I believe the greatest thing I have learned from all the books I have read is perseverance. Whether it was reading Pete the Cat as a child or my favorite book series The Program by Suzanne Young, one thing I always realized was the characters' perseverance in the face of difficulty. The things each character was facing were different, and the amount of effort needed to overcome the challenge varied, but I always noticed that no matter what, the characters never gave up. As I grew up, I began to admire the perseverance of the characters I was reading about because a lot of them were close in age to me. I might not have been running from dystopian robots or fighting to save my kingdom, but I was still facing challenges in my everyday life that I didn’t know how to handle. As I continued to read, I picked up on the different ways that characters handled the situations they were in, and I started to equate these situations to things that were happening in my own life. I used how the characters handled their own challenges to guide how I went about taking on different difficulties and struggles in my own life. Books for me became especially helpful in middle school. Middle school was a very challenging time for me, partially due to Covid and because of other family things. I turned to books because they were the only sense of comfort I had, and I didn't realize how much of an impact they had on me until recently. For my own goals, these books have shaped me because no matter what, my goals are motivated by perseverance. As I have gone through school, I’ve made many big goals and plans for myself but the only reason I have been able to accomplish them was because I never gave up when things got hard. I had the support of my friends and family through every step, but I had to make the choice to not give up and a lot of this I learned from the books I read. From every book, silly and serious, the characters never gave up. They continued on their journey through trials and tribulations, and they overcame things they never thought they would face in the first place. As I read, I was learning that I could do the same things. No matter what came in my way, no matter how many late nights and early mornings it took, I could reach my goals. The books I read gave me motivation and taught me that no matter what, perseverance can help me get through anything.

Some people are remembered for the discoveries they make. I hope to be remembered for the lives those discoveries help. That belief is why I chose to pursue Forensic Biology in the Honors College at West Virginia University. While many people see forensic pathology as a career focused on death, I see a profession devoted to people. Behind every case is someone whose life mattered, a family searching for answers, and a community depending on the truth. I want to use science to give families clarity, support the pursuit of justice, and ensure every person is treated with dignity, even after they can no longer speak for themselves. My interest in STEM has been built through curiosity and confirmed through experience. Participating in the HNL Lab Immersion Program allowed me to work in a professional laboratory for the first time. Instead of simply reading about science, I experienced it firsthand. I left knowing I had found the career I wanted to pursue. I was so excited that I encouraged my friends to apply, and two of them were accepted into the program the following year. That experience reminded me that leadership is often as simple as opening a door for someone else. The greatest challenge I have overcome has not been one defining moment but learning to believe that I belong in rooms where the expectations are high. I have challenged myself with rigorous coursework, earned college credits while still in high school, balanced leadership roles in theatre and marching band, worked part-time, and prepared for college while wondering if I was capable of everything I hoped to accomplish. I am honestly terrified of failing. For a long time, I thought confidence meant never feeling afraid. I have learned that confidence is continuing anyway. That lesson has changed the way I approach every opportunity. I ask questions instead of pretending I know everything. I prepare because I know hard work is something I can control. I accept feedback because growth matters more than pride. Those habits have helped me become a stronger student, leader, and future scientist. The impact I hope to make extends beyond the laboratory. I want to mentor students who are discovering their own passion for STEM, especially those who may not immediately see themselves represented in scientific careers. I want families to know they can trust the answers they receive because they were built on evidence, integrity, and compassion. I want young people to see that scientists can be empathetic, humble, and deeply committed to serving others. Science gives us knowledge, but character determines how we use it. My goal is not simply to become a forensic pathologist. It is to become someone whose work brings truth, whose leadership creates opportunities for others, and whose compassion reminds people that every life has value. If I can spend my career helping families find answers while inspiring even one student to believe they belong in STEM, I will know I have made the impact I set out to make.

