I became determined to be someone who closes that gap, not just by protecting systems, but by opening doors for the people who have been locked out. My journey to this point has not been linear. I spent over a decade working in IT administration before returning to school as an adult learner at Finger Lakes Community College, where I earned my Associate's degree with a 4.0 GPA. I then transferred to Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, where I am pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Cybersecurity Administration. That path, though longer than most, has given me something I could not have gotten any other way: real-world experience that informs every lesson I study and every concept I apply. Cybersecurity is one of the fastest-growing fields in the country, yet it remains deeply underrepresented when it comes to Black and Brown professionals. I want to be part of changing that reality. My career goal is to work in enterprise cybersecurity and risk management while simultaneously building pathways for the next generation of African American students who deserve a shot at these careers. I plan to give back by mentoring, by advocating for tech education in underserved communities, and by developing resources that make cybersecurity accessible to students who may not yet see themselves in the field. I know what it is like to look at a profession and not see anyone who looks like you. I want to be visible, credible, and present so that younger students can see what is possible. This scholarship is an investment in that vision. It will help me complete my degree and step fully into a role where I can protect, educate, and uplift my community through the power of technology. The Stephan L. Daniels Lift As We Climb Scholarship speaks directly to my values. The idea of lifting as you climb is something I have internalized throughout my career. Every time I learned something new, I found a way to share it. That is the spirit I will carry into every professional and academic setting for the rest of my life. Completing my degree is not just a personal milestone — it is the foundation I need to build something that serves my community for generations.

My name is Gerald Lewis. I am an African American adult learner, IT professional, and undergraduate student at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies, where I am pursuing a degree in Cybersecurity Administration. My interest in education is deeply personal: I have spent over a decade working in information technology, and I have come to understand that technical knowledge is only as powerful as your ability to share it. I grew up in Oklahoma City, where I watched technology both empower and exclude people. Communities with resources thrived in the digital age, while others were left behind. That observation planted a seed. When I eventually moved to New York City and built a career in IT administration, I carried that seed with me. I knew from early on that whatever I learned, I would need to find ways to bring others along. My goals for the future are twofold. First, I want to become a certified cybersecurity professional capable of working at the enterprise level, protecting organizations against the growing threats that come with digital transformation. Second, and equally important, I want to teach and mentor. I want to develop curriculum and pathways that connect young Black and brown students to careers in technology. Too many talented students never discover IT because they never see themselves in it. I plan to change that. This scholarship would help me achieve both goals. As an adult student returning to school while managing real-world financial responsibilities, every source of support matters. Completing my degree at Syracuse University will open doors to professional certifications, graduate-level opportunities, and the credibility to stand in front of a classroom and teach with authority. Dr. Junior Gentles represents the kind of legacy I want to build: someone who built a better future even when the path was difficult. I share that spirit. I have already overcome setbacks that would have stopped many people, and I am not done. This scholarship is an investment in someone who plans to pay it forward, many times over, for as long as possible. I have already demonstrated that commitment through my academic performance. After earning an Associate's degree from Finger Lakes Community College with a 4.0 GPA, I transferred to Syracuse University where I continue to prioritize excellence. But grades are only part of the story. What drives me is the belief that every person in my community deserves access to the knowledge and tools that can change their economic trajectory. Cybersecurity and information technology represent some of the highest-growth, highest-paying fields available, and I intend to open that door for people who have too often been told it is not for them.

One of the most revealing projects I ever undertook started as a personal challenge: I wanted to understand how operating systems work at a low level, not just how to use them. So I began experimenting with virtual machine environments, creating isolated systems that I could configure, break, and rebuild from scratch. What started as tinkering quickly became a deep dive into the mechanics of how software interacts with hardware, how security vulnerabilities emerge at the system level, and how small configuration decisions can have massive downstream consequences. I have always been a builder and experimenter at heart. Long before I had formal training in IT, I was the person in my community in Oklahoma City who fixed computers, set up home networks, and figured out how things worked by taking them apart. That instinct has never left me. Over the years, it evolved into something more structured: writing PowerShell and Python scripts to automate administrative tasks, building custom ISO environments to test system behavior in controlled conditions, configuring firewalls and simulating network attacks in safe lab environments. My approach to problem-solving is systematic but creative. I believe the best solutions come from asking questions that others have stopped asking. Why does this system behave this way? What happens if I change this variable? What would an attacker see if they looked at this configuration? Those questions have driven most of what I know, and they continue to guide how I learn. The positive impact I want to make through this approach is concrete: I want to use my curiosity and technical skill to build more secure systems and help communities that are often underprotected against cyber threats. The organizations serving low-income families, minority communities, and underserved neighborhoods are frequently the least equipped to defend against digital attacks. By developing expertise through self-directed experimentation and formal education at Syracuse University, I am building the skills to serve those communities as a cybersecurity professional. Tinkering, for me, is not just a hobby. It is how I prepare to protect people. What I have learned from years of hands-on experimentation is that the gap between curiosity and expertise is simply time and repetition. I have applied that philosophy consistently. Every new tool I encounter, I disassemble it mentally and ask how it works. Every problem I face in my coursework at Syracuse University, I approach as a tinkerer would: test, fail, adjust, retest. That mindset is what has allowed me to advance from informal self-teaching to formal academic study in cybersecurity. I believe it is also what will allow me to make a lasting difference in the lives of people who depend on secure, reliable systems.

