Walking onto Soldier Field, I stared at the same turf the Chicago Bears play on. Alongside 40 other girls, I represented the Chicago Girls Flag Football League. We were handpicked as some of the top players in the city. Standing there, I thought back to where it all began. In my sophomore year, I caught my first interception purely by accident. The opposing quarterback threw a high ball, it bounced off a receiver’s fingertips, and suddenly it was in my hands. I sprinted down the field, hearing my teammates erupt behind me. Even though I didn’t get far, sparks shot through my fingertips for the rest of the game. That moment changed everything. Growing up in an Indian household, football was never the sport anyone imagined for me. At games, I would look up at the stands and see empty seats where my parents would have been. The ball felt foreign in my hands, and I often stood deep on defense, praying the receivers didn’t come my way. But after that first catch, I wanted more. I trained every day, learning to track the ball, read the quarterback’s eyes, and move off instinct. By the next season, I went from a substitute to a starter. I played both sides of the ball: receiver on offense and safety on defense. I began making plays, blocking passes, and leading my defense. For me, flag football has never been just a sport. It’s been a story of hard work, growth, and also fear. I’ve been playing for three years, and over that time, I’ve grown from a shy safety to a strong athlete, playing every position in the sport. Whether I’m lining up as a safety, center, or receiver, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, lead my defensive team, and catch through every receiver that’s come my way. What makes me a “You Got It Girl” is not just my abilities in Flag Football on the field, but my perseverance off of it. I’ve faced challenges such as balancing academics and sports injuries that affected me throughout the seasons. However, I show up for myself and my team no matter the circumstances, and I take pride in leading my team through tough matches and hard losses. I’ve been recognized as an MVP in multiple games and was honored to play in the All-Star Senior Showcase, an event that brought together the top flag football players from across the city. But beyond awards, what I value most are the lessons I’ve learned with my team, which are discipline, leadership, and teamwork. One of my biggest sources of strength is my coach, who not only taught me football but also strength in a period of weakness. She’s a breast cancer survivor who never let her illness stop her from showing up for her players. Even on the hardest days, she stood on the sidelines with energy, discipline, and determination. Watching her taught me that being a strong player and athlete isn’t about never falling, but it’s in fact about rising and learning from my mistakes. Her example motivates me to play not just for the benefits of Flag Football, but for a love of the game In college, I plan to continue playing Flag Football and representing women in sports. I plan to join the Flag Football team at my college, and if it doesn’t exist yet, I will create one. I know all types of girls who rely on Flag Football as an outlet for stress, an activity for health, and a way to have purpose in their lives. Flag football taught me that strength is not just measured in speed or touchdowns. It’s in how you support your teammates, how you handle setbacks, and how you keep showing up even when things feel heavy. To me, being a “You Got It Girl” means standing tall, taking risks, learning from failure, and giving everything you have, both on and off the field. It represents standing tall, pushing forward, and playing with everything you’ve got, something I plan to do, lifelong.

