Growing up, I didn’t have the luxury of certainty. I was raised in a single-parent household where resilience wasn’t a choice but a way of life. My mother worked tirelessly to provide for us, often sacrificing her own needs so my siblings and I could have what we needed. Financial hardship wasn’t a temporary phase, it was a constant. There were moments when we had to decide between keeping the lights on and putting food on the table. We relied on community support, government assistance, and a lot of faith. And still, through it all, my mother taught me to never let struggle dim my light. But before I even entered the world, life had already dealt my family a devastating blow. My father was killed by gun violence before I was born. I never got the chance to meet him, to be held by him, or to hear his voice. Instead, I’ve carried his absence with me every day of my life. I’ve had to piece together who he was through stories, pictures, and the grief etched into the faces of my loved ones. While I didn’t know him, his loss shaped my entire existence. It left a hole in my family, deepened our financial struggles, and embedded in me a yearning to understand why such violence happens, and how it can be stopped. From a young age, I found comfort in learning. I was always curious, always the one asking “why” and “how.” School became my escape and my sanctuary. I didn’t just enjoy learning; I depended on it. As I grew older, I became especially fascinated by science. I loved the way chemistry could explain the invisible: how molecules interact, how reactions occur, and how even the tiniest particles have power. Science made sense in a world that, for me, often felt unpredictable. That curiosity evolved into passion when I discovered forensic science. It was the first time I saw science used in a way that spoke directly to my lived experience. Forensic scientists use evidence to uncover truth, to give voice to victims, and to seek justice, especially for families who are left with more questions than answers. I realized that this was what I wanted to dedicate my life to. I wanted to be the one behind the microscope, behind the lab reports, helping families like mine find the answers they deserve. Pursuing this dream hasn’t been easy. There have been times when I questioned whether I could afford college at all. My family still faces financial strain, and even with my determination, I’ve had to make hard choices. I work while attending school full-time, seek out every scholarship opportunity available, and stretch every dollar I receive. But I know the value of what I’m working toward, and I know that giving up is not an option. I’ve made it this far by being resourceful, focused, and grounded in my purpose. What drives me is not just the absence of my father, but the possibility of helping others avoid that kind of loss, or at the very least, giving families the clarity that mine never received. I want to become a forensic chemist, working in a crime lab to analyze trace evidence and support investigations. Long-term, I hope to work on improving forensic technology and protocols—especially in underfunded communities where too many cases go unsolved. I also want to mentor young women of color, especially those who don’t yet see themselves in STEM fields. I want them to know that their voice, their story, and their presence matters in every scientific space. Being a Black woman in STEM has taught me a great deal about navigating challenges. I’ve often been one of the few women, or the only Black student, in my science classes. But instead of letting that discourage me, I use it as motivation. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, how to find community, and how to be proud of my voice and my vision. As a member of the Caribbean Student Association and a First-Year Executive Board member, I’ve found leadership opportunities that help me connect culture and purpose. These roles have strengthened my confidence and fueled my desire to lead with empathy and intention. If awarded this scholarship, it would mean more than financial relief. It would give me the stability to focus more fully on my education, to pursue internships and research opportunities, and to reach my full potential without the constant pressure of financial strain. It would be an investment not only in my future, but in the future impact I plan to make through my work. My journey has been shaped by adversity, but I have turned that adversity into ambition. I believe in the power of science to heal, to reveal, and to drive justice. I believe that through forensic chemistry, I can give others the answers I never had. With the help of this scholarship, I will continue transforming pain into purpose, and purpose into lasting impact. Here are some pictures of my mother and my father, my twin sister and I graduating and some of my accomplishments at UGA.

My Mission, My Path I am a young Black Caribbean woman raised by the strength of my community and the resilience of my mother. My name is Jmyya, and I carry my father’s memory as both a burden and a beacon. After losing him to gun violence, I became deeply committed to the idea of justice, not just as a concept, but as a lived experience. That tragedy didn’t just change me; it defined me. I care deeply about the safety of our communities, the truth behind every crime, and the healing that justice can bring. What drives me is a desire to make sense of chaos, to give voice to silenced stories, and to stand as someone others can count on in their darkest hour. One real-world issue I feel deeply connected to is gun violence. It stole my father from me, fractured my family, and left me searching for answers no child should have to find on their own. But instead of letting that pain consume me, I’ve chosen to let it guide me. I want to be part of the solution, through science, through empathy, and through change. If I had the power to address gun violence, I would invest in prevention and accountability. That means more than just policy; it means access to mental health services, community-based violence intervention programs, and forensic innovations that help bring closure to families. I would support technology that makes tracking illegal firearms easier and push for reform in how we investigate and respond to gun-related crimes. Every victim deserves more than a statistic, they deserve justice. That vision is why I chose to study chemistry and pursue a career in forensic science. I want to be the person in the lab who uncovers the truth from the smallest trace, who helps bring clarity in the aftermath of tragedy. I fell in love with science because it felt like a language I could understand, a way to bring order to disorder. And when I realized forensic science could turn that love into a meaningful mission, I knew I had found my purpose. In the next five years, my goal is to complete my degree in chemistry and begin working in a crime lab. I plan to gain experience through internships, research opportunities, and leadership roles in student organizations like the Caribbean Student Association, where I previously served on the First-Year Executive Board. Each step is intentional. Each experience moves me closer to my vision. Education has helped me discover not just what I’m good at, but who I am. It taught me that I am analytical, compassionate, and stronger than I imagined. Learning about the justice system, about chemistry, and about the world around me has helped me find my place within it. School isn’t just a path to a job, it’s a journey toward purpose. Being a woman in science, especially a Black woman, has taught me how to navigate spaces where I am sometimes underestimated. But I carry that with pride. I’ve learned to speak up, to advocate for myself and others, and to turn doubt into motivation. I want to be part of building a more inclusive future in STEM, where young girls can see themselves not just in the lab, but leading it. To me, leadership isn’t about a title, it’s about impact. I lead by showing up, by lifting others up, and by taking initiative. Whether it's organizing events for my student community, helping peers study for exams, or volunteering, I lead through action and empathy. One of the most difficult times in my life was losing my father, and navigating the emotional and financial challenges that followed. I had to grow up fast, manage responsibilities at home, and stay focused in school despite the grief. That experience taught me resilience, resourcefulness, and the importance of holding on to my dreams even when life tries to pull them from you. Receiving this scholarship would be more than financial support, it would be belief in my potential. It would give me the stability to stay focused on my studies, explore opportunities, and become the forensic scientist I know I can be. It would be one more step toward turning pain into purpose, and a dream into a reality.

