On January 24th, 2021, my grandmother, Amajji, passed away in India. Her loss was a profound tragedy for our family, intensified by the pandemic preventing us from attending her funeral. At 76, Amajji was our family’s pillar of strength and positivity. She often said, “To live for others, you must live for yourself first,” a philosophy she lived by and one that profoundly shaped me in the wake of her passing. Grieving her loss was a test of resilience. My family and I each coped differently, yet our shared grief brought us closer together. I watched my mother withdraw into herself, her brightness dimmed. My sister and father clung to the illusion that she was still with us, pointing out her favorite magazines and snacks at the grocery store. For me, the loss manifested in a quiet ache. I spent days lying in bed, reminiscing about her stories of rural life and the optimism she radiated. For months, I struggled to make sense of our new reality. Then, in June, I found clarity in her words: “To live for others, you must live for yourself first.” Inspired by her, I began channeling my grief into personal growth. I took up weightlifting, pushing myself to break personal records, and joined Interaxon as a writer, using my Spanish education to mentor neuroscience students. These pursuits grounded me and gave me a sense of purpose. As I started to heal, I turned my focus to my family. I helped my mother with dinner and my sister with homework, creating moments for us to connect. Gradually, we began to share our feelings and find strength in each other. I initiated family discussions where we openly expressed our emotions, celebrated small victories, and rekindled joy. Even a simple smile from my mother or sister became a beacon of hope, motivating me to continue forward. I carried this sense of purpose into my volunteer work at Riverside Community Hospital during the summer of 2021. Rotating through different wards, I attended to patients' basic needs, listened to their emotional struggles, and found myself deeply connecting with them. Their stories of battling illnesses and the toll on their families reminded me of how Amajji had always listened empathetically to us, giving me the sense that I was carrying her spirit into my work. Losing Amajji was the most challenging period of my life, but it brought immense personal growth. Her philosophy taught me that resilience is found in self-care and service to others. Today, I strive to embody her optimism and strength as I pursue a career in medicine. To anyone facing a similar loss, I would offer this advice: Give yourself grace to grieve, find purpose in what fulfills you, and lean on those who care for you. Healing is a journey, but with time and intention, it leads to renewed strength and clarity.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I am alive again,” Eduardo said, his voice filled with a newfound hope. Just a month earlier, he had come to the emergency room feeling hopeless and alone, overwhelmed by suicidal thoughts. Now, as I accompanied him to a follow-up with his psychiatrist, his transformation was palpable. As a crisis intervention specialist, I help individuals navigate psychiatric emergencies, de-escalate crises, and connect them to long-term care. Witnessing Eduardo’s recovery reminded me why I chose this path: to help people not just survive but thrive. The values that drive me today were shaped by my upbringing in Ambernath, India, where community and compassion were woven into daily life. In our tight-knit neighborhood, neighbors looked out for one another. I recall the comforting aroma of daal sent to our home when someone was unwell and elders walking safely, guided by younger companions. These small acts of kindness fostered a sense of belonging and well-being, showing me how deeply people can influence each other’s lives. When my family immigrated to the United States, we left behind this community warmth and entered a world of new opportunities and challenges. Adjusting to an unfamiliar culture was daunting, and I often felt like an outsider. Yet, these experiences gave me a unique perspective, allowing me to connect deeply with others navigating similar challenges. Sharing stories of our homelands with my classmates helped forge friendships that crossed cultural barriers. Growing up in Riverside, a predominantly Spanish-speaking city, added another layer to my multicultural journey. My Hispanic classmates welcomed me into their vibrant traditions and culture. Inspired to deepen these connections, I decided to learn Spanish, a decision that transformed my ability to engage with others. This skill proved invaluable when I volunteered as a service ambassador for Kaiser Permanente, where I used my multilingual abilities to guide patients through their care and provide a sense of comfort. My work there reinforced the importance of culturally sensitive, patient-centered care. In college, my passion for Spanish and medicine grew. My Indian heritage provided a unique lens through which I contributed to classroom discussions and volunteer work. As a Spanish translator at Venice Family Clinic, I assisted patients from diverse backgrounds, helping them navigate clinical resources and ensuring their voices were heard during medical appointments. Witnessing the relief and gratitude on their faces deepened my commitment to making healthcare more inclusive. These experiences underscored a critical realization: diversity in healthcare is essential. America’s patient demographic spans numerous ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic backgrounds, making it crucial for providers to meet patients where they are. Language, in particular, serves as a bridge to connect with patients on a personal level, fostering trust and delivering care that respects their cultural context. As a trilingual Indian immigrant, I know the struggles of adapting to new environments and finding belonging. My journey has taught me to see the world through multiple lenses and approach others with empathy. I envision myself as a bridge, helping patients, like Eduardo, connect with their cultural roots while accessing the care they need to be the best versions of themselves. Through compassionate, inclusive healthcare, I aim to empower individuals to reclaim their agency and thrive. By bringing my diverse experiences and perspectives to the field of medicine, I hope to contribute to a future where healthcare is as inclusive and compassionate as the communities that shaped me.