572, 573, 574. 574.92 was the number my book was on. Following the Dewey Decimal System at the Chicago Public Library, I traced my fingers over the science books and pulled the book on the guide to reef marine biology. Flipping through images of cephalopods and crustaceans, absorbing the images. Finally, I flipped to the last chapter, not on new or exciting creatures, but on the degradation of coral reefs, many causes of which stem from human behaviors. I continued down the shelf. The next book spoke about turtle species living in coastal sand. The first pages highlight how human activity destroys nests where turtles lay their eggs, already vulnerable to the many other species that devour baby sea turtles. This experience was one of many, spread across a plethora of topics, that fueled my love for the environment. As a young girl, books would provide me a haven for my passion: learning. Like a sponge, I would absorb books. At any event, my trademark would be a stack of books, piled high, on any topic I could find. My favorite genre changed as I grew older, and I went from storytelling books, packed with action, to nonfiction. Science, environment, history, and art became topics I read about. But the more I read, the more I learned about the world I tried to forget. Seeping into my book world, a world I used to leave my own, I learned about what happened outside of my community. How the livelihoods of fisherman families starved when plastic choked out their food source. I learned about the ghostly white coral reefs that littered Australia's Great Barrier Reef, stemming from the stress of decreasing PH in oceans. So I did what I could do; I used my love for technology to design a solution for my community. I started locally. I began talking to park rangers about their trash cleanup plans. I learned about the politics that caused budget cuts in park staff, watching as park rangers dwindled in numbers. If rangers were dwindling, would it be better to use technology to monitor parks? This question fueled my initial months of research into autonomous systems. Rovers, drones, and submarine research littered my library browser. I selected drones for my autonomous system as they caused the least amount of disturbance to nature. In collaboration with the Chicago Park Foundation, I planned a park monitoring project on their largest park, which ran nearly 1.2k acres and was notorious for collecting trash. The drone setup was extensive, but the work of park rangers, which would have taken 4 hours, was done in 1! With my goal to have a completely free system for park maintenance, I reached out to Girl Scouts, Chicago Park Foundation, and many other organizations, raising nearly 11k for the continuation of drone projects. Where books had once been my refuge from my troubles, they became my guide in a world of chaos. I used what I learned through books to navigate the struggles of my process of changing the world. When fundraising came up, I read books on business savviness. To code through my drone, I borrowed a book on the Python language. And so as I volunteer for the Chicago Library near my house, I am drawn to books I see every day. After my shifts, I sort through the library shelves, looking for my next read.

Steady. Steady. I set the drone down in the middle of the beach. I turned both throttles inward, starting the drone propellers. KRRR. Sparks flew as my drone collided with sand. And that was the start of my drone journey: with a broken propeller. To understand why I had a drone, I must explain my love of Lake Michigan. Early in the morning, I would rise from my bed, bleary-eyed. Driving early morning to the Belmont Harbor was a common habit of mine, and even though my bed would try to engulf me back into peaceful sleep, I would jerk out of my blanket and shuffle to my car. I looked out at the rising light over the buildings as I made my way to Lakeshore Drive. The first few minutes in my little C420 would invite me to see the sunrise over the lake, but little aluminum cans blinded my view. I began talking to the Harbor staff about their trash cleanup plans. I learned about the priority of the yacht club I sailed for; Oil trails traced boats motored by the marina and yacht club. But as I sailed, I picked up aluminum cans and balloons from the water. Their blinding light would ruin my sailing races. The Lake should be clean for everyone. If we couldn’t use people to monitor the lake for trash, would it be better to use technology? This question fueled my initial months of research into any type of autonomous system I could find. Rovers, drones, and submarine research littered my browser. I learned about underwater robots combing lakes for trash, but they were disturbing ecosystems. Many disturbed fish and reef habitats, and the trash detection rate was low. Beach and oceanic organizations hesitated to use them. I selected drones for my autonomous system as they caused the least amount of disturbance to aquatic habitats. In collaboration with the Indiana Dunes National Park, I planned a beach monitoring project on their largest beach, which ran nearly 1.2k acres, and notoriously collected trash. The drone setup was extensive, but the work of park rangers, which would have taken 4 hours, was done in 1! With my goal to have a completely free system for park maintenance, I reached out to Girl Scouts, Chicago Park Foundation, and many other organizations, raising nearly 11k for the continuation of drone projects. As a queer woman in engineering, I am no stranger to hurdles. As I initially started this project, many potential investors and partners asked me when my boss was coming. They asked for "him" and even went so far as to tell me they wished to reschedule for when the actual founder was available. But these remarks were the least of my troubles. As a high school student, my physics classes could only take me so far. My engineering prowess was limited to toggling cameras on my drone. The famed robotic arm attachment to my drone was just a hope. And yet, this project has just pushed me to do better. As I browse the array of classes offered at different colleges, I see what I can do for this project. But the tens of thousands of dollars to pursue my education barricade my entry into the world of robotics and marine sustainability. This scholarship not only helps me overcome the hurdle of money but also motivates me to continue my work in marine conservation. The support of this Solgaard Scholars Scholarship provides me with an avenue for problem-solving by removing the largest of my barriers, helping me create a lasting impact on the oceanic community.

