Through the eyepiece of a kaleidoscope, I analyzed the swirls of colors that contrasted with the bittersweet moments of my life. Semi-yelled arguments between my parents often gave way to walks on the beach, soft-serve ice cream, or outings to a favorite restaurant the next day. These gifts of forgiveness, a fragile veneer, momentarily concealed the tarnish underneath. Yet, even amid the strain of their relationship, my parents remained unified in one goal: to mold me into the person they were unable to become. In the complexity of their love and sacrifice, I found the foundation upon which I would build my life. My mother, in particular, was my unwavering anchor. She always provided for me, whether by cooking homemade meals every day, doing my hair in the morning before school, or staying up late to finish my forgotten school projects. She always stood by me, strong as a rock, embodying the characteristics that I one day yearned to possess. While my mother was my anchor, my father acted as my pillar of strength, working long hours to supply us with groceries, pay household bills, and provide me the academic support that he didn’t receive. His quiet yet steadfast dedication equipped me with the strength to persevere through challenging times. As I grew older, my parents worked harder to place in the mirrored, glass pieces that lacked in their kaleidoscope. They filled my life with an abundance of books whose words stained my tongue with knowledge. My room held the essence of their aspirations for me, adorned with posters with vocabulary words plastered on them and a stethoscope that laid on the corner of my nightstand. My parents’ determination towards my educational path and selfless actions deepened my tenacity to create a brighter future. I began to see through my own lens that focused on the many possibilities ahead. I laid out a plan for myself: to graduate college, attain my master’s degree, become a nursing practitioner, and specialize in pediatric oncology. These aspirations became more than goals; they became a way of honoring my parents’ sacrifices. My “Pie in the Sky” goal is to become a nurse who not only treats disease, but demonstrates the same compassion, equity, and hope that my parents instilled in me. As a first generation student, dreaming big has often felt intimidating–like navigating a whole new path without a roadmap. Beyond my own clinical practice, I aspire to one day open a free community clinic staffed by highly trained and compassionate providers who treat all patients with dignity, regardless of race, gender, or background. Fear can live in dreams that feel too hard to fulfill, but choosing hope allows me to move forward, even when the path feels uncertain. A kaleidoscope with two tilted mirrors—one reflecting my parents' hardships and the other, my future. Through these mirrored pieces, they saw the person they had always envisioned me becoming. All their efforts prepared me to take ahold of the kaleidoscope that once belonged to them. As I rotate the kaleidoscope ever so slowly, I shift the objects that once were obstacles throughout my parents’ lives. The dismal patterns and colors that filled their atmosphere have now shifted into bright colors that personify my very wonders, challenges, and reveries. As I carefully set down my kaleidoscope, its vibrant dancing patterns fade from my view. In reflection, I feel a readiness to evolve into the embodiment of my many ambitions. Each vibrant piece of glass, methodically placed by my parents and me, now forms the window of my identity and continued journey.

From the age of five, my ultimate dream was to be a doctor, not for the money, but instead for the ability to help others in a way that not only healed their physical wounds but also their emotional ones. My faintest memory of when my love for medicine started was when I was five. I remember taking a ziplock bag, opening it up, and spinning around in my living room, trying to inflate the bag with air. Then I would take a headband and wrap it around my friend’s arm. I would take the air-filled ziplock and put it close to the headband, squeezing my hands around the bag, pretending it was a blood pressure cuff. As I grew older, I held on to this memory as I took my dreams along with me. My parents would adorn my room with books about anatomy, a stethoscope that would hang by my bookshelf, and a white coat that was too big for my eight-year-old body. That dream stayed with me as I grew, but life didn’t always make it easy to hold on. When I started high school, I fell into a deep depression as my parents’ arguments filled the rooms of our apartment. The slams of doors, the raising of voices, and the loud footsteps became a weekly routine. As my tears engulfed my pillowcase, my life also began to drown. My grades started to slip, and my future started to vanish. On a cold December night in 2023, I decided that I wanted to take away my life. But I didn’t. God held me. In the darkest moment of my life, when my tears soaked the same pillow I had once dreamed on, He reminded me who I was. And maybe it was also that little girl with the ziplock blood pressure cuff, still alive somewhere inside me, begging me not to give up. So I picked up the broken fragmentations of my life and started to consistently study and write. Writing became my outlet for all my sorrow and pain. My writing helped me earn a 1st place award in my junior year of high school for my poem ‘Skins’ and two honorable mentions my senior year for my poems ‘Lady’ and ‘This is America’. I also began to excel in my academics as I started to maintain an unweighted GPA of 3.8 and took multiple rigorous classes as well as college courses at my local community college. My love for helping people also shined brighter as I founded my school’s first community service club alongside three of my friends. Our club has raised money for our community closet and the Dana-Farber Breast Cancer Clinic during Breast Cancer Awareness Month. We have also collaborated with our local elementary school by bringing students from our school to volunteer to fold donated clothes, sort toys, distribute multiple items to different classrooms during the summer, and interact with students by playing board games and decorating their gym for dances. Through all the pain, I never let go of the dream that began with a ziplock bag and a headband. I used my struggles as fuel, not only to rebuild my life but to become a light for others. I want to be the first in my family to become a doctor, not just to fulfill a childhood dream, but to show my community, my family, and that little girl inside me that healing is possible. That even when life feels broken beyond repair, you can rise, piece by piece, with God’s strength and a heart that refuses to give up.