“How do you heal the embedded traumas of a community? To feel deeply and connect.” This philosophy guides my pursuit of medicine. My journey began in India, where my parents, raised in a lower-middle-class family, faced diseases like malaria and tuberculosis, while mental health was a distant concern. Despite these challenges, my parents created a safe space for my sister and me, believing that quality healthcare would offer us a better life. Our family’s first physician played a pivotal role in shaping my view of medicine. Her clinic, filled with the familiar smells of jasmine and sounds of Vedic chants, felt like home. She addressed not only our physical ailments but also our emotional and social struggles, guiding us to community resources and advocating for our well-being. Her holistic approach and empathy left a lasting impression on me, and I aspired to provide that same kind of care someday. When my parents made the difficult decision to immigrate to the United States for a safer life, we faced new challenges. Moving frequently in search of economic stability, we felt disconnected, and the stress took a toll on us. Compounding this, our native dialect, Marathi, was uncommon, creating language barriers that isolated us further. Despite these hardships, I remained committed to my studies and my dream of helping others, drawing inspiration from the sacrifices my family made. At age seven, I fell seriously ill, and my parents rushed me to the emergency room. There, we met a physician who, much to our surprise, spoke Marathi. His cultural humility, similar to our physician in India, immediately eased our worries. He diagnosed me with acute bronchitis but didn’t stop at treating the physical symptoms. Instead, he connected our family to local resources, bridging the gap between us and our new community. This experience showed me how powerful a physician’s connection with their patients can be and opened my eyes to the impact of cultural empathy in medicine. Today, as a Crisis Intervention Specialist in Willowbrook, Los Angeles, I find myself sitting with families experiencing trauma, seeking understanding and connection. In this role, I listen to their struggles and guide them to the resources they need to thrive in their communities. I witness firsthand how embedded traumas can fracture lives, and how healing begins with someone willing to hear and validate their experiences. It’s a privilege to offer that, but my goal is to do even more as a physician. My journey toward becoming a doctor has been full of challenges, but I’m grateful for each one. Every obstacle has taught me persistence, empathy, and the importance of representation. The emotional weight of working with underserved populations is significant, but it pales in comparison to the fulfillment I feel when I see a patient begin to heal. Witnessing their vulnerability and progress reminds me of why I want to dedicate my life to this work. Through my personal experiences and professional journey, I understand the importance of having physicians who are culturally aware and deeply invested in their patients’ well-being. As a future doctor, I aspire to bridge the gap for patients who feel disconnected from the healthcare system, offering them the kind of care that has shaped my own life.

Understanding the social determinants of health, like cultural stigmas, socioeconomic status, and healthcare accessibility, guides how we can offer personalized mental health care and address social justice issues within healthcare. My experiences in Southeast Los Angeles have illuminated the profound impact these determinants have on health disparities, shaping my commitment to personalized and equitable psychiatric care. One insightful experience involved a woman named “Lyla,” who was unhoused and contemplating suicide. She sat on the curb, clutching a bottle of pills, and shared that she had always been told to suppress her emotions and be a "strong, impressionable mother." This deeply ingrained cultural stigma, combined with financial struggles, led her to bottle up her feelings until she reached a breaking point. As I listened to Lyla, I could see the pain and despair in her eyes. She had been struggling alone, isolated by a society that misunderstood and undervalued her emotional well-being. I sat with her, offering my presence and understanding. By validating her emotions, I helped her see that seeking mental health support was not a sign of weakness but a courageous step toward healing. I guided Lyla to a compassionate caseworker and therapist, marking the beginning of her journey towards recovery. Reflecting on Lyla's story, I recognize the broader implications of cultural stigmas against mental health. In my own Indian culture, mental health issues are often shrouded in silence and shame. Growing up, I witnessed family members and friends avoid discussing their mental health struggles, fearing judgment and ostracization. This stigma created barriers to seeking help and perpetuated cycles of suffering in my community. Intergenerational trauma and healthcare stigma in underserved communities like Lyla's and my own lead many to avoid necessary care, fostering a harmful cycle of community disconnection and reliance on detrimental coping mechanisms, exacerbating healthcare disparities. By addressing these social determinants of health, we can provide culturally sensitive care and strive to dismantle stigmas within underserved communities, one patient at a time. I am dedicated to becoming a physician who not only treats illnesses but also advocates for social change, ensuring that every individual, regardless of their background, receives the emotional, physical, and mental care and respect they deserve.