Steady. Steady. I set the drone down in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned both throttles inward, starting the drone propellers. KRRR. Sparks flew as my drone collided with concrete stones. And that was the start of my drone journey: with a broken propeller. To understand why I had a drone, I must explain my love of the Appalachian Mountains. Early in the morning, I would rise from my bed, bleary-eyed. Phasing in and out of sleep in the car, I would watch as the view outside my car window transformed from concrete jungles to soaring mountains, with peaks engulfed in the clouds. The hiking trail was absolutely thrilling, and I saw the world transform from a mossy forest to a rocky alpine mountaintop. Even with just enough money to keep food on the table, my family made sure that my sisters and I grew up in nature. My mother would walk us to the park, and we would play in the playground for hours. But my best memories were of those early morning hiking trips. And, I hoped that other people could hike up these beautiful trails without being bombarded with neon candy bar wrappers. After seeing the beauty of the Northwest, through ethereal waterfalls and luscious alpine forests, which support the physical and mental well-being of thousands of people, it’s become important to me that these spaces remain pristine. Seeing debris and other items that diminish the natural beauty on trails, especially at elevations that are not well-trafficked, made me physically sad. Why is it so difficult to keep our nature clean? I talked to park rangers, the Croo (staff of the Appalachian Mountains), and just about anyone about the reason for so much trash. I learned about the politics that arise in national park funding and the effects of budget cuts on park staff, and watched as the rangers dwindled in numbers. Rest stops along the Appalachian Mountains slowly disappeared, making it harder and harder to hike the beautiful mountains. Garbage strewn across campgrounds increased bear attacks. While I could not control the way money was allocated, I could support the remaining staff in monitoring their green spaces. Nature should be free for everyone. Where are people supposed to enjoy beautiful natural spaces? If we couldn’t use people to monitor parks, would it be better to use technology? What if parks knew where to clean? Those questions fueled my initial months of research into any type of autonomous system I could find. Rovers, drones, and submarine research littered my library computer screen. I learned about land rovers combing beaches for trash, but they were disturbing ecosystems. Many rover systems ran over turtle nests or uprooted wild grass on sand dunes. Parks and beach organizations hesitated to use them. Was this systemic? This was the question I wanted to answer. I selected drones for my autonomous system as they caused the least amount of disturbance to the ecosystem. With my goal to have a completely free system for park maintenance, I reached out to Girl Scouts, Chicago Park Foundation, and many other organizations, raising nearly 7k for the drones. Then, I reached out to the Chicago Park Foundation and planned a park monitoring project on their largest park, which ran nearly 1.2k acres and was notorious for collecting trash. The project planning was extensive, but nothing compared to the sight of my drone returning after collecting an hour of data. The work of park rangers, which would have taken 4 hours, was done in 1. The results were astonishing. After the preliminary test, I planned and surveyed 3 more parks. To showcase and scale my work, I presented my work in environmental conservation at the Chicago STEM Fair. After my presentation highlighting the use of drones to survey 500 acres of land and detect 1.6k pieces of garbage, a gentleman came up to me. He asked me if I could help him survey parks on the Southside of Chicago, a notoriously underserved American city, and my home since I was 8. Could I? I wondered. Together, Tom and I are executing a project to serve the 800,000 people and remove tons of garbage from their community. Even after successful and failed projects, I sought more. How can I make drones quieter? How does this system relate to other sustainable systems around the world? How can we make this system more accessible for people like Tom? How can we stop the politicizing of environmental sustainability? I have been fortunate to repurpose drones to help sustain a modern-day city. By partnering with the City of Chicago and the State of Indiana, I have monitored over 1.2k acres of land, spanning large parks such as Indiana Dunes National Park, in hopes of helping my college town, city, and community, and scaling the work they are doing. As an aspiring engineer and environmental advocate, robotics offers me the opportunity to go deeper into systems that can potentially change how we monitor trash. For those who suffer in any way and can’t escape the suffering, there should be no reason why they cannot step out into the natural environment and enjoy the peace that has been afforded to us without having to make a payment. By hosting cleanups, the park is free of neon wrappers, and now, I plan my next project, one that is even bigger and better than the last.

