My name is Jessica Bae, and I am an incoming freshman at the University of California, Irvine. I was drawn to this scholarship not only because it supports ambitious students, but because I deeply connected with Kalia’s life story. Her passion for athletics, commitment to leadership, and dedication to excellence reminded me so much of the values I try to live by. Throughout high school, I ran cross country and track. These sports pushed me physically and mentally. I learned discipline, how to work through discomfort, and how to be a supportive teammate. I also took on a role that became an unexpected tradition on the team, the hair braider. Before races, girls from all levels would reach out to me, asking if I could braid their hair for good luck. On the bus, at meets, or even during warm-ups, I would braid while we talked. Sometimes it was small talk, but often it turned into race strategies, encouragement, or just helping each other feel calm. It showed me that leadership often starts with the little things, showing up for people in ways that matter. I brought that same mindset to the club I founded during my senior year, called LeadHERS. Our goal was to highlight and uplift underrepresented female minorities by showcasing women succeeding in male-dominated fields and sharing stories of impact from our local community. I built a website to feature these women and hoped to inspire others at my school who might be doubting their own path. I wanted every girl who joined our meetings to feel seen, capable, and motivated to keep pushing forward, even when it felt hard. I have also been in Girl Scouts since kindergarten and earned my Bronze, Silver, and Gold Awards. For my Gold Award, I created and led a job interview workshop for high school students. I taught them how to prepare, respond to challenging questions, and carry themselves with confidence during interviews. I wanted students, especially those without much guidance at home, to feel ready and empowered when applying for jobs. It was my way of helping others step into their future with confidence. During high school, I was also part of Griffin News, our school’s biweekly news broadcast. I helped create sports content and conducted interviews with athletes, including football players. It taught me how to communicate clearly, listen actively, and celebrate the accomplishments of others, skills I know will help me in college and beyond. All of these experiences have shaped the kind of person I want to be. I have learned to lead with empathy, serve my community, and strive for excellence in everything I do. These are the same values that Kalia lived by, and it would be an honor to carry that legacy forward. Receiving the Kalia D. Davis Memorial Scholarship would not only support me financially as I begin this new chapter, but it would also serve as a reminder of the impact one person can make through strength, kindness, and drive. I hope to continue making that kind of difference in my own life, and in the lives of others. Thank you so much for considering my application. Sincerely, Jessica Bae

What does it take to build a healthier community? Some say access to care. Others say education. I believe it starts with someone who understands what it feels like to be on the outside looking in, and still chooses to show up. That is the kind of physician assistant I want to become. Growing up, I never fit into the typical image of what people think a Mexican girl should look like. Whether it was a cashier in Tijuana switching to English when they saw me or someone asking, “How are you, Mexican?” I always felt like I had to prove it. I started carrying around a picture of my abuelita on my phone. Her dark skin, jet-black curls, and proud stance became my badge. But over time, I realized identity is not something you have to prove. It is something you live. When I visited my grandparents in Tijuana, we learned about Corazon de Vida, a nonprofit that supports local orphanages. I helped with fundraising events and met the founder, Hilda. She had once lived in one of those homes herself, and her story inspired me. Later, I had the chance to visit one of the orphanages and meet the kids. They were kind, well-dressed, and proud of who they were. Not once did they carry a victim mentality. I realized I had been guilty of making assumptions about them just as others had made assumptions about me. When they found out I was Mexican, their entire energy changed. An invisible wall between us fell. We shared the same culture, and suddenly, we were no longer strangers. That experience inspired me to develop a platform to share underrepresented stories with a broader audience. At my high school, I established LeadHERS, a club that highlights minority women through editorials that aim to empower underserved youth and celebrate voices that often go unheard. My first article was about Hilda and the orphanage. My passion for healthcare was cemented during the MIAP Medical Immersion Program. I watched a team of doctors remove a tumor through the nose of a twelve-year-old girl. It was one of the most intense and emotional moments I have ever witnessed. Even though her life expectancy was short, every person in that room fought for her. That is when I knew. I want to be that person. The one who shows up when it matters most. At UC Irvine, I plan to join organizations like the Peer Health Educator program, Flying Samaritans, Active Minds, and the Student Health and Wellness Commission. Through these groups, I hope to lead bilingual wellness workshops on nutrition and diabetes prevention, especially in Latino and immigrant communities. I also want to help create culturally sensitive health resources and organize outreach events that make health education more approachable and inclusive. These experiences will allow me to learn, serve, and connect while building the foundation for my future as a physician assistant. Becoming a physician assistant is not just about a title. It is about being present, building trust, and serving others with heart. I want to be part of the next generation of healthcare leaders who build healthier communities through medicine, compassion, education, and connection. That is the kind of care I want to bring into the world.