“How do you heal the embedded traumas of a community? To feel deeply and connect.” This philosophy guides my pursuit of medicine. My journey began in India, where my parents, raised in a lower-middle-class family, faced diseases like malaria and tuberculosis, while mental health was a distant concern. Despite these challenges, my parents created a safe space for my sister and me, believing that quality healthcare would offer us a better life. Our family’s first physician played a pivotal role in shaping my view of medicine. Her clinic, filled with the familiar smells of jasmine and sounds of Vedic chants, felt like home. She addressed not only our physical ailments but also our emotional and social struggles, guiding us to community resources and advocating for our well-being. Her holistic approach and empathy left a lasting impression on me, and I aspired to provide that same kind of care someday. When my parents made the difficult decision to immigrate to the United States for a safer life, we faced new challenges. Moving frequently in search of economic stability, we felt disconnected, and the stress took a toll on us. Compounding this, our native dialect, Marathi, was uncommon, creating language barriers that isolated us further. Despite these hardships, I remained committed to my studies and my dream of helping others, drawing inspiration from the sacrifices my family made. At age seven, I fell seriously ill, and my parents rushed me to the emergency room. There, we met a physician who, much to our surprise, spoke Marathi. His cultural humility, similar to our physician in India, immediately eased our worries. He diagnosed me with acute bronchitis but didn’t stop at treating the physical symptoms. Instead, he connected our family to local resources, bridging the gap between us and our new community. This experience showed me how powerful a physician’s connection with their patients can be and opened my eyes to the impact of cultural empathy in medicine. Today, as a Crisis Intervention Specialist in Willowbrook, Los Angeles, I find myself sitting with families experiencing trauma, seeking understanding and connection. In this role, I listen to their struggles and guide them to the resources they need to thrive in their communities. I witness firsthand how embedded traumas can fracture lives, and how healing begins with someone willing to hear and validate their experiences. It’s a privilege to offer that, but my goal is to do even more as a physician. My journey toward becoming a doctor has been full of challenges, but I’m grateful for each one. Every obstacle has taught me persistence, empathy, and the importance of representation. The emotional weight of working with underserved populations is significant, but it pales in comparison to the fulfillment I feel when I see a patient begin to heal. Witnessing their vulnerability and progress reminds me of why I want to dedicate my life to this work. Through my personal experiences and professional journey, I understand the importance of having physicians who are culturally aware and deeply invested in their patients’ well-being. As a future doctor, I aspire to bridge the gap for patients who feel disconnected from the healthcare system, offering them the kind of care that has shaped my own life.