I am Gerald Lewis, an African American adult learner pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Cybersecurity Administration at Syracuse University's School of Professional Studies. My path has not been traditional. After years of working in IT administration in New York City, I made the decision to formalize my education and earn credentials that would amplify the experience I had already built. That choice to return to school as an adult is one I make every day, and it speaks directly to my commitment to making a positive impact through my chosen field. Cybersecurity is not just a career for me — it is a cause. I have seen firsthand how data breaches and cyberattacks devastate individuals and organizations, and how those harms fall disproportionately on communities that are already underserved. When schools lose student records, when hospitals face ransomware attacks, it is often the most vulnerable populations who pay the highest price. I am studying cybersecurity so that I can be someone who helps prevent those outcomes and advocates for communities that deserve better protection. In terms of the causes I actively support, equity in technology is at the center of everything I do. As a Black man in tech, I understand what it means to be underrepresented and to have to work twice as hard to be seen as equally capable. I want to use my career to change that dynamic, both by excelling professionally and by serving as a mentor to young African American students who may not yet see themselves in technology. The legacy of Addie James Hamerter, as described in this scholarship, resonates deeply with me. A commitment to human rights and dignity through sustained, practical action is exactly how I want to define my own legacy. This scholarship would directly support my ability to remain focused on my studies without the financial pressure that comes with being a returning adult student. It would help me invest in the tools, certifications, and resources that accelerate my growth and enable me to give back to my community with even greater impact. I also have a strong history of community involvement. Growing up, I understood early on that individual success means little without contributing to the people around you. Whether helping neighbors with technology problems, assisting classmates at FLCC, or sharing knowledge with colleagues, I have always looked for ways to lift others as I climb. A career in cybersecurity allows me to scale that commitment, protecting not just individuals but entire communities from harm. I am ready to step fully into that role, and this scholarship would help me get there.

My journey into information technology began not in a classroom, but in necessity. Growing up in Oklahoma City, I became the go-to person for fixing computers and troubleshooting networks in my community long before I knew what a career in IT could look like. That instinct to solve problems, to understand how systems work and how to make them work better, has driven every step of my professional and academic path. Over the past decade, I have built a career in IT administration that spans system maintenance, network configuration, cybersecurity protocols, and end-user support. Working in New York City, I supported enterprise environments and gained hands-on experience with tools and frameworks used in real-world security operations. This professional background gave me something textbooks alone cannot: an understanding of how technology decisions affect real people and real organizations. What excites me most about the technology field is cybersecurity — specifically, the challenge of staying ahead of threats in an ever-evolving landscape. When I see a new vulnerability in the news, I do not just read about it; I research how it works, what systems it affects, and how defenders respond. That curiosity pushed me to pursue formal education at Finger Lakes Community College and then transfer to Syracuse University, where I am now studying Cybersecurity Administration in the School of Professional Studies. In addition to coursework, I engage with IT concepts through self-directed projects. I have configured virtual machines to simulate network environments, written Python and PowerShell scripts to automate administrative tasks, and explored ISO file management and emulation tools as a hobby that deepened my understanding of operating systems at a low level. These projects reflect my belief that learning in IT never stops, and that the most valuable skills come from building, breaking, and rebuilding things yourself. As an African American man pursuing a career in technology, I am also deeply aware of how underrepresented my community remains in the field. I want to be part of changing that, not just by succeeding personally, but by mentoring others who may not see pathways into IT that look like theirs. This scholarship would help me complete my degree and step fully into the role I have been preparing for my entire career. I am not entering this field as a newcomer. I am formalizing a decade of real experience, and I plan to use every skill and credential I earn to serve both my profession and my community.