The career I want cannot be earned overnight. Becoming a forensic pathologist will take years of education, training, sacrifice, and resilience. Knowing how difficult the journey will be has never made me question my goal. It has only made me more intentional about every step I take to reach it. This fall, I will begin studying Forensic Biology in the Honors College at West Virginia University. I chose WVU because it offers the academic rigor, research opportunities, and mentorship that will prepare me for medical school. My first priority is building a strong academic foundation by excelling in biology, chemistry, anatomy, and other core science courses while gaining hands-on laboratory and research experience. If I meet the requirements, I also plan to pursue WVU's accelerated pathway into the Master's in Forensic and Investigative Science to strengthen my scientific knowledge before medical school. One experience that confirmed I was on the right path was participating in the HNL Lab Immersion Program. Working in a professional laboratory transformed science from something I learned about into something I experienced. I left even more confident that forensic biology was the right path for me. I shared that excitement with my friends, encouraging them to apply, and two of them were accepted into the program. That experience taught me that advocating for science does not always mean standing in front of a crowd. Sometimes it simply means sharing an opportunity that inspires someone else to discover their own passion. After earning my bachelor's degree, my plan is to attend medical school, complete a residency in pathology, and then a fellowship in forensic pathology. I know this path will take more than a decade of education and training, and I know there will be moments that challenge me academically and personally. I am honestly terrified of failing. Instead of letting that fear stop me, I let it push me to prepare more thoroughly, ask more questions, and work harder. I have learned that success is not about avoiding failure. It is about refusing to let it define you. Financial planning is also part of my roadmap. I have worked hard throughout high school, challenged myself academically, and applied for scholarships because every dollar I earn reduces future educational debt and allows me to focus more fully on learning. If my path requires additional research, clinical experience, or graduate study before medical school, I am prepared to adapt. My timeline may change, but my destination will not. What draws me to forensic pathology is the opportunity to combine science with service. People often think about helping others while they are living, but I believe they also deserve someone to advocate for them after they are gone. Families deserve honest answers. Victims deserve the truth. Justice depends on evidence, integrity, and professionals who are willing to follow the facts wherever they lead. Joe Gilroy's philosophy, "Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan," resonates with me because meaningful goals require more than ambition. They require preparation, discipline, and the willingness to adjust without giving up. I cannot predict every challenge that lies ahead, but I know exactly why I have chosen this path. Every class I take, every laboratory I work in, every mentor I learn from, and every opportunity I pursue brings me one step closer to becoming the kind of forensic pathologist families can trust when they need answers the most.

When most people hear the words "forensic pathology," they think about death. I think about the families waiting for answers. As I explored careers in medicine, I realized that forensic pathology wasn't centered on loss. It was centered on truth. While many physicians heal patients through treatment, forensic pathologists serve people in a different but equally meaningful way. They use science to uncover answers, provide clarity when there is uncertainty, and help families begin moving forward during some of the most difficult moments of their lives. That responsibility is one I deeply respect. I have always been drawn to science, but what inspires me most about forensic pathology is the opportunity to pair scientific precision with compassion. Although a forensic pathologist cannot change the outcome of a life, they can honor that life with dignity and truth. Every examination replaces uncertainty with answers, speculation with evidence, and emotion with objective science. Families deserve honest answers. Victims deserve dignity. Communities deserve justice. I want to become the physician who quietly provides those answers while treating every individual with the respect they deserve. Throughout high school, I discovered that my greatest fulfillment has never come from being the center of attention. As a Vocal Student Director in my school's theatre program, I spent countless hours mentoring younger performers, helping them build confidence, and encouraging them to believe in themselves. Watching someone else succeed because I invested my time in them was always more rewarding than receiving recognition myself. Those experiences taught me that some of the most meaningful work happens behind the scenes, and that philosophy is exactly what draws me to forensic pathology. This fall, I will begin studying Forensic Biology in the Honors College at West Virginia University as the first step toward becoming a forensic pathologist. I know the road ahead will require years of education, discipline, and resilience, and I welcome that challenge because I know this is where my strengths and my purpose come together. I want to become the kind of physician who allows science and compassion to work side by side. Science provides objective answers rooted in evidence, while compassion reminds us that every case represents a person who was deeply loved. By honoring each individual through careful, evidence-based work, I hope to provide families with the clarity they deserve, support the pursuit of justice, and ensure every life entrusted to my care is treated with dignity, respect, and truth. To me, medicine is not only about saving lives. It is also about honoring them.