On January 24th, 2021, my grandmother, Amajji, passed away in India. At 76, she was not just a grandmother but a second maternal figure in my life. Her guiding principle, “To live for others, you must live for yourself first,” shaped her actions, from riding rollercoasters in her later years to offering me unwavering support through my struggles. Losing her felt like losing a part of myself. Her death created a mental and emotional burden I wasn’t prepared for. My family and I couldn’t attend her funeral in India, which deepened our grief. It was the first time I saw my mother break down, openly grieving in a way that shocked me. My father, who tried to be the pillar for the rest of us, couldn’t hold back his own sorrow. Despite his efforts to stay composed, I saw cracks in his strength. I, too, tried to be resilient, but the emotional weight was overwhelming. Grief, paired with the helplessness of being so far away, plunged me into an internal struggle. In the months after Amajji’s passing, my mental health deteriorated. I watched my mother retreat into a state of quiet despair, while my sister and father clung to small reminders of her presence—like her favorite snacks or magazines. We were each trying to cope, but none of us could truly express the depth of our pain. I found myself sinking into bed, reliving memories of her and feeling increasingly lost. The emotional numbness was the most difficult challenge I had faced, and for a while, I wasn’t sure how to move forward. Eventually, I realized I needed to take care of my mental health to support my family, just as Amajji had always said. I began weightlifting as a way to channel my grief, finding strength not just in my body but in my mind. Each personal record I broke felt like a small victory over the sadness I carried. I also pushed myself to engage with others, joining Interaxon as a writer and mentoring students in neuroscience, which gave me purpose. Helping others, especially through mentorship, brought me back to life. It allowed me to rebuild connections with my family, encouraging deeper conversations about our feelings. Through these discussions, I found healing—not just for myself, but for my mother and sister, who had quietly endured their own mental health struggles. Even small actions, like helping my mother cook or supporting my sister with homework, opened the door for us to share more openly. In the summer of 2021, I volunteered at Riverside Community Hospital, further applying Amajji’s philosophy. Working with patients battling serious illnesses, I listened to their stories and saw how deeply mental and emotional struggles are intertwined with physical health. This experience deepened my understanding of mental health challenges and the power of simply being present for others. I felt like I was carrying forward Amajji’s legacy by offering patients the empathy she had always shown me. Amajji’s death forced me to confront mental health issues head-on, but it also taught me how to heal. Moving forward, I’m committed to supporting others who face similar struggles. I plan to raise awareness about mental health by engaging in open conversations, both in my personal life and professionally, as I pursue a career in medicine. Mental health, I’ve learned, is not something to overcome alone. I want to be there for others as a listener, mentor, and caregiver, just as Amajji was for me. Her legacy lives on in my commitment to mental health advocacy, and I hope to help others find the resilience I discovered within myself.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I am alive again,” Eduardo said, his voice filled with hope. Eduardo, a Spanish-speaking patient under my care due to suicidal thoughts, had returned for a follow-up with his psychiatrist. Seeing his transformation filled me with an immense sense of joy and purpose. Just a month earlier, he had come to the emergency room feeling hopeless and alone. But now, he had a new outlook on life. Medicine had given him hope. As a crisis intervention specialist at MLK Community Hospital, I help individuals facing psychiatric emergencies, working to de-escalate crises and connect them to long-term care. My work with Eduardo, and others like him, has profoundly shaped my beliefs and aspirations, strengthening my passion for mental health and medicine. Mental health has been a central thread throughout my life, connecting my upbringing and career. I grew up in a small rural town in Ambernath, India, where community was everything. Acts of kindness, like neighbors sending food when someone was sick or walking elderly relatives to ensure their safety, were part of daily life. These simple gestures created a sense of security that nurtured not only our physical health but also our emotional well-being. Mental health, though, was rarely discussed or acknowledged. This silence about emotional struggles became more apparent to me as I got older, especially after we moved to the United States. Immigrating to the U.S. brought a host of challenges—cultural dislocation, language barriers, and the overwhelming stress of starting over. Adjusting to life in America was difficult for my family, and there were many times I felt like I didn’t belong. But this struggle allowed me to connect deeply with others who were also navigating the complexities of a new life. I found myself building friendships with classmates who shared stories of migration and cultural adjustment. These relationships showed me how much mental health could be affected by feelings of isolation and disconnection from a sense of community. Living in Riverside, a predominantly Spanish-speaking city, added another layer to my understanding of mental health and belonging. My Hispanic classmates welcomed me into their world, and I immersed myself in their culture, learning Spanish in high school to connect more deeply with my friends and their families. Little did I know this decision would become an invaluable part of my path in medicine. Being able to speak Spanish allowed me to build meaningful connections with patients like Eduardo, who often felt misunderstood or overlooked due to language barriers. Speaking their language gave me a new way to make a difference in their lives, helping them feel seen and heard. Working at Venice Family Clinic, and later as a crisis intervention specialist, I saw how deeply intertwined mental health and physical well-being are. Many of the patients I assisted were not only dealing with physical illnesses but also facing the emotional weight of being immigrants, struggling to find their place in an unfamiliar system. These experiences solidified my belief that healthcare needs to be holistic, treating both the mind and body. I came to understand that mental health care is not a luxury, but a necessity, especially for those who are often marginalized. My background has given me a unique perspective on the importance of mental health in fostering a sense of belonging and purpose. As a trilingual Indian immigrant, I know the feelings of disconnection that many patients experience. This understanding has shaped my approach to patient care, making me focus on creating spaces where people feel safe, understood, and supported. In Eduardo’s case, I saw how addressing mental health could change the course of someone’s life. This has been a powerful lesson I carry with me as I pursue my dream of becoming a physician. Looking ahead, my career goals are deeply rooted in my understanding of mental health. I want to continue working with underserved communities, using my cultural and linguistic skills to bridge gaps in healthcare and provide compassionate care. Mental health has not only shaped my personal beliefs and relationships, but it has become the foundation for my desire to practice medicine. I envision creating a healthcare environment where every patient, no matter their background, feels valued and cared for, just as I strive to make others feel connected and whole through my current roles.

