Have you ever dreamed about something so vividly, you thought it was true? That is me almost every single night. For a while, I thought I wanted to be a doctor, I started a semester majoring in biology, but the more I studied and the more I worked part time at a hospital, I began to realize that I could not see myself working in that field every single day for the rest of my life and still being happy. Ever since I was young, I've always loved cars. I begged my parents every year for one of those pink toddler jeeps that you can drive around probably up until I was 13. Then my favorite car became a pink minivan. My car tastes have definitely been refined since 4 and 13 but one thing stayed the same: my love for them. Dreaming every night about cars, I finally decided, against my parent's wishes, to go to a technical school program and learn how to detail cars, tint windows, and vinyl wrap as well as MEI. After I graduate that 18 week program, I plan to open up my own car shop dedicated to serving my community with my passion. Being able to truly showcase who I am through my future business will not only be a dream but hopefully reality if given this opportunity. Receiving this money will only jumpstart me into the next steps of my life and make my dreams one step closer.

Have you ever dreamed about something so vividly, you thought it was true? That is me almost every single night. For a while, I thought I wanted to be a doctor, I started a semester majoring in biology, but the more I studied and the more I worked part time at a hospital, I began to realize that I could not see myself working in that field every single day for the rest of my life and still being happy. Ever since I was young, I've always loved cars. I begged my parents every year for one of those pink toddler jeeps that you can drive around probably up until I was 13. Then my favorite car became a pink minivan. My car tastes have definitely been refined since 4 and 13 but one thing stayed the same: my love for them. Dreaming every night about cars, I finally decided, against my parent's wishes, to go to a technical school program and learn how to detail cars, tint windows, and vinyl wrap as well as MEI. After I graduate that 18 week program, I plan to open up my own car shop dedicated to serving my community with my passion. Being able to truly showcase who I am through my future business will not only be a dream but hopefully reality if given this opportunity. Receiving this money will only jumpstart me into the next steps of my life and make my dreams one step closer.

New Orleans, England, Spain, Italy, France, and so many more countries I have seen my older sister travel to throughout my years of life. She's been to more countries than I can count and what she does is go around and speak about not just women in STEM but minority women in STEM. She's sent me to summer camps where I've built robots and coded and learned so much about the STEM field as a whole ever since I was young. I've always looked up to my sister and my love for STEM has only grown. Science is one of my favorite subjects in school. I plan to major in Biology for Pre-Med so I can become a Pediatric Emergency Medicine Physician just because I love science so much. I've always loved children and I've always loved science so I found a career path for me where I can put them together and be a part of both at the same time. Being surrounded by intelligent women in STEM has only made me want to be a part of it more. The overall lack of my gender and race being represented in STEM only makes me want to work harder to succeed and work harder to be of the tiny percent of women and be even greater than my sister going around and encouraging young minority girls to take part in the things people often tell us we can't. STEM has always been for me. STEM has always been a dream, a goal, and a hope.

People often ask what your favorite number is. For me, it’s always been an easy answer: seven. I was seven when I was called nigger for the first time. I was seven when I was told I wasn’t allowed to play with another child because “her father didn’t like black people.” “Nigger.” A boy said to me under his breath. The dreadful word that I later learned the pain and prejudice behind. I had never heard such a word before in any of my seven years but that day in 3rd grade changed how I started to view the world for the rest of my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn’t a fluffy little yellow duckling like I always thought. I changed schools after the principal denied me moving up a grade yet allowed another white student too. I started going to a private Christian school. It was small so you’d imagine it’d be better but my eyes had already been opened to a sort of racial and social awareness that most kids didn’t even know existed. I would become so adamant when my history teacher would refer to me as “African-American” instead of just American. I became so aware of my skin color and my hair type and how it differed from everyone else. I even became aware of the things I was eating when a girl in my grade had no idea what jerk chicken was. Those incidents throughout my childhood have instilled bravery to be myself and to feel comfortable in my skin. It took me a while to be able to proudly say I am who I am. I started using my new confidence and bravery in myself to run the Sexuality And Gender Alliance (SAGA) club and to attend every BLM rally that I could. I’ve learned how to be patient, how to respect different opinions, how to stay strong in tough times, and how words only hurt if you let them. I’ve learned a lot and it’s only helped to shape and better my overall self.