The best volunteer work I've ever done ended with someone else getting the spotlight. Every November, our community gathers around a towering bonfire, a tradition that brings together families, friends, alumni, and neighbors. By the time the first flame is lit, people see a finished structure ready for celebration. What they don't see are the students who spent hours building it long before anyone arrived. Standing on top of that unfinished bonfire, surrounded by classmates bundled against the November cold, I realized that some of the most meaningful service happens before anyone notices. The reward wasn't recognition. It was knowing we helped create something that would bring joy to thousands of people. That lesson followed me throughout high school. As a Vocal Student Director in my school's theatre program, I learned that leadership isn't about being the loudest voice in the room. It is about investing in others. I spent countless hours mentoring younger performers, organizing extra practice opportunities, working one-on-one with students who wanted additional help, and encouraging those who questioned whether they belonged on stage. Every student learned differently. Some needed help with music. Others simply needed someone who believed in them before they believed in themselves. Watching a nervous student perform with confidence became far more rewarding than receiving applause myself. That same spirit of service extended beyond rehearsals. As a member of our marching band and pep band, I had the opportunity to perform throughout our community at football games, holiday events, our annual bonfire celebration, and our town's holiday parade down Main Street. While our band celebrated accomplishments like winning Battle of the Bands and performing at the Sugar Bowl, the moments I remember most are much quieter. I remember children dancing along the parade route, families singing with familiar songs, and neighbors gathering together through traditions that music helped bring to life. Those experiences taught me that service can look as simple as creating joy for someone else. Leadership through service has never been about collecting volunteer hours or holding a title. It is about choosing to use your time, talents, and energy to make someone else's experience better. Sometimes that means building a bonfire no one will remember you helped construct. Sometimes it means staying after rehearsal so another student feels prepared to perform. Either way, the goal is the same: leave people more confident, more connected, and better than you found them. As I begin studying Forensic Biology at West Virginia University, I hope to carry that same philosophy into my career. Whether serving my community today or supporting families during some of the most difficult moments of their lives in the future, I want my leadership to be measured not by recognition, but by the difference I make for others.

When I laugh really hard, the veins on my forehead form a giant "W." It's one of those things I can't control, but growing up, other kids noticed it immediately. Every time I laughed, someone would point it out or make a joke. Before long, I became so self-conscious that I started covering my forehead with my hand whenever I laughed, hoping no one would notice it. I wasn't trying to hide my laughter. I was trying to hide something about myself that I couldn't change. Eventually, I realized something that completely changed the way I looked at it. The only time those veins showed up was when I was genuinely happy. The only way to make them disappear was to stop laughing. I decided I wasn't willing to laugh less just to make other people more comfortable. That lesson has stayed with me ever since. In high school, I discovered that awkward moments become a lot less embarrassing when you're willing to laugh at yourself. During a marching band event, I fell out of the bleachers while carrying my saxophone. Before I even had a chance to react, my section became convinced my instrument had been destroyed. Within minutes, they were making fake "RIP" pictures for my saxophone and joking that it deserved a proper memorial. Years earlier, I probably would have wanted to disappear. Instead, I laughed right along with them. That moment became one of my favorite marching band memories, not because I fell, but because I realized that people weren't laughing to make me feel small. They were laughing with me, and I had learned to laugh with myself first. That mindset has shaped much more than my sense of humor. As a Vocal Student Director in my school's theatre program, I learned that everyone has something they're insecure about. Some students worried about hitting the right notes, while others questioned whether they belonged on stage at all. Because I understood what it felt like to be self-conscious, I wanted to be the person who reminded them they were capable. I carried that same mindset into marching band, my jobs at gymTiME and Sheetz, and the way I build friendships. People rarely remember perfection, but they always remember how someone made them feel. Ironically, the thing I spent years trying to hide has become something the people closest to me smile about. Now, when I start laughing really hard, someone usually says, "Oh yeah... look at the W!" Instead of feeling embarrassed, I laugh even harder. It's become part of who I am, a reminder that the happiest moments are usually the ones where I'm not worried about what anyone else thinks. Looking back, I'm grateful for my awkward "W." It taught me that confidence isn't pretending your imperfections don't exist. Confidence is deciding they don't get to control your life. If people remember me because I laughed too hard, because I fell out of the bleachers with my saxophone, or because a giant "W" appeared on my forehead, that's perfectly okay. I'd rather be remembered for embracing life's awkward moments than for spending my time trying to hide them.