If selected for the KC MedBridge scholarship, I would use the funds to take meaningful steps toward my goal of becoming a physician assistant. My first priority would be to begin shadowing PAs, and I am already making connections to arrange these opportunities. To fully engage in these experiences, I plan to use part of the scholarship to purchase an iPad. This will allow me to take notes during shadowing, organize research, and access medical resources to deepen my learning. This opportunity would also help relieve some of the financial pressure on my family. My mom is a public school teacher, and my dad, who lives with advanced diabetes and memory challenges, can no longer work. We don’t qualify for financial aid outside of loans, so every dollar spent on my education is a sacrifice. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to give back and ease that burden. My passion for healthcare deepened during the MIAP Medical Immersion Program, where I shadowed doctors caring for vulnerable patients and saw the emotional side of medicine up close. I was especially moved by how the doctors worked as a team and balanced science with compassion, giving patients not just care, but dignity. KC MedBridge’s mission mirrors my own. With your support, I will grow into a provider who leads with empathy, resilience, and a deep commitment to serving others.

The Fall Heard ’Round the Gym It was a bright Friday morning, and I was excited to be part of the winter formal court. This year, I was part of the assembly, racing in a silly relay game against my friend but not really, Sydney. You know the type: all fake smiles and subtle jabs, the kind of friend who acts supportive but secretly wants you to trip. We had helped set up the gym for the assembly, and even though the familiar smell of hardwood floors and worn tennis shoes filled the air, my stomach was flipping. As the sound check echoed through the speakers and Mr. Brown tapped the mic, I kept thinking, Today’s going to be my day. The band kids settled in, the cheerleaders lined up, and the whole gym was electric. Everything was going smoothly until we got to the formal court competitions. That’s when the phones came out. I stood at the starting line, strapped into giant inflatable floaties for the relay game, heart pounding. I was nervous, not just because the whole school was watching, but because I wanted to prove myself, maybe even beat Sydney. The whistle blew, and we were off. I ran as fast as anyone can while awkward floaties bounced around me, “All I Do Is Win” blasting through the gym. I pulled ahead, grinning at the ridiculousness of it all. I could hear the cheers, feel the spotlight, and for one perfect second, I thought, I’m actually going to win this. And then — boom. My foot caught, and before I could even process what was happening, I was flying through the air. I slammed face-first onto the gym floor with a loud, echoing thud. The music stopped. The cheers cut off. The entire gym fell dead silent. Phones that had been raised to capture the win now caught a spectacular, slow-motion fall. For a split second, no one moved. The sound had been so loud that people actually gasped. Even my friends froze, unsure if they should laugh or rush over. But here’s the thing about me: I don’t crumble in embarrassing moments. I own them. So I popped up, grinned, and gave the biggest, most dramatic bow I could manage. The crowd exploded. Laughter, cheers, clapping — the gym roared back to life. Suddenly, my fall wasn’t a disaster. It was the moment of the assembly. Even when the videos started spreading around school afterward, they weren’t just about the fall. They were about how I shook it off with a smile. Everyone was talking about it… well, everyone except Sydney. Looking back, that moment sums up so much of who I am. Life hands you falls, both literal and figurative. You can either stay down or stand up, laugh, and keep going. For me, the choice is always clear. And that same bold, lighthearted attitude is what I bring to everything I do, from leading clubs to chasing my biggest dreams. Humor isn’t just about laughing at myself; it’s about facing challenges head-on and lifting up the people around me while I do it.