“How do you heal the embedded traumas of a community? To feel deeply and connect.” This philosophy guides my pursuit of medicine. My journey began in India, where my parents, raised in a lower-middle-class family, faced diseases like malaria and tuberculosis, while mental health was a distant concern. Despite these challenges, my parents created a safe space for my sister and me, believing that quality healthcare would offer us a better life. Our family’s first physician played a pivotal role in shaping my view of medicine. Her clinic, filled with the familiar smells of jasmine and sounds of Vedic chants, felt like home. She addressed not only our physical ailments but also our emotional and social struggles, guiding us to community resources and advocating for our well-being. Her holistic approach and empathy left a lasting impression on me, and I aspired to provide that same kind of care someday. When my parents made the difficult decision to immigrate to the United States for a safer life, we faced new challenges. Moving frequently in search of economic stability, we felt disconnected, and the stress took a toll on us. Compounding this, our native dialect, Marathi, was uncommon, creating language barriers that isolated us further. Despite these hardships, I remained committed to my studies and my dream of helping others, drawing inspiration from the sacrifices my family made. At age seven, I fell seriously ill, and my parents rushed me to the emergency room. There, we met a physician who, much to our surprise, spoke Marathi. His cultural humility, similar to our physician in India, immediately eased our worries. He diagnosed me with acute bronchitis but didn’t stop at treating the physical symptoms. Instead, he connected our family to local resources, bridging the gap between us and our new community. This experience showed me how powerful a physician’s connection with their patients can be and opened my eyes to the impact of cultural empathy in medicine. Today, as a Crisis Intervention Specialist in Willowbrook, Los Angeles, I find myself sitting with families experiencing trauma, seeking understanding and connection. In this role, I listen to their struggles and guide them to the resources they need to thrive in their communities. I witness firsthand how embedded traumas can fracture lives, and how healing begins with someone willing to hear and validate their experiences. It’s a privilege to offer that, but my goal is to do even more as a physician. My journey toward becoming a doctor has been full of challenges, but I’m grateful for each one. Every obstacle has taught me persistence, empathy, and the importance of representation. The emotional weight of working with underserved populations is significant, but it pales in comparison to the fulfillment I feel when I see a patient begin to heal. Witnessing their vulnerability and progress reminds me of why I want to dedicate my life to this work. Through my personal experiences and professional journey, I understand the importance of having physicians who are culturally aware and deeply invested in their patients’ well-being. As a future doctor, I aspire to bridge the gap for patients who feel disconnected from the healthcare system, offering them the kind of care that has shaped my own life.