I've never been the loudest person in the room, but I've learned that some of the most important work happens when someone quietly decides another person matters. That lesson has shaped nearly every part of my life. Whether I was helping younger performers find their confidence as a Vocal Student Director in my high school's theatre program, leading my section during marching band, encouraging children at gymTiME, or assisting customers during busy shifts at Sheetz, I found that the moments I value most rarely come with recognition. They come from earning someone's trust, offering encouragement, and helping someone believe they are capable of more than they thought possible. Those quiet moments of connection have taught me that leadership is less about being the center of attention and more about making sure others feel seen, supported, and valued. As a Vocal Student Director, I learned that every performer grows differently. Some students needed help learning music, while others simply needed someone to reassure them that they belonged on stage. During marching band, I discovered that leading by example often carried more influence than giving directions. Showing up prepared, staying positive during long rehearsals, and encouraging teammates when practices became difficult helped create an environment where everyone could succeed. Even in my jobs outside of school, I found that patience and kindness mattered just as much as efficiency. Whether helping children build confidence or assisting customers during busy shifts, I realized that small interactions can have a lasting impact. That same mindset has guided me in the classroom. Throughout high school, I challenged myself with a rigorous academic schedule while earning college credits through Northampton Community College. I graduated on the High Honor Roll all four years, participated in National Honor Society, balanced multiple leadership roles, and worked part-time while preparing for college. None of those accomplishments happened because I was trying to build the perfect résumé. They happened because I believe that if I commit to something, I should give it my best effort. High school taught me that consistency matters more than perfection, and that showing up every day with dedication eventually leads to meaningful results. This fall, I will begin studying Forensic Biology in the Honors College at West Virginia University with the goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. People often associate forensic science with solving crimes, but that's not what first drew me to the field. What inspires me is the opportunity to provide answers when families need them most. Behind every case is a person whose life mattered, and behind every unanswered question is a family searching for clarity. I want to use science with the same care, precision, and integrity that those families deserve. For me, forensic pathology represents a unique intersection of science and service. It requires careful observation, critical thinking, and an unwavering commitment to truth. I know the path ahead will be challenging, requiring years of education, long hours, and continual learning, but that challenge motivates me. I am excited by the opportunity to pursue work that combines intellectual curiosity with compassion and allows me to make a meaningful difference during some of the most difficult moments in people's lives. I know the path ahead will be challenging, requiring years of education and continual learning, but that challenge motivates me. Every detail matters because every person matters. Preparing for college didn't begin the day I received my acceptance letter. It began two years ago when I started working. I knew earning a degree would be expensive, and I wanted to contribute as much as I could before I ever stepped onto campus. Every paycheck became part of that goal. My parents are making tremendous sacrifices to help me pursue my education, and while student loans will help bridge the gap, I've always wanted to do my part as well. That's why I continue searching for scholarships and accepted multiple campus jobs before my first semester even begins. I'm also pursuing additional opportunities because every dollar I earn is one less dollar my family has to worry about. Investing in my education has never been someone else's responsibility alone; it has always been mine, too. Working while preparing for college has strengthened my appreciation for every opportunity I have been given and reminded me that perseverance often looks like making small, consistent choices over time. While my future career motivates me, it is the people around me who continue to shape who I am. Leadership taught me patience. Working taught me responsibility. Serving younger students taught me empathy. My teachers, directors, coworkers, supervisors, friends, and family have each challenged me to grow in different ways. Those are values I hope to carry with me throughout college and into my career. Receiving this scholarship would represent more than financial assistance; it would represent an investment in the future I am working toward every day. My family and I have worked hard to prepare for college, yet tuition, housing, textbooks, laboratory expenses, and other educational costs remain significant. Financial support would allow me to devote more time to research, academic opportunities, and experiences that will prepare me for a career dedicated to serving others, while reducing the financial burden on my family. If you choose to invest in me, you won't simply be helping me earn a degree. You'll be supporting someone who intends to use that education with purpose. I hope to build a career rooted in compassion, scientific excellence, and service, and I will continue approaching every opportunity the same way I always have: with humility, determination, and the belief that the smallest acts of leadership often leave the greatest impact.

