To me, success isn’t defined by how much recognition someone receives—it’s about how selflessly they invest in others, how they create opportunities where none existed for themselves. My mother is the embodiment of that kind of success. Growing up, my mother dreamed of learning to play the piano and violin, but those dreams were never realized due to financial hardship and limited access to the arts in her community. Instead of letting that dream fade away, she passed it on—quietly and intentionally—to me and my sister. From a young age, music became a part of our lives not because she forced it, but because she believed so deeply in the power of expression, discipline, and opportunity. She made sacrifices to ensure we had the instruments she never did, and she encouraged us to embrace the gift she never got to fully hold. Because of her, I’ve been playing piano for the past 16 years. I was also a violinist in our school orchestra throughout my academic career in high school. Music became my safe space, my creative outlet, and a quiet but powerful form of self-expression—especially during times when words weren’t enough. It taught me patience, confidence, and how to keep going when something feels hard. My mom never sat at the piano bench herself, but she sat behind me during every recital, every rehearsal, every practice session that ran late into the night. Her dream lived on through my hands. Now in college, I’m pursuing a pre-med path as a Biology major with a Neuroscience minor, maintaining a GPA well above 3.0. Even though my studies are rooted in science, I continue to play piano and guitar during my free time, and I still write and perform music. It keeps me balanced, grounded, and connected to the lessons music has taught me over a lifetime. Over the past two semesters, I’ve also completed a neuroscience research internship, volunteered extensively in memory care settings, and led multiple health-related student organizations—all while continuing to practice music and carry my mom’s dream forward. As a woman of Asian & Italian descent, I understand the barriers that exist for women—especially in spaces like medicine and music. But I’ve learned that success doesn’t come from simply achieving your own goals. True success is lifting someone else higher, even if you never get to stand on that stage yourself. That’s what my mom did for me. She turned a lost dream into a lifelong gift, and her quiet strength is the reason I found my voice—not just musically, but as a future neurosurgeon, a student leader, and an advocate for others. This scholarship would not only support my continued education—it would honor the path my mother made possible. Her story, and mine, are proof that when you pour love into someone’s future, it ripples far beyond anything you could’ve imagined.