The Ugly Duckling People often ask what your favorite number is. You’ve probably heard it at least a couple times a year. For me it’s always been an easy answer: seven. Seven became the reclaiming of a time where my childish innocence was ripped from me in a matter of seconds. I was seven years old when I was called nigger for the first time. I was seven years old when I was told I wasn’t allowed to play with another child because “her father didn’t like black people.” We were so young yet somehow I felt like I was already falling behind the rest of my peers. I remember attending school that day and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until we were all lined up, waiting anxiously for the final bell to ring. The boy and I were standing next to each other, both ready to run out of the classroom as soon as we heard the first chime. I remember him pushing me, trying to be the first one out the door and me not budging from my spot. That’s when I heard it. “Nigger.” He said to me under his breath. The dreadful word that I later learned the pain and prejudice behind. I had never heard such a word before in any of my seven years but that day in 3rd grade changed how I started to view the world for the rest of my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn’t a fluffy little yellow duckling like I always thought. I changed schools after the principal denied me moving up a grade yet allowed another white student too. I started going to a private Christian school with at max 450 students across all grades K-12. It was small and Christian so you’d imagine it’d be better but my eyes had already been opened to a sort of racial and social awareness that most kids didn’t even know existed. I would become so adamant when my history teacher would refer to me as “African-American” instead of just American. I became so aware of my skin color and my hair type and how it differed from everyone elses. I became aware of how much I sweated and how much hair was on my body and began begging my mom to let me shave. I even became aware of the things I was eating when a girl in my grade had no idea what jerk chicken was. Those incidents throughout my childhood have instilled bravery. A bravery to be myself and to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in. I no longer look at my differences as a negative but rather accentuating features to add to my already budding and unique personality. It took me a while to be able to proudly say I am who I am. From high school on, I started using my new confidence and bravery in myself to run the Sexuality And Gender Alliance (SAGA) club and to attend every BLM rally that I could. I orated Frederick Douglass’ 4th of July speech, “What to the Slave is 4th of July?” and I started speaking out on the things I felt were wrong. I’ve learned how to be patient, how to respect different opinions, how to stay strong in tough times, and how words only hurt if you let them. I’ve learned a lot about life and about myself starting from a young age and it’s only helped to shape and better my overall self.

The Ugly Duckling People often ask what your favorite number is. You’ve probably heard it at least a couple times a year. For me it’s always been an easy answer: seven. Seven became the reclaiming of a time where my childish innocence was ripped from me in a matter of seconds. I was seven years old when I was called nigger for the first time. I was seven years old when I was told I wasn’t allowed to play with another child because “her father didn’t like black people.” We were so young yet somehow I felt like I was already falling behind the rest of my peers. I remember attending school that day and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until we were all lined up, waiting anxiously for the final bell to ring. The boy and I were standing next to each other, both ready to run out of the classroom as soon as we heard the first chime. I remember him pushing me, trying to be the first one out the door and me not budging from my spot. That’s when I heard it. “Nigger.” He said to me under his breath. The dreadful word that I later learned the pain and prejudice behind. I had never heard such a word before in any of my seven years but that day in 3rd grade changed how I started to view the world for the rest of my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn’t a fluffy little yellow duckling like I always thought. I changed schools after the principal denied me moving up a grade yet allowed another white student too. I started going to a private Christian school with at max 450 students across all grades K-12. It was small and Christian so you’d imagine it’d be better but my eyes had already been opened to a sort of racial and social awareness that most kids didn’t even know existed. I would become so adamant when my history teacher would refer to me as “African-American” instead of just American. I became so aware of my skin color and my hair type and how it differed from everyone elses. I became aware of how much I sweated and how much hair was on my body and began begging my mom to let me shave. I even became aware of the things I was eating when a girl in my grade had no idea what jerk chicken was. Those incidents throughout my childhood have instilled bravery. A bravery to be myself and to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in. I no longer look at my differences as a negative but rather accentuating features to add to my already budding and unique personality. It took me a while to be able to proudly say I am who I am. From high school on, I started using my new confidence and bravery in myself to run the Sexuality And Gender Alliance (SAGA) club and to attend every BLM rally that I could. I orated Frederick Douglass’ 4th of July speech, “What to the Slave is 4th of July?” and I started speaking out on the things I felt were wrong. I’ve learned how to be patient, how to respect different opinions, how to stay strong in tough times, and how words only hurt if you let them. I’ve learned a lot about life and about myself starting from a young age and it’s only helped to shape and better my overall self.