When I was younger, I thought strength was all about pushing forward — running faster, staying busy, filling every hour. I ran cross country and track, packed my schedule with clubs, and found joy in being the person others could rely on. But life has a way of surprising you. A health diagnosis I never expected forced me to slow down and rethink how I saw myself. I couldn't approach challenges the same way I always had, and for the first time, I faced adversity I couldn't "outrun." It wasn't easy, but I learned that strength isn't just physical drive; it's resilience, patience, and finding new ways to make an impact, even when you're facing your own struggles. That lesson has carried into everything I do. I co-founded LeadHERS, a club that empowers minority girls by encouraging them to dream big and claim space in leadership. We're working to connect with women in business, medicine, and politics so we can learn from their journeys and inspire others. I earned my Girl Scout Gold Award by creating teen job readiness workshops, helping students prepare for interviews, and building confidence to enter the workforce. Through Kindness Club, I've helped organize donation drives, beach cleanups, and events that pair general education students with students from our school's special education program — moments that have shown me how small, thoughtful connections can change someone's day. Working with Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphans in Baja, California, gave me firsthand insight into what resilience looks like in young people who've faced unimaginable hardship. Later, I joined the Medical Immersion and Apprenticeship Program, shadowing doctors and nurses in a hospital in Georgia. I watched a spinal surgery, held a patient's hand while she waited for test results in a language she didn't fully understand, and saw healthcare professionals advocate fiercely for patients. That experience didn't just confirm my dream of becoming a physician assistant — it deepened it. I don't want to just treat people. I want them to feel safe, listened to, and truly cared for. I admire Valerie Rabb's work as an interventionist; she supported students and helped them believe in themselves. It's amazing how much one person's care and dedication can change someone's path. That's the kind of work I want to continue — but in the field of medicine, where I can advocate for patients, break down barriers, and stand beside people when they need help the most. This scholarship wouldn't just help with the cost of college; it would let me keep doing the kind of meaningful work she cared so much about. I know the road ahead won't be easy or smooth. But every step I take in college will bring me closer to the kind of future I want—one where I can help break down the barriers people face and contribute to creating a healthcare system that treats everyone with dignity, kindness, and real care.

Some people think leadership is about standing at the front of the room. For me, it’s about pulling up a chair so someone else can sit beside you. That belief has shaped everything I do, from earning my Girl Scout Gold Award by leading teen job readiness workshops to founding LeadHERS, a club that uplifts minority girls and helps them realize their power. I’ve learned that making a difference isn’t about being the loudest voice — it’s about creating spaces where others can gain confidence and shine. One of my most memorable moments came after a Kindness Club event, where we paired with students in our school’s special education program for crafts, games, and a picnic. A girl who had been shy and quiet at the start proudly showed off the bracelet she’d made by the end. That reminded me how small acts of inclusion and connection can open doors and change someone’s experience. Working with Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphanages in Baja California, deepened that understanding. I sat in circles with children who had faced incredible hardship, yet they spoke about their dreams to become teachers, nurses, and engineers with pride and determination. They showed me that resilience often lives in unexpected places. Later, when I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease, I had to leave the sports I loved and rethink what strength meant for me. It wasn’t easy, but it deepened the lessons I’d already learned: you can still make an impact even when you’re facing your own challenges. Strength isn’t just about pushing through; it’s about standing beside others while finding your own balance. That realization carried me into the Medical Immersion and Apprenticeship Program, where I shadowed doctors and nurses in Georgia. I saw the human side of healthcare — holding a patient’s hand as she waited for test results, watching surgeons work for hours, and seeing providers advocate for patients up against language and financial barriers. Those moments cemented my dream of becoming a physician assistant who not only treats patients but also listens and makes sure they feel seen. This scholarship isn’t just financial support. It’s a chance to help me keep creating spaces of care, inclusion, and empowerment — the kind of spaces that quietly, but powerfully, change lives.