I grew up in a low-income household as a black, first-generation college student, raised by a single widowed mother who always emphasized the power of education, even when resources were scarce. From a young age, I learned to navigate uncertainty with determination. These challenges didn’t weaken me but they built the foundation for my resilience, compassion, and drive. My passion for chemistry began with simple curiosity: Why do things react the way they do? That question soon became a fascination with molecular interactions and their power to improve lives. As I explored more, I realized I didn’t just want to understand science. I wanted to use it to solve real problems, especially those faced by underserved communities like mine. During my first year of college, my family was evicted. It was one of the most difficult periods of my life. I was balancing full-time coursework with the mental and emotional toll of housing instability, anxiety, and financial hardship. Despite those struggles, I persevered and ended the year with a 4.0 GPA. That experience solidified my commitment to my education and to creating change for others like me. In addition to my academic journey, I interned at the Gwinnett County Courthouse. A place that completely reshaped how I view community. I expected to be an observer, but what I witnessed was powerful: people in crisis being supported by systems, sometimes deeply flawed, and individuals doing their best to help. I saw compassion in action, whether through a clerk patiently explaining paperwork or a judge offering a second chance. It made me realize that serving others requires both knowledge and empathy. Back on campus, I’ve taken that lesson to heart. These experiences remind me that leadership isn't always loud. Sometimes it’s simply making space for someone who feels like they don’t belong. I’m pursuing a degree in chemistry with the long-term goal of working in pharmaceutical or forensic research. This program will give me the academic foundation, research experience, and mentorship I need to make that vision a reality. But beyond career goals, I’m committed to giving back. Whether through mentorship, community outreach, or systemic advocacy, I want to open doors for others the way I’ve fought to open them for myself. My hope is to use my education not only to succeed but to uplift those who come after me. Science, for me, is more than discovery it’s impact. And I’m ready to make mine.

I used to think of community as just the people who lived near me. That changed the summer I interned at the Gwinnett County Courthouse. Walking through the courthouse doors for the first time, I expected to be an observer, filing papers, sitting in on hearings, doing quiet background work. Instead, I found myself immersed in the lives of real people facing real challenges. I watched judges balance justice with compassion. I saw attorneys fight for people who had no one else. I listened as families shared their stories, sometimes broken by hardship but always held together by love. For the first time, I saw community not just as a place but as people showing up for one another in moments of crisis and vulnerability. During that internship, I learned that kindness is not always loud. Sometimes it’s a judge giving a second chance, a clerk explaining a confusing form without judgment, or a volunteer making sure someone has bus fare home. I started to understand how even small acts can create a system of support that holds a community together. Being part of that environment gave me a new sense of purpose. It made me realize that my future in STEM isn’t just about equations or experiments. It’s about using knowledge to serve others. Whether it’s through developing affordable medications or mentoring students like myself, I want to contribute to systems that uplift people when they need it most. That summer taught me that resilience doesn’t just mean surviving your own challenges. It also means helping others survive theirs. And that’s what gives me hope for the future: knowing that no matter what I face, I’ll always be part of a larger community one rooted in compassion, justice, and the quiet strength of showing up for each other.

I will never forget the day I found out my family was being evicted. Just weeks into my first year of college. I was sitting in a chemistry lecture, trying to take notes while fighting back tears. As a first-generation, low-income student, I had worked hard just to get to college. Now, I was facing housing insecurity, financial uncertainty, and the emotional weight of watching everything I knew fall apart. The impact on my mental health was immediate. I struggled with anxiety while trying to keep up with demanding STEM coursework and being in one of the most competitive Universities in Georgia. There were moments I thought about giving up but I didn’t. Instead, I leaned into my studies and faith to use them as a lifeline. I sought support when I could, stayed up late finishing assignments, and clung to the belief that my education would be the key to breaking the cycle. Despite it all, I ended the year with a 4.0 GPA. Being a STEM student has taught me that growth comes from challenges, not comfort. As I continue