The teacher told the class a joke. All my classmates laughed. I laughed too—not because I understood what my teacher was saying, but because I saw others laughing, so I copied them. It sounds funny when you read it, but the reality was different. I did not know English very well! I could not speak fluently or communicate. I had no friends, no network, and yet I was a senior in high school. That period of my life was defined by isolation. I often sat through classes without fully understanding the conversations around me, and many days I felt invisible. Simple interactions—introducing myself, asking questions, building friendships—felt impossible without language. Despite being academically capable, I struggled to belong. Yet there was one thing I carried with me across countries and years: my faith. As a Muslim, prayer became my anchor. We pray five times a day, repeating that God is the Most Merciful and the Most Generous. During that hardship, I returned to a verse from the Qur’an: “We will surely test you with fear, hunger, and loss of wealth, lives, and comfort—but give good news to those who remain patient” (Qur’an 2:155). This verse reminded me that hardship is not random; everyone is tested in different ways—through poverty, illness, relationships, wealth, or immigration. What matters is not the test itself, but how one responds to it. I also held onto another reminder from the Qur’an: “Indeed, with hardship comes ease” (Qur’an 94:6). This taught me that difficulty is never permanent, even when it feels overwhelming. I reflected on the stories of the prophets—Abraham, who was thrown into the fire; Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who was exiled from his own city; and Jesus, who was rejected by his people. Each of them faced rejection and pain, yet they responded with patience, prayer, and trust in God. Remembering these stories helped me understand that struggle is often part of growth, not a sign of failure. That remembrance saved me—not another person, but the remembrance of Allah. Through the stories of the prophets, I learned that even the most honorable human beings experienced fear, loss, and moments of weakness. Their strength did not come from power, but from their connection to God, the Most Powerful and the Most Merciful. Understanding this changed how I viewed my own struggles. Instead of seeing hardship as something that broke me, I saw it as something I could move through with faith and effort. Rather than remaining angry or defeated, I focused on what was within my control. I tried. I stood up. I worked. Today, I am a first-generation, pre-med major, college student. I am a President’s Honor Roll student with a 4.0 GPA, working multiple jobs while supporting my family. I serve as a student senator, a Phi Theta Kappa officer, a student ambassador, and a tutor, and I am the sole recipient of the Leaders of Promise Coca-Cola Award. I also give back through volunteering with Kaiser Permanente and my local mosque. Serving my community gives meaning to everything I endured, and it reminds me why perseverance matters. Above all, I am proud to be a faithful Muslim, grounded in the belief that my life has purpose because my accountability is not to people, but to the Creator of all people—the Most Merciful, the Most Near, and the only One worthy of worship!

In Afghanistan, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. But for girls like me, education was a battleground. The Taliban banned schools for girls, restricted our freedom of movement, and silenced our voices. So, when all doors were closed, I started writing. I wrote more than 20 articles that were published around my school, locally, and even in art exhibits around the girls’ right to education, advocacy, and equality topics. Through my writing experience, I saw its impact on people. I gained confidence, and my classmates—the girls who were once low-confident—began gaining confidence too. One of the biggest achievements during my school years in my home country was winning a robotics medal. I was the only girl to win a robotics medal among all the boys in a very male-dominated field, “Technology”. This was a significant moment for both my school and me, and I began becoming a role model for my classmates at a very young age. Unfortunately, because of the situation in my home country, we had to leave. We immigrated to Tajikistan and had to start our lives again after losing our belongings, home, and jobs. As immigrants, we had very restricted rights to work, education, and daily life, so I wrote again. Through my writing about equality for all humans regardless of nationality, I won several awards from the American Councils in Tajikistan. My biggest achievement was writing a graphic novel about a girl with big dreams but limited opportunities. It was published nationally and deeply resonated with me and many other girls, making it one of my most impactful accomplishments. In 2023, we moved to the United States. We lost everything again: our belongings, language, community, network, savings, and more. Facing many challenges, it was hard for me to fit into a society that did not share my struggles, so I wrote again. I wrote about my life story, immigration journey, achievements, and impact in my home country, in Tajikistan, and now in the USA. This time, my immigration story and writing were published on my Granite Bay High School official webpage and were highly appreciated by my counselors, teachers, and classmates. Now, I am a pre-med, biotechnology major, first-generation student at Sierra College. I am a President’s Honor Roll student, working multiple jobs, supporting my family, and maintaining a 4.0 GPA. I am also a student senator with over 84% of the votes, the sole recipient of the Leaders of Promise Coca-Cola Award, Phi Theta Kappa club officer, student ambassador, certified tutor, and an appointed student representative on my college’s Facilities Committee. I continue to give back by volunteering with Kaiser Permanente, providing free translations, and volunteering at the food bank and my local mosque. These small things bring me closer to my goals—humanity, equality, and peace—which I have written about for years. My long-term goal is to create an organization that hires marginalized people, especially immigrants like myself, and gives them the opportunities I did not have. I am passionate about combining my love for medicine, science, and leadership to develop innovative solutions to urgent problems. I aim to build a biotechnology and innovation-focused company that directly improves people’s well-being and serves underserved communities, including immigrants and children in crisis! My parents left their home country so I could access education, sacrificing stable jobs and facing financial hardship. With two younger siblings to support and no savings, they cannot fund my education. This scholarship would allow me to focus fully on my studies and future goals!