When I think about the kind of life Lena B. Davis lived — one devoted to quietly sewing seeds of hope, care, and opportunity — I realize that her spirit reflects the kind of person I strive to be. My journey shifted the day I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. It was quiet, like a thread slowly coming loose. I remember sitting in the doctor’s office, trying to understand what this meant — not just for my health, but for everything I had worked toward. I had to step away from cross country and track, the sports that once gave me a sense of purpose. At sixteen, I was forced to slow down and face questions I wasn’t ready to answer: Would I ever feel like myself again? Would my body keep up with my dreams? During that time, I found strength in unexpected places. My Mexican abuelita would visit with homemade caldo and stories about the women in our family who had faced hardship with quiet determination. At school, I spent my lunch breaks in the special education classroom, where we shared snacks and laughter. It was the best part of my day — and in those moments, I realized how much I cared about making others feel seen and supported. That feeling stayed with me. It inspired me to start LeadHERS, a club focused on uplifting minority girls and helping them see the power of their voices. We’re working to connect with women leaders in business, medicine, and politics so we can learn from their journeys and share their stories to inspire young women like us. Even just building the club has taught me the importance of representation and how having a platform can spark meaningful change. At the same time, I worked with Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphanages in Baja California. I met children who had lost more than I could imagine — yet still greeted us with wide smiles and curiosity. I sat in a circle with them as they told me their dreams: to be teachers, nurses, or engineers. I saw my younger self in their faces — full of hope, craving stability, and quietly resilient. Through Girl Scouts, I earned my Gold Award by organizing a teen job readiness program. I led workshops on how to communicate with employers, guided mock interviews, and helped students write resumes. One student later told me she used what she learned to land her first job, and in that moment, I felt so happy and realized that impact doesn’t have to be flashy. It can be a quiet conversation that changes someone’s path. Later, I joined the Medical Immersion and Apprenticeship Program, shadowing doctors and nurses in a hospital in Georgia. I watched a spinal surgery, held a patient’s hand while she waited for test results in a language she didn’t fully understand, and saw healthcare professionals advocate fiercely for patients. That experience didn’t just confirm my dream of becoming a physician assistant — it deepened it. I don’t want to just treat people. I want them to feel safe, listened to, and truly cared for. Lena B. Davis’s legacy reminds me that leadership doesn’t always look like a spotlight. It can be quiet. It can happen in classrooms, in orphanages, at hospital bedsides. This scholarship is more than financial help — it’s a promise. A promise to keep showing up for others in the spirit Lena did. To be the steady presence someone can count on. And to keep planting seeds of hope, one act of care at a time.

If you had asked me years ago why I wanted to go into medicine, I probably would have said, “Because I want to help people.” But today, that answer means so much more to me. Growing up, I watched my Korean Grandma (Halmoni), who raised me on stories and homemade oxtail soup, delay medical care because she didn’t speak English. When she had a stroke, it wasn’t just the illness that hurt her — it was the system that failed to understand her. Seeing how language and financial barriers shape someone’s access to healthcare made me realize that I don’t just want to help people; I want to stand up for them. Last summer, I joined the Medical Immersion and Apprenticeship Program (MIAP Med), where I spent two weeks shadowing doctors, nurses, and surgeons. I watched life-changing moments unfold — a delicate brain surgery on a 12-year-old girl, a veteran in chronic pain forced to delay treatment because of insurance barriers, and a Latino father who waited too long to seek care because he couldn’t afford to miss work. These were the faces behind the statistics we hear in public health — and they became the fuel behind my passion. I didn’t just stand on the sidelines. I put together a documentary to capture what I saw, sitting down with hospital staff to talk about the hard truths they face when trying to care for patients in a system that doesn’t always work. My goal was to help others see that medicine is not just about science and procedures — it’s about people, their stories, and standing up for those who are too often left out. Beyond the hospital, I’ve worked hard to amplify underrepresented voices. I founded LeadHERS, a school club that highlights the journeys of minority women and aims to inspire young people toward careers where they can make a difference. I’ve raised funds for Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphanages in Baja, California, and spent time with the children there, learning firsthand how resilience and pride can thrive even in hardship. I dream of becoming a physician assistant, not just to treat illnesses but to be someone who listens, advocates, and stands beside patients when they are scared or unseen. This isn’t just a career goal — it’s a calling shaped by my family, my community, and every patient whose story has left a mark on me. This scholarship means more to me than just financial support. It is a way for me to honor the spirit of Maxwell Tuan Nguyen and keep moving forward with the heart and determination that have shaped me. Every step I take in college will bring me closer to the kind of future I want — one where I can help break down the barriers people face and be part of creating a healthcare system that treats everyone with dignity, kindness, and real care.