Imagine hiking across a scenic trail, admiring the beauty of nature and the wildlife it offers. The calming sound of birds chirping fills the air as gentle rays of sunshine peek through the leafy canopy above. You turn around and immediately notice something bright orange stuck between twigs and dirt. Enjoying the environment should be about connecting with Earth, not a neon-colored plastic wrapper. Over 118 million people hike each year in the United States, so it’s no surprise that hundreds of thousands of pieces of trash end up scattered across natural landscapes, finding their way into the homes and stomachs of birds and other animals. I saw this unfortunate reality while at the lakefront: bottle caps were wedged into seagull nests, and bits of plastic were found in the stomachs of sandpipers. These sights made it clear that taking action was urgent. To remedy this issue, I founded Eccodrone. Eccodrone was created as a way for students to gather together for trash detection on beaches. By using autonomous drone technology and machine learning, our team was able to train computer vision models to detect trash with up to 97% accuracy. Trained with over 3,000 labeled pieces of data on different types of trash, the drones use a sensor system to navigate and record detailed footage of the terrain. So far, our drones have scanned over 340 football fields of terrain, accurately identifying waste and mapping out trash hotspots. What originally started out as a group turned into an award-winning nonprofit that has fundraised over $6,000 and grown to a team of 40+ members. Being recognized for our creative approach to environmental cleanup and youth-led impact, we have used our technology, collecting data not only to clean public parks and beaches, but to help other organizations plan more efficient cleanups and develop long-lasting solutions. I believe that our story is one that can highlight the impact of student activism, inspiring youth to take initiative, and we are eager to share it with a larger audience. Not only has this organization helped me create a way for us students to protect the environment, but it has also allowed me to connect with many wonderful people in the environmental conservation field. After conducting many field studies and research cases on the environment and the implications of trash in the oceans and forests, my desire to clean up trash increased. A large increasing trend in unclean parks is related to the recent budget cuts made by Congress. Many of our national parks and environmental conservation organizations rely on financial aid from federal funding. With parks being forced to make changes to their cleanup policies, I wanted to find a way for parks to monitor their green spaces without using too many resources. Through my research, conducted with various amazing park rangers, cleanup guides, and environmental teachers, I have gotten to learn about how we are working to keep the environment clean, reversing our footprint on the world. I have learned alongside professors and field experts on the effects of trash in ecosystems around the world. So as I plan my next research, I sit under a shady tree at Lincoln Park. Squirrels run across the grass, and birds peck at the dirt near my feet. This is one of the thousands of natural wild spaces around the country that I work to protect. Whether it's by taking classes on environmental conservation and ecology at my local college or joining park cleanups on the weekends, I spend my time cleaning the world, one bottlecap at a time.

As a customer walked into the coffee shop, the cashier lumbered back to the register. I watched the man ponder the menu for a second before clearing his throat, startling the barista at the espresso machine. "I'll have an iced coffee," he said. The Tuesday afternoon sun brought warm light into the coffee shop. I had taken to listening in on the conversations around me, which were sparse, to say the very least. My hot chocolate had grown cold, and my phone had run out of battery, typical since I always forgot my charger. "A hot iced coffee," he said. I didn't immediately realize the irony of the statement, but I turned around to look at the man ordering. "I'm sorry, sir, it seems like I misheard. Would you like an Americano?" the cashier said. "No, I want a hot iced coffee, are you deaf?" he snarked. I stared at the man with a classic Gen-Z stare. The barista did the same. He turned around and looked at the rest of the shop, locking eyes with me. We stared at each other, neither of us breaking eye contact. "What?" "You just asked for a HOT iced coffee. What do you want her to do, warm up your ice cubes for you?" I deadpanned. His face grew red as he turned around, marching out of the shop. The barista laughed. "hOt iCeD cOffEe, how am I supposed to make that? Warm up those ice cubes?" she said. She winked at me as she cleaned out the coffee machine. I settled back into my chair. While I dreaded making a doctor's appointment, like the rest of my generation, I would not hesitate to help those who were getting pushed around, even if it meant going up against someone 3 times my size.