People often ask what your favorite number is. You’ve probably heard it at least a couple of times a year. For me, it’s always been an easy answer: seven. I was seven years old when I was called nigger for the first time. I was seven years old when I was told I wasn’t allowed to play with another child because “her father didn’t like black people.” We were so young yet somehow I felt like I was already falling behind the rest of my peers. I remember attending school that day and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until we were all lined up, waiting anxiously for the final bell to ring. The boy and I were standing next to each other, both ready to run out of the classroom as soon as we heard the first chime. I remember him pushing me, trying to be the first one out the door and me not budging from my spot. That’s when I heard it. “Nigger.” He said to me under his breath. Those incidents throughout my childhood have instilled bravery. Bravery to be me and to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in. It took me a while to be able to proudly say I am who I am. From high school on, I started using my new confidence and bravery in myself to run the Sexuality And Gender Alliance (SAGA) club and to attend every BLM rally that I could. I started speaking out on the things I felt were wrong. I’ve learned how to be patient, how to respect different opinions, how to stay strong in tough times, and how words only hurt if you let them. I’ve learned a lot about life and about myself and it’s only helped to shape and better my overall self.

People often ask what your favorite number is. You’ve probably heard it at least a couple of times a year. For me, it’s always been an easy answer: seven. Seven became the reclaiming of a time where my childish innocence was ripped from me in a matter of seconds. I was seven years old when I was called nigger for the first time. I was seven years old when I was told I wasn’t allowed to play with another child because “her father didn’t like black people.” We were so young yet somehow I felt like I was already falling behind the rest of my peers. I remember attending school that day and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until we were all lined up, waiting anxiously for the final bell to ring. The boy and I were standing next to each other, both ready to run out of the classroom as soon as we heard the first chime. I remember him pushing me, trying to be the first one out the door and me not budging from my spot. That’s when I heard it. “Nigger.” He said to me under his breath. The dreadful word that I later learned the pain and prejudice behind. I had never heard such a word before in any of my seven years but that day in 3rd grade changed how I started to view the world for the rest of my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn’t a fluffy little yellow duckling like I always thought. I changed schools after the principal denied me moving up a grade yet allowed another white student too. I started going to a private Christian school with at max 450 students across all grades K-12. It was small and Christian so you’d imagine it’d be better but my eyes had already been opened to a sort of racial and social awareness that most kids didn’t even know existed. I would become so adamant when my history teacher would refer to me as “African-American” instead of just American. I became so aware of my skin color and my hair type and how it differed from everyone else. I became aware of how much I sweated and how much hair was on my body and began begging my mom to let me shave. I even became aware of the things I was eating when a girl in my grade had no idea what jerk chicken was. Those incidents throughout my childhood have instilled bravery. Bravery to be me and to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in. I no longer look at my differences as a negative but rather accentuating features to add to my already budding and unique personality. It took me a while to be able to proudly say I am who I am. From high school on, I started using my new confidence and bravery in myself to run the Sexuality And Gender Alliance (SAGA) club and to attend every BLM rally that I could. I orated Frederick Douglass’ 4th of July speech, “What to the Slave is 4th of July?” and I started speaking out on the things I felt were wrong. I’ve learned how to be patient, how to respect different opinions, how to stay strong in tough times, and how words only hurt if you let them. I’ve learned a lot about life and about myself starting from a young age and it’s only helped to shape and better my overall self.