When people think about helping someone in need, they often picture a big act of service or a life-changing event. For me, it looked much simpler. It looked like taking the time to notice someone who felt invisible. As a section leader in my high school marching band, I learned that not everyone who needs help asks for it. Some people need help learning music or memorizing drill. Others need encouragement, confidence, and someone who believes in them before they believe in themselves. One student in particular stands out to me. When I first got to know them, they were quiet, unsure of themselves, and often stayed on the sidelines. They rarely spoke up and seemed hesitant to put themselves out there. I knew what it felt like to question where you belong, so I made it a point to include them. I checked in during rehearsals, sat with them when I could, encouraged them when they were struggling, and celebrated their successes, no matter how small they seemed. None of these things felt extraordinary at the time. They were simply small choices I made because I wanted them to know they mattered. Over time, I watched their confidence grow. They became more involved, more willing to take risks, and more comfortable being themselves. Eventually, they earned a leadership position as a section leader. This year, they were selected as Drum Major for the 2026-2027 marching band season. That accomplishment belongs entirely to them. They earned it through their own hard work, talent, and dedication. But seeing their growth reminded me of something important: when people feel supported, valued, and included, they often discover strengths they did not know they had. That experience changed the way I think about helping others. People do not always need someone to solve their problems. Sometimes they just need someone to notice them. Sometimes they need someone to sit beside them, encourage them, and remind them that they belong. As I continued in leadership, I tried to create that same environment for everyone around me. I wanted band to be a place where people felt respected, valued, and appreciated regardless of their background, experience, or personality. I made it a goal to encourage others, celebrate progress, and help people feel like they mattered. At the end of this season, I was honored to receive the Positive Culture Award at our band banquet. The award recognized my efforts to inspire those around me and help create an environment where everyone felt respected, valued, and appreciated. While I was grateful for the recognition, the award itself was not the most meaningful part. The most meaningful part was knowing that the small actions I took every day had made a difference in someone else's life. As I prepare to attend West Virginia University and pursue a degree in Forensic Biology, I hope to carry that lesson with me. Whether in my future career, my community, or my everyday interactions, I want people to feel seen, supported, and valued. The Positive Culture Award hangs on my wall, but the real reward was learning that helping someone does not always start with a grand gesture. Sometimes it starts with something much simpler: making sure another person knows they matter.

Most people move on. I don’t. If something feels off, I sit with it. I replay conversations in my head. I notice when someone says they’re fine but something about it doesn’t match. I catch the small details that don’t fully make sense, and I have a hard time ignoring them. For a long time, I thought that just meant I was overthinking everything, but I’ve realized I actually like figuring things out. That’s always been true. When I read mystery books growing up, I wasn’t reading for the ending. I cared more about the middle, where things didn’t quite add up yet. I didn’t just want to know what happened. I wanted to understand why it didn’t make sense in the first place. A lot of that comes from how I’ve experienced the world. Being mixed, I’ve never fully felt like I fit into one specific group. There were moments where I felt like I had to adjust depending on who I was around or where I was, and that wasn’t always easy. But it forced me to pay attention. I learned how to read a room, understand different perspectives, and pick up on things people don’t always say out loud. Over time, I stopped seeing that as something that made me different in a negative way and started realizing it gave me an awareness that a lot of people don’t have. My dad always kept things simple. He had three rules: ask questions, don’t be an ass, and work hard. It sounds basic, but that’s how I’ve learned to approach everything. If something doesn’t make sense, I ask. I treat people the right way. And I don’t expect anything without putting in the work. That mindset is what led me to forensic science. It’s not just something that sounds interesting to me. It actually fits how I think. It’s detail, logic, and truth. It’s not guessing or assuming. It’s figuring things out when it matters and being able to stand behind it. What people don’t expect is that I’m also an empath. I pick up on people easily, sometimes more than I want to. For a while, I didn’t know how that fit into anything I wanted to do, but now I understand that it matters. Behind every case is a real person and a real family waiting for answers. This isn’t just work to me. It’s responsibility. Going to college isn’t about “finding myself” or just getting a degree. It’s about taking the way I already think and building the discipline and knowledge to actually use it. I want to become a forensic pathologist, and I know that path is long. It’s years of school, not just four, and I’m okay with that. I’d rather take the time to do something that actually fits me than choose something easier that doesn’t. I’ve been doing my part to make that happen. I’ve applied for scholarships, I plan to work while I’m in school, and I’m trying to take responsibility for my education instead of expecting it to just work out. I know what this path requires. I don’t expect anything to be handed to me, but I do know what I bring. I pay attention. I ask questions. I work hard. I’ve spent my whole life noticing what others miss. Now I’m ready to be someone people can trust to get it right.