“You can’t be…” Whether it’s a Tijuana cajero mustering their best English or a Hispanic coworker interrogating me like a detective, I’m often met with skepticism about my Mexicanness. To prove myself, I used to carry my “Mexican ID” — a picture of my abuelita whose café skin, jet-black curls, and stout frame made her obviously Mexican. Like a seasoned FBI agent flashing credentials, I would pull out her photo when entering Mexican gatherings to dodge the inevitable, “How are you Mexican?” I spent years caught in that space, feeling like I had to prove myself. Accused of mocking Mexican culture, I even stopped introducing myself in Spanish. Not fitting the stereotypes, I developed other ways to connect. I learned to quickly build trust through conversation, jumping headfirst into any social setting without waiting for validation. These qualities have shaped who I am today — someone who bridges communities and challenges bias. Through Griffin News, I’ve produced dozens of segments exploring diverse perspectives, driven by my passion to share underrepresented voices. My heritage taught me that identity is not just about appearance, but about the values we carry. That journey took me to Lomas Taurinas, my grandparents’ hometown, where I discovered Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphanages in Baja. As a volunteer, I helped with fundraising and met Hilda, the founder, who shared her story as an orphan struggling with belonging. Her resilience lit something inside me — pride in her, pride in myself, and pride in our community’s strength. When I visited the orphanage, I wanted to share their stories and advocate for more support. But I realized I had stereotypes too. I expected dusty, hungry children, but what I met were proud, determined kids who rejected the victim label. Nicole raised her fist and declared, “Somos fuertes, resistentes y capaces.” David shouted, “Tenemos orgullo!” Camila laughed as she drenched her birria in salsa picante, daring me to join. That day, I understood our heritage isn’t about what we look like — it’s about being strong, resilient, and proud. Back home, inspired by this experience, I launched LeadHERS at school, a club that spotlights minority women and empowers underserved youth toward transformative careers. My first article was about Hilda and the orphanage, helping raise funds for educational supplies. Now, I keep my abuelita’s photo framed in my room, not to prove anything, but as a reminder of where I come from. When people question me today, I smile and answer, “¿Puedes comer salsa picante?” Attending college is deeply personal for me. As a Latina, I know the obstacles we face — financial, cultural, and systemic. I want to break through them, not just for myself but for others. I dream of becoming a physician assistant so I can use my career to serve minority communities and stand beside people whose voices are too often ignored. To me, this scholarship is more than just financial support. It is a way to honor people like Seymour Philippe, who believed in opening doors for others. This scholarship will help me to keep moving forward, holding on to the strength my heritage has given me, and making sure that every step I take in college brings me closer to a future where I can give back, make a real difference, and make my community proud.