Score! She Scooooored! My robotics teacher and my family were shouting when I scored in the robotics competition. I was the only girl among hundreds of boys who participated. My hands were sweating as I held the remote. My eyes were locked on my robot. My heart was beating at its highest. I watched the timer: 10… 9… 8… I had only a few seconds to beat the boys. We were tied 3–3. I needed just one more point — only one. I was hoping… and suddenly, with all the power, energy, and knowledge I had, I managed to score 4 and beat them. For the first time in my school — or better, in my city — I defeated the boys’ team as the only girl in the robotics competition. I hugged my mom and sisters tightly. I was so happy I couldn’t even stand still. Later, I was invited to the most luxurious ceremony of my life at that time. I was awarded a medal and certificate for placing in the top three in the entire city robotics competition among all schools, even high schools. I was the only female roboticist in the city and ranked first in my school. After that, I became the “cool girl” everyone wanted to be friends with. But my story is about starting over — in fact, three times. I was born and raised in Afghanistan. From an early age, I was interested in science, technology, robotics, and all the cool stuff. But for girls like me, it was a battleground to enter a male-dominated field. Society believed females were not capable of technological and scientific success. I remember working on my robot for weeks and months while carrying the heavy burden of people saying that women in robotics were impossible. My parents, however, always encouraged me. My father sent me to an organization called Code to Inspire, the only female programming organization. I took the entrance exam, and the admission committee was shocked. They had never accepted such a young student from middle school with no computer science background. All other students were university or graduate students in technology fields, but I got in! I learned how to program. I coded. For my final project, I created a “First aid kit” software program — an app that explains how to use a first aid kit in emergencies and provides emergency contacts. I was the first person to develop such an app, and I received a certificate for it. Unfortunately, because of the situation in my home country and the lack of proper educational opportunities, my parents sacrificed everything and left behind their home, jobs, and stability so I could pursue my dreams. We immigrated to Tajikistan and had to start our lives again after losing our belongings, home, and work. As immigrants, we had very limited rights to employment, education, and daily life for two years in Tajikistan. In 2023, we moved to the United States — the land of the free and the home of the brave — where my parents and I had long dreamed of continuing my education. Once again, we lost everything: our belongings, language, community, network, and savings. Facing these challenges, it was difficult to fit into a society that did not share my struggles. Now, I am a biotechnology major and a first-generation student at Sierra College. I am a President’s Honor Roll student, working multiple jobs, supporting my family, and maintaining a 4.0 GPA. I serve as a student senator and am the sole recipient of the Leaders of Promise Coca-Cola Award. I am also a student ambassador and a certified STEM tutor. Now imagine a girl like me back home in Afghanistan. She loves science and robotics, but there is no place to learn and no one to teach her. Her passion is strong, but opportunity is missing. Then she meets a personalized AI teacher that adapts to her learning, corrects her mistakes, and grows with her ideas. Step by step, she learns — and one day creates something powerful, like a medical robot, flying car, or biotechnology breakthrough! Now imagine a child with a disability — passionate but isolated, with no friends and no support. A companion robot is built just for him. This robot becomes his friend, helps him learn, and even supports his body. Imagine an artificial backbone made of tiny robots that helps a paralyzed child stand again and reach his dream of playing basketball. Imagine an ESL student who is ashamed because she cannot speak English. Everyone around her speaks fluently, and she feels invisible. A translator robot appears — it speaks with her, tells her stories, motivates her, teaches her, and gently corrects her mistakes. Over time, she gains confidence and finally speaks with others without fear. What a powerful gift this technology could be if used correctly! I once heard that just because humans can build atomic bombs does not mean we should use them. The same is