No, I was not in the foster care system. Growing up, I never had just one place that shaped me. Instead, it was the rooms I walked into with my saxophone, the sidelines I stood on in a band uniform, and the little kids I coached at Gymtime who looked at me like I hung the moon. Those were the spaces where I learned who I was becoming. They taught me that impact is not always loud. Sometimes it is as simple as showing up, paying attention, and giving people a sense of steadiness when they need it most. Band became the first place where I understood what community really means. I joined in fourth grade, took a break, and returned right before the world shut down. Coming back felt like stepping into something familiar when everything else felt uncertain. Eventually I grew into a leader, which surprised me. I was not the loudest voice or the most confident person, but I cared deeply. Being on Senior Council showed me that leadership is often quiet. It looks like listening, noticing when someone is struggling, and showing up even when you are tired. It helped me understand how much a single person can shift the energy of an entire group. Working at Gymtime taught me something different. You cannot rush a child who is scared. You learn to meet people where they are and celebrate the small victories. Later, working at Sheetz, I learned how to stay patient when customers are overwhelmed or frustrated. Those experiences taught me that people turn to calm when things feel chaotic. Those lessons are a big part of why I chose forensic biology. I want to help families during the hardest moments of their lives by giving them the answers they deserve. Forensic biology might sound clinical, but for me it is a way to support my community with clarity, compassion, and truth. Cases do not exist in a vacuum. They belong to real people who need closure and understanding. Knowing that my work can give someone peace matters to me more than anything. In my community, I hope to be a source of steadiness in moments that feel impossible. I want to work in a lab where the details I notice can bring direction to people who feel lost. I want to use science to help bring resolution where there has been uncertainty. I do not take that responsibility lightly. It is the kind of work that requires patience, curiosity, and heart. Every job I have had, every leadership role, every late-night studying has taught me how important those qualities are. When I receive my degree, my goal is to bring that same dedication back to the people around me. I want to mentor younger students of color who do not always see themselves represented in science. I want them to know that they belong in these spaces just as much as anyone else. I want my career to honor the people who poured into me and to reflect the kind of kindness and consistency that changed my own life. My hope is simple. I want to make my community safer, more informed, and more supported. And I want to give back in the same spirit that shaped me.

When I was little, I watched Doc McStuffins almost every day. I didn’t just see a cartoon. I saw a little girl who looked like me, who loved science, helped others, and wasn’t afraid to take charge. What stood out to me even more was how many women doctors the show featured. They were pediatricians, veterinarians, and specialists in fields I had never even heard of. At the time, I thought that was normal. I thought the world was full of women like them, helping and healing in every corner of science. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how rare that kind of representation really was. As I went through school, I started to notice how few women, especially women of color, were pictured in textbooks or standing at the front of the classroom teaching science. I never saw many who looked like me in the labs, on the posters, or in the examples used to explain how things worked. It didn’t make me doubt myself, but it did make me think. Somewhere along the way, I realized that I didn’t just want to love science. I wanted to belong in it. That realization led me to forensic biology. To me, it is the perfect mix of curiosity, compassion, and purpose. I have always been drawn to understanding how things work, but even more to understanding people. Forensic biology allows me to do both. It connects science to stories, answers to healing, and evidence to truth. Most people think of it as solving crimes, but to me, it is also about bringing peace to families who have lost someone or spent years wondering what happened. It’s about using science to give closure, even when the outcome is hard. According to a 2025 Zippia study, only about 8.7 percent of forensic pathologists identify as Black or African American. Seeing that number reminded me of what Doc McStuffins showed me years ago. Representation matters. When young girls see someone who looks like them doing something they’ve never imagined, it opens a door that might have stayed closed. I want to be one of those people who holds the door open. I have learned that change doesn’t happen all at once. It starts small, with someone choosing to stay curious, to ask questions, and to keep showing up even when they are the only one who looks like they do. That is what I want to bring to my field: consistency, compassion, and the courage to belong. Being a Black woman in science means carrying more than just ambition. It means knowing that every step forward can make the path a little clearer for someone else. I plan to use my education in forensic biology to help families find answers and to mentor younger students who want to pursue STEM careers. I want to make science feel less intimidating and more human. I want it to feel like the world I saw as a little girl, where smart, capable women of color were doing extraordinary things every day. I may not have all the answers yet, but I know that every lab I walk into, every question I ask, and every test I run gets me closer to building that reality. I want to be one of the reasons the next generation believes they belong in science. The little girl who once watched Doc McStuffins believed she could do anything. I plan to keep proving her right.