If you told me last year that my biggest opponent wouldn’t be a track rival but my own thyroid, I would have laughed. I never expected to be sidelined by Hashimoto’s disease, an autoimmune condition that showed up like an uninvited guest and forced me to quit the sports I loved. At first, I was devastated. I didn’t know much about Hashimoto’s, and I worried about my future. But as I worked through the pain, brain fog, and recovery, I realized this wasn’t the end of my story — just a sharp curve in the road. Pushing through my own struggles deepened my empathy for others. Since tenth grade, I’ve spent my lunch breaks with students in my school’s special education program. What started as something small became one of the most meaningful parts of my day. Their laughter, playful jokes pretending not to remember my name, and the simple joy of being together taught me that presence and kindness can change someone’s world. My passion for service kept growing. I joined Corazón de Vida, a nonprofit supporting orphanages in Baja California, where I helped fundraise and later visited children in Tijuana. I went in thinking I was there to help, but I walked away with a heart full of lessons. These kids didn’t want pity — they were proud, full of life, and determined. I remember Nicole raising her fist and saying, “Somos fuertes, resistentes y capaces” (We are strong, resilient, and capable) and laughing over spicy jalapeño pizza, testing who could handle the most heat. It hit me that our shared culture wasn’t about appearance; it was about shared values of strength, resilience, and pride. Wanting to deepen my commitment to healthcare, I applied to the Medical Immersion and Apprenticeship Program (MIAP Med), where I spent two intense weeks shadowing neurosurgeons, ER doctors, and nurses. I watched delicate brain surgeries while families waited anxiously outside. That experience showed me the real side of medicine — not just science and treatments, but human connection, advocacy, and strength. I’ve also worked hard to turn my experiences into action. At school, I founded LeadHERS, a club that highlights the stories of underrepresented women and inspires minority youth toward transformative careers. I also led service projects through the National Honor Society, helping special education students design floral arrangements that raised over two hundred dollars at our school’s open house. These experiences have shaped me into someone who leads with heart, determination, and an unwavering drive to help others. I want to become a physician assistant not just because I love medicine, but because I want to stand beside people when they are scared, vulnerable, or overlooked — just like so many medical professionals have done for me. I see this scholarship as way more than just money for school. It’s a chance to honor Norman C. Nelson IV by living out the same spirit of service, positivity, and bringing people together. His story pushes me to keep moving forward, no matter the obstacles, and to carry forward the values that heal, uplift, and strengthen a community. As a future physician assistant, I hope to not only care for patients but also help break down barriers, especially for underserved and minority communities, so that everyone feels seen, heard, and supported. I am ready to keep growing, keep learning, and keep working hard — because every small act of service, every story shared, and every barrier broken brings us closer to the future I want to help build.

When I first visited the Corazón de Vida orphanage in Tijuana, I thought I was going just to help, but I didn’t realize how much it would change me. Corazón de Vida is a nonprofit organization that supports orphanages across Baja California, providing children with food, shelter, education, and love. Volunteering there became one of the most meaningful moments of my life, and I contributed to my community in a way that reflects the values of service, positivity, and unity that Jorge Campos (Don Jorge) stands for. At first, I imagined I would be the one giving, helping to set up games, collecting donations, and offering my time. But when we arrived and I met the kids, I realized they were giving something back to me a new perspective on identity and strength. Even though these children had grown up without parents, they were proud, full of life, and determined. I remember Nicole raising her fist and saying, “Somos fuertes, resistentes y capaces” (We are strong, resilient, and capable) and David laughing as he covered his jalapeno pizza, teasing me about whether I could handle the spicy pizza. That moment broke down an invisible wall between us. Before, they saw me as someone different, someone who didn’t fit the image they had in their minds, but once they found out I was part Mexican, too, something shifted in their perception of me. Suddenly, we were connected not by our looks but by our shared culture, spirit, and values. This experience showed me that real service is not just about giving help from a distance. It is about showing up, listening, and genuinely connecting with others. Inspired by this, I started a club at school called LeadHERS to uplift underrepresented young women by sharing their stories and celebrating role models who have overcome challenges. I wanted other young people, especially girls, to know that they are seen, that they matter, and have the strength to shape their futures, just like those kids at the orphanage showed me. These moments have shaped the person I want to become. I want to continue to grow and mane connections with people and be of service. I aspire to become a physician assistant who listens attentively to patients, advocates for those who are often overlooked, and fosters connections within the community. I want to serve not just through my career, but through my heart — leading with kindness, staying positive, and bringing people together, just like Don Jorge would.