true for robotics. If we use it morally, its power to improve humanity is extraordinary. People once laughed at flying airplanes — now we live with them. Today, they may laugh at AI teachers and flying cars, but with the right guidance, these ideas will become a reality. With technology, I traveled from Afghanistan to the United States and wrote the story you are reading now. These are not distant dreams — they are plans I am ready to build. Although my family has no savings and I work multiple jobs while commuting by bike, this scholarship is not just about money. It is about believing in my journey — from a girl once bullied for loving robotics to a future female CEO building technology and biotechnology companies that uplift underprivileged women. By supporting me, you are not just funding an education — you are helping turn struggle into impact!

In Afghanistan, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. But for girls like me, education was a battleground. The Taliban banned schools for girls, restricted our freedom of movement, and silenced our voices. Still, I wrote over 20 published articles advocating for girls’ education. I joined Code to Inspire and built a First Aid Kit app to help families without access to healthcare. That app became my first step into public service—because even in a place where hospitals were scarce, knowledge could still save lives. Seeing my community use the app was deeply satisfying. It meant our pain wasn’t invisible. It meant my work mattered! Through my grandfather, a physician in Afghanistan dedicated to underserved communities, I became directly involved in providing free medical care to low-income and rural children. Over a 10-month period, we helped children receive life-saving treatment, supported in part by the International Committee of the Red Cross. That experience taught me that medicine is not only about treating illness, but about restoring dignity. When my family fled to Tajikistan, we faced a different kind of struggle: survival in a country where we had no status, no resources, and no rights. I wanted to give back in the ways I could—by using my voice, my language, and my lived experience. Even then, I continued serving through public service. I participated in a UNICEF innovation project that empowered underprivileged women to gain financial independence and worked closely as a volunteer with UN Women. I also volunteered as a translator in clinics and government offices, helping families understand medical instructions and access services. Additionally, I spoke publicly about the right to education and public service and received a youth leadership certificate from American Councils in Tajikistan. In 2023, my family and I began life again for the second time—this time in the United States. I am now a first-generation college student, working multiple jobs, supporting my family, and maintaining a 4.0 GPA as a pre-med student at Sierra College. I am a President’s Honor Roll student, the sole recipient of the Leaders of Promise Coca-Cola Award at my college, an Honors student, a Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society officer, a student ambassador, a tutor, and an appointed student representative on my college’s Facilities Committee. I continue to give back by volunteering with Kaiser Permanente, providing free translations for immigrants, and distributing food at our local food bank. These efforts connect me to the community I am now part of and reinforce why I chose this path. My goal is to pursue a career in medicine, with a strong interest in becoming a neurosurgeon serving public hospitals and underserved communities, while building a nonprofit that hires marginalized individuals—especially women who are often denied opportunities—and provides affordable healthcare to medically underserved populations and children in crisis. In a male-dominated field, I want to create opportunities for women like myself and eventually build my own biotechnology company that combines medicine, innovation, and social impact! My parents left their homeland and sacrificed their careers to give me a chance at education. With two younger siblings to support, they cannot help financially, which makes me determined to honor their sacrifices through academic success. As a full-time pre-medical student, I work on campus for minimum wage to afford textbooks and basic needs while commuting by bike in difficult conditions. Without having family savings, student loans are my only option and would create long-term financial strain. This scholarship would let me focus on learning instead of surviving. More than financial support, it shows that my efforts and goals are seen and worth investing in!

