The loss of a grandparent is something no grandchild could prepare for. My Dada was my role model, the rock of our family. He was the breadwinner who brought my family to the United States and started our journey to the American dream. The stories he told me of his childhood struggles of poverty, having no education, or working 14-hour shifts in a factory to make ends meet to provide for his children instilled lessons of work ethic and perseverance in me. I had watched my grandfather bounce back from a stroke in 2006 and paralysis on his right side, but in 2017 I had to have a difficult conversation with my mother when she gave me the news that my grandfather had a hemorrhagic conversion resulting in his placement in the Intensive Care Unit. At thirteen, it was a difficult conversation to have, I did not understand what was going on or how I could help during this time of uncertainty. I would listen in on the conversations that my mother would have with doctors and specialists, trying to gain some clarity on the situation. This search for clarity lasted for four years, waiting for my grandfather to get better. I watched him move out of the ICU, get off of a respirator and breath himself, and begin showing emotion when we would talk to him. Although he was not able to verbally respond, we knew that he was fighting, unfortunately, his fight would end in July of 2020. During the four years, I spent my time in and out of the hospital visiting my grandfather, but I would remember the kind and informative conversations I would have with the nurses and doctors that would care for my grandfather, and in these times, I would wish I was doing what they were. Although he passed away, the time spent in the hospital was transformative because I realized I wanted to be the one to help people. The doctors made a difficult situation more bearable, and I feel that by being a physician, I could directly impact the lives of my patients, such as how those doctors impacted my life. However, to enter the medical field, I am faced with many challenges such as the cost of attending college and medical school, along with a long time it will take before I will be able to earn an income that is enough to pay off all of my debt. However, what I have learned from my grandfather is that in order to make your dreams a reality, you need to "FIGHT." "Fight" to figure out a way to provide for my family. "Fight" to help support my brother with autism. "Fight" to achieve the American Dream. My grandfather came to America with nothing in his hands and not a dollar to his name, but he began the generational fight to better the lives of my family, and it is my duty to finish it.

Childhood obesity affects one in five children and adolescents in the United States. I am that one in five. Many people do not realize that the psychological effects have become larger than obesity itself. I have struggled with my weight my entire life, so from a young age, I was constantly reminded that I looked different than others from my classmates or even family members. Each ridicule or snarky remark would chip away at my self-esteem to the point where I hated everything about myself. Eventually, I defined my self-worth and happiness to the numbers written on a scale. I would try many “diets,” by restricting the foods I enjoyed, but I would always end up breaking them soon after, which would evoke feelings of anger and sadness in me. These feelings of self-pity would spiral me into big binging episodes, where I would eat to cope. Anytime I was stressed and in need of an escape, I would resort to the comfort of food to soothe myself. I figured “I am already overweight, what would it matter if I kept eating more.” Eventually I slipped into a dark hole, with thoughts of suicide or self-harming. I became distant from my family, stayed in my room, and rarely got out of bed, which worsened when the Coronavirus pandemic occurred. The world stopped, but it also temporarily halted all the activities that I had said would get in the way of me focusing on my health. It was a clean slate, one I desperately needed to stop making excuses for myself. I thought about all my bad habits such as binge-eating, feeling sorry for myself, and my tendency to make excuses. I made meal plans, exercise routines, and relaxed, however, I wasn’t happy, I was miserable. I was still obsessed with the numeric value that I didn’t realize what was truly important, mental health. Mental health was something I never took into account, I had always kept my feelings to myself, but the first step in my process of healing was admitting that I was struggling. I had expressed my troubles to my parents, who were then able to tell my doctor about my concerns. I was fortunate enough to meet with a nutritionist who helped me plan out my goals. At first, I made little changes such as adding 30 minutes of walking to my routine and adding more greens to my diet, which led to frequent visits to the gym and sticking to a healthy diet. So far, it has been over a year of hard work and motivation and I have progressed to lose 50 pounds, but most importantly I have been in the best shape of my life mentally. My challenge of facing childhood obesity was long and difficult, it took many failures to get to the point of where I am, but each was necessary because I had learned important lessons along the way. The most important one being, admitting I needed help. The stigma attached to getting help has been prevalent in society for too long, and it is time that we students, as the future, break it down.