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.