I have restarted my life three times. First, when my family fled Afghanistan due to war and the rising threats to women’s safety, freedom, and education. Then again, when we lived as refugees in Tajikistan for two years. And once more in 2023, when we arrived in the U.S. with no network, no savings, and no clear roadmap. Each restart meant a new language, a new system to learn, and a new version of myself to build. What never changed was my curiosity for science and technology, and my determination to turn knowledge into tools for those with the least access to it. In Afghanistan, girls around me were told to stay quiet, stay home, and stay out of STEM. I chose the opposite. I joined Code to Inspire, a nonprofit for Afghan girls in tech, where I led a small team that built a First Aid Kit app. It gave step‑by‑step emergency guidance, including CPR and other lifesaving techniques, for people who couldn’t afford or access medical care. The app was free, practical, and immediately useful. For this, I received a Certificate of Appreciation, but more importantly, I saw how code, biology, and human need could meet in one place to create impact. I was also writing, over 20 published articles in my home country, on women’s rights, education, and equality. In Tajikistan, I authored a nationally published comic book about an Afghan girl who refuses to give up on school despite systemic bans. That book was my way of telling girls like me: your dreams are valid, even when the world says they aren’t. I was also the only girl in my school to win a robotics medal among mostly male competitors—a moment that reminded me how presence alone can shift perceptions. While living in Tajikistan and unable to legally work, I partnered with UNICEF on one of my proudest STEM-related projects. I noticed plastic pollution everywhere—overflowing trash cans, polluted rivers, and parks filled with waste that attracted disease-spreading insects. My idea was to replace plastic bags with eco-friendly paper ones. UNICEF funded my proposal, and I designed and distributed my own brand of paper bags to local shops and bakeries. Though some store owners were skeptical at first, many adopted the idea. It significantly reduced plastic waste in our area, especially in bakeries, where hot food in plastic bags posed health risks like cancer. Eventually, the initiative spread to other parts of the city. As a young refugee barred from legal employment, I created a project that empowered other women to participate, earn income, and promote sustainability—combining environmental science, entrepreneurship, and public health. When I immigrated to the U.S. in 2023, I began again—this time as a financially disadvantaged, first-generation woman in STEM. I’m now a biology major in community college, starting my second year of undergraduate study, with a 4.0 GPA, a Math Olympiad medalist, a student senator, and an active member of both the Ecosystem and Science Clubs. I work two jobs to help support my family, which includes two younger siblings, and I still give back: I volunteer at Kaiser Permanente, the local food bank, and my mosque’s food drives. I also mentor Afghan girls and refugee youth in coding and offer free translation services for newly arrived families navigating the same barriers I faced. Financially, things are difficult. My parents lost everything when we fled Afghanistan. In Tajikistan, we weren’t allowed to work. Here, everything—from textbooks to lab fees to transportation—is costly. I commute long distances, manage household responsibilities, and study late at night to keep my grades up. But I refuse to let money determine how far I can go. Scholarships like this one aren’t just support—they’re fuel for students like me who are already building, giving, and dreaming far beyond our limitations. I’m a biology major in the making, with a vision to innovate at the intersection of biology, data, and tech. My long-term goal is to launch a biotechnology company that develops low-cost diagnostic tools and AI-powered bioinformatics platforms for communities lacking lab infrastructure. I want to tackle global issues like environmental degradation, food insecurity, and public health—using biology as the engine and technology as the accelerator. Imagine a $5 diagnostic tool that could be used in a refugee camp or rural clinic to detect infections or nutrient deficiencies. Imagine public health platforms that actually reach the people who need them. That’s the work I want to lead. Why STEM? Because science is honest. It forces us to test assumptions, measure impact, and design with intention. It’s the language I use to turn pain into purpose. Biology, especially, offers a blueprint for life itself—how it heals, adapts, evolves, and survives. That reflects my own journey. Why me? Because I’ve already been doing the work—with almost nothing. I built software for those without access to help. I launched a sustainability project that empowered women and reduced waste. I’ve written to amplify silenced voices. I’ve competed in male-dominated spaces and refused to shrink. And I’ve carried my family, my education, my community, and my dreams—all at once. If I am awarded the Eric W. Larson Memorial STEM Scholarship, I will use it to keep going, keep building, and keep making STEM a home for those who were never invited into it. I will carry Eric’s legacy of equity in science forward—by mentoring, hiring, and opening doors for girls like me, who come from war, silence, and invisibility—but refuse to stop at survival. I’m not asking for permission to dream bigger. I’m asking for partnership—to turn this vision into something real, measurable, and world-changing. And I will pay it forward, the way I always have: by ensuring the next girl doesn’t have to start from zero to reach the sky.

I have restarted my life three times. First, when my family fled Afghanistan due to war and the rising threats to women’s safety, freedom, and education. Then again, when we lived as refugees in Tajikistan for two years. And once more in 2023, when we arrived in the U.S. with no network, no savings, and no clear roadmap. Each restart meant a new language, a new system to learn, and a new version of myself to build. What never changed was my curiosity for science and technology—and my determination to turn knowledge into tools for those with the least access to it. In Afghanistan, girls around me were told to stay quiet, stay home, and stay out of STEM. I chose the opposite. I joined Code to Inspire, a nonprofit for Afghan girls in tech, where I led a small team that built a First Aid Kit app offering step‑by‑step emergency guidance for people without medical access. The app was free, practical, and immediately useful. I received a Certificate of Appreciation, but more importantly, I saw how code, biology, and human need could meet to create real impact. I also published over 20 articles on women’s rights and education. In Tajikistan, I authored a nationally published comic book about an Afghan girl who refuses to give up on school despite systemic bans. It was my way of telling girls like me: your dreams are valid, even when the world says they aren’t. I was also the only girl in my school to win a robotics medal, a moment that reminded me how simply being present in a space can shift perceptions. Unable to work legally in Tajikistan, I partnered with UNICEF on one of my proudest STEM-related projects. I saw plastic pollution everywhere and proposed replacing plastic bags with eco-friendly paper ones. UNICEF funded my idea, and I launched a small initiative designing and distributing paper bags to local shops and bakeries. Despite skepticism, many adopted them, significantly reducing plastic use—especially in hot food packaging, where health risks were high. Other parts of the city later followed suit. This grassroots initiative empowered women, reduced waste, and protected public health—combining environmental science, entrepreneurship, and community care. When I immigrated to the U.S. in 2023, I began again—this time as a financially disadvantaged, first-generation woman in STEM. I’m now majoring in biology at community college, starting my second year with a 4.0 GPA. I’ve earned a Math Olympiad medal, serve as a student senator, and stay active in both the Ecosystem and Science Clubs. I work two jobs to help support my family, which includes my younger siblings, and still give back: volunteering at Kaiser Permanente, the local food bank, and my mosque’s food drives. I also mentor Afghan girls and refugee youth in coding and offer free translation services to newly arrived families. Financially, we are still rebuilding. My parents lost everything when we fled, and we were barred from working in Tajikistan. Now, even basic needs like textbooks, lab fees, and transportation are major expenses. I commute long distances, manage household duties, and study late into the night. But I refuse to let our financial reality define my future. I aspire to innovate at the intersection of biology, technology, and equity. My long-term goal is to create a biotech company that develops low-cost diagnostic tools and AI-powered platforms for underserved communities—solutions built for refugee camps, rural clinics, and places like where I come from. I’m not just chasing a dream. I’m building one—day by day, challenge by challenge. With your support, I’ll continue transforming obstacles into opportunities.

My name is Hosna Aazim, and my journey as a first-generation Afghan immigrant has shaped both my identity and my ambitions. In 2023, I arrived in the U.S. after being displaced multiple times—first from Afghanistan, then living as a refugee in Tajikistan for two years. Each time, I had to rebuild from zero: new language, new system, no safety net. These transitions were filled with culture shock, loneliness, and constant pressure to support my family while striving for academic success. But instead of being defeated by these obstacles, I turned them into purpose. I care deeply about equity, education, and empowering marginalized communities—especially women in STEM. In Tajikistan, I led a UNICEF-supported project that helped Afghan refugee women earn income through embroidery. I managed logistics, marketing, and storytelling—selling their handcrafted pieces and giving them hope and dignity. Many of these women had never held a job, and through this project, they began to believe in themselves. That’s when I realized: true change starts when people are seen and supported. My work didn’t stop there. I’ve published over 20 articles in my home country focusing on women’s rights and access to education. I even authored a comic book about an Afghan girl’s fight to attend school, which was published nationally and recognized with an award. After coming to California, my immigration story was featured on my high school’s website as a model of strength and excellence. Currently, I am a full-time pre-med student with a 4.0 GPA at Sierra College. I’m a student ambassador, senior senator, and active in STEM clubs. I also volunteer at local hospitals, food banks, and my mosque’s food drives. Beyond academics, I work to support my family financially while mentoring other immigrant students. My dream is to become a physician and healthcare innovator—someone who not only treats individuals but also designs scalable solutions to improve access for underserved communities. I’m also developing a business to support women in STEM, helping them build confidence and networks in a male-dominated industry. One of my short-term goals is to transfer to a top university and begin clinical research focused on women’s health and equity in medicine. Over the next five years, I plan to grow my business idea into a mentorship and resource platform for young women like me. I want to bridge the gap between potential and opportunity, especially for immigrant girls navigating science careers without role models. Education has helped me make sense of who I am. It has been my sanctuary, my escape, and now, my launchpad. Through school, I’ve discovered that my purpose isn’t just about personal achievement—it’s about helping others rise, too. Being a woman in STEM hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to fight for space in rooms where I was the only one who looked or spoke like me. But I’ve learned to lead with empathy and persistence. Leadership, to me, is showing up—over and over—even when you’re tired, scared, or underestimated. I lead not just in titles, but in action: mentoring others, starting initiatives, translating for immigrant families, and being the voice I once needed. Resilience isn’t just about surviving—it’s about building something better after the storm. And if awarded this scholarship, it would ease the financial pressure I carry daily and help me fully invest in my education, business, and community service. I will pay it forward—by building platforms, creating visibility, and opening doors for future generations of female visionaries!

My name is Hosna Aazim, and my journey as a first-generation immigrant has shaped both my identity and my ambitions. When my family came to the United States, everything changed. My parents didn’t speak English, had no support system, and lost their jobs. They had to restart their lives from zero while raising three children. I witnessed their mental health struggles up close—navigating a new culture with no guidance or resources, and often hiding their pain to keep us going. That experience made me grow up fast. As the eldest, I became the family translator, navigator, and emotional support system, all while trying to pursue my education. Despite the odds, I have stayed focused on my goals. I’ve published over 20 articles in my home country about women and their right to education and equality. In Tajikistan, I authored a nationally published comic book that told the story of an Afghan girl fighting for her right to go to school despite being banned. I was honored with an award for that work. When I arrived in California, my high school featured my immigration journey on its homepage as a story of strength and excellence. In Tajikistan, where my family and I lived as refugees for two years, I couldn’t go to regular school and we were not allowed to work. But instead of giving up, I partnered with UNICEF on a project to empower Afghan women in my community. I launched an initiative where women used their embroidery skills to make traditional bags and clothing. I managed the materials, budgeting, and design. I also used my storytelling and writing abilities to create social media posts and flyers that helped us sell the products. The money we raised went directly to the women, helping them support their families and feel independent for the first time in their lives. Many had never believed they could build anything of their own—but once they saw the results, their confidence changed. Now, in the U.S., I’m starting my second year of college as a pre-med student with a 4.0 GPA. I’m also working part-time to help support my family, which includes my younger siblings. Financially and mentally, the challenges are still there—but I keep going. I’ve been awarded the President’s Honors for academic excellence and selected as a Senior Senator at my college. I’m active in multiple clubs, including the Honors Program and pre-med student groups. I also volunteer regularly with Kaiser Permanente Hospital, our local food bank, and my religious mosque, where I help organize food drives for those in need. My dream is to become a physician, but not only that—I also want to build a business that supports underrepresented youth, especially immigrant women like me, in STEM fields. I want to create mentorship programs, fund educational workshops, and lead with compassion and equity. I know what it’s like to start over, to feel voiceless, and to fight for every small opportunity. But I also know how powerful one opportunity can be. Every challenge I’ve faced has only made my goals clearer: to serve, to lead, and to lift others as I rise.