My computer science journey is not a straight line — it is a comeback story rooted in purpose. After more than a decade working in IT, I was laid off during the COVID-19 pandemic. Rather than simply looking for another job, I made the decision to go back to school and formalize my passion for cybersecurity. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College, earned my Associate's in Networking and Cybersecurity with a 4.0 GPA, and transferred to Syracuse University, where I am now pursuing my Bachelor's in Cybersecurity Administration — maintaining that same 4.0 GPA. My computer science goals are focused and mission-driven. I want to become a cybersecurity specialist who protects organizations — particularly schools, nonprofits, and underserved communities — from the growing wave of digital threats. I have already begun walking that path as an IT Intern at Piedmont Public Schools, where I help maintain secure, reliable technology infrastructure that teachers and students depend on every day. My long-term goal is to move into a cybersecurity management role where I can design and implement enterprise-level security strategies, particularly for institutions that serve vulnerable populations. Beyond computer science, I am deeply committed to community impact and mentorship. Growing up as a Black man in Oklahoma City and later building my career in New York City, I witnessed firsthand how underrepresented communities often lack access to the same digital resources and protections as others. That experience shaped my non-technical goal: to become a bridge between the tech industry and underserved communities. I want to mentor young Black and brown students who are curious about technology but do not see themselves represented in the field. The intersection of these goals is where I believe my most meaningful work will happen. Cybersecurity is not just a technical discipline — it is a social justice issue. When a hospital suffers a ransomware attack, it is often low-income patients who bear the worst consequences. When a school district has weak cybersecurity, it is children's data that gets exposed. By combining my technical expertise with my commitment to equity, I plan to advocate for better cybersecurity policies and resources in communities that need them most. This scholarship would help me stay focused on both sets of goals without the financial pressure that comes with being a full-time student later in life. It would be an investment in someone who has already proven he can bounce back from setbacks and build something meaningful — and who plans to pay it forward many times over.

The moment I struggled most to use my voice came in the spring of 2020, when I found myself sitting in my apartment in St. Albans, Queens, unemployed for the first time in over a decade. I had just been laid off from my position as an IT Analyst at Eze Castles Integration due to the pandemic. I had ten years of experience, CompTIA certifications, and a track record of success — yet I could not bring myself to speak up and demand better for my future. I stayed quiet, scrolling through job boards, telling myself things would return to normal. That silence was the loudest struggle of my life. Growing up in Oklahoma City and building a career in IT, I had always let my technical skills do the talking. I moved to New York City in 2018 with confidence, but when COVID stripped away my job, it also stripped away my sense of identity. I am Gerald Lewis Jr., and for the first time, I did not know what to say about who I was or where I was going. As a Black man in a field where we are underrepresented, there was an added weight — a fear that speaking up about my ambitions, my struggles, or my need for support would be seen as weakness. What changed everything was a conversation I finally forced myself to have — with myself. I stopped being silent about what I truly wanted. I had always been passionate about cybersecurity, about protecting communities that are disproportionately targeted by digital threats. I had witnessed firsthand how underserved communities, including my own, suffer when they lack access to strong cybersecurity infrastructure. Once I gave myself permission to voice that passion out loud, everything shifted. I enrolled at Finger Lakes Community College to pursue my Associate's in Networking and Cybersecurity. Walking back into a classroom after years in the workforce was humbling. I had to ask questions I was embarrassed not to know. I had to raise my hand and admit when I did not understand something. Every time I did, I felt my confidence grow. I graduated with a 4.0 GPA and transferred to Syracuse University, where I am now pursuing my Bachelor's in Cybersecurity Administration — and maintaining that same 4.0. Today, I use my voice differently. As an IT Intern at Piedmont Public Schools, I advocate for the students and teachers who depend on secure, reliable technology. When I see a security gap that could expose student data, I speak up — clearly and confidently. I no longer stay quiet when something matters. I have learned that silence in the face of injustice, or even in the face of opportunity, is itself a choice with consequences. My goal is to become a cybersecurity leader who uses his voice to protect underserved communities from digital threats. I want to be the person who stands in the room and says: these communities deserve the same level of protection as anyone else. This scholarship would help me continue building that foundation — and that voice — so I can create the impact I know I am capable of making.