My mental health is the foundation of everything I do. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to show up fully for the people I care about or the communities I’m a part of. The academic pressures and the future challenges of medical school excite me, but I know I can only thrive if I have balance. More specifically, a space where my mind can rest, reset, and reconnect with what brings me joy. Cooking is where I find that peace. It's not just about putting a meal together; it’s a moment when I let the world slow down. I’ll put on my favorite playlist, take out fresh ingredients, and let the rhythm of chopping and stirring take over. It’s almost meditative. But what truly makes it special is sharing that with others. I started a cookbook club with my closest friends, where every month we dive into new flavors and techniques, creating dishes that fill not just our stomachs but our hearts. The kitchen becomes a place of laughter, storytelling, and connection. Last month, we cooked from Kismet, a Mediterranean fusion cookbook, and there was something magical about the way we bonded over halibut skewers and crispy Persian rice. These moments, filled with warmth and community, remind me that life is richer when we share it. That keeps me grounded, even when the pressures of life build up. My passion for bodybuilding came from a different place—one rooted in my fascination with the human body and its incredible potential. But over time, it became more than just about strength. Each workout is like therapy, a physical release that clears my mind and allows me to focus on nothing but the present moment. The challenges I face in the gym mirror the resilience I need in my academic life. Pushing my body to its limits teaches me about discipline, patience, and endurance. It's more than just fitness; it’s a reminder that taking care of myself physically is deeply tied to my mental well-being. And then there’s music. When I pick up my guitar, it’s as if time stands still. Strumming the strings, I feel a deep sense of release—of emotion, of thoughts I can’t always express in words. It’s a creative outlet that’s become a lifeline for me when the world feels too heavy. The act of creating music brings a kind of freedom that’s hard to find elsewhere, and in those moments, I remember why balance is so crucial. Without these small joys, without allowing myself to let go and just be, I wouldn’t be able to give my all to the things I’m passionate about. For me, mental wellness isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. Cooking, bodybuilding, and music aren’t just hobbies—they’re lifelines that remind me to nurture my own needs. They allow me to show up as the best version of myself for my studies, my work, and my relationships. I’ve seen firsthand how burnout and stress can overwhelm those who don’t prioritize their mental health, and I’m committed to not only maintaining my own wellness but also sharing that message with others. I want to build a community where we prioritize well-being, encouraging each other to find balance in our lives. Whether it’s through a shared meal, a workout session, or simply finding time to make music, I hope to show that success and mental health aren’t mutually exclusive.

Growing up in Ambernath, India, I learned early on the importance of community and compassion. My hometown was a place where people looked out for each other, and I vividly recall the comforting aroma of daal being shared between households during hard times. These acts of kindness shaped my sense of belonging and fostered my mental well-being. But when my family immigrated to the United States, I found myself in a world that felt vastly different, where the close-knit community I once knew seemed distant. It was a challenging transition—one that left me feeling disconnected and uncertain about my future. Arriving in Riverside, California, I struggled with the complexities of adapting to a new culture. As a young immigrant, I often felt like an outsider, especially as I tried to navigate a school system that was unfamiliar to me. The language barrier alone made it difficult to connect with my peers, and I questioned whether I would ever fully belong. At times, it felt like the dreams I brought with me from India, of making a difference in my community, were slipping away. But instead of allowing this feeling of isolation to define me, I decided to turn it into a source of strength. Being in a predominantly Spanish-speaking city, I found common ground with my Hispanic classmates. We bonded over shared experiences of adjusting to a new country, and their warm inclusion in their vibrant culture motivated me to learn Spanish. Initially, I took up the language to connect more deeply with my community, but what I didn’t realize at the time was how this decision would later open doors to achieving my medical aspirations. As I continued to pursue Spanish in high school, I also began to understand that my identity as an immigrant was not an obstacle, but rather an asset. Growing up in India, I had learned to embrace diversity, and this multicultural mindset helped me engage more fully with the people around me. My drive to help others led me to volunteer as a service ambassador at Kaiser Permanente, where I assisted Spanish-speaking patients navigate the hospital system. I found joy in offering comfort and guidance, just as my community in India had taught me, and I began to see how my background and language skills could be a bridge for others facing similar barriers. However, the path to realizing my goal of becoming a physician wasn’t without setbacks. The financial burden of college and medical school applications weighed heavily on my family, and there were moments when I questioned if my dreams were realistic. But each time I faced adversity, I recalled the lessons my parents had instilled in me—resilience, hard work, and the belief that anything was possible with persistence. Despite the obstacles, I continued to push forward, taking on roles as a medical scribe, and crisis intervention specialist to gain valuable experience and contribute to underserved communities. Reflecting on this journey, I’ve come to realize that the challenges I faced as a first-generation immigrant only strengthened my resolve. Adversity I encountered shaped my understanding of what it means to be resilient, empathetic, and culturally aware. My upbringing taught me the value of community, and now, as I pursue my medical dreams, I carry that lesson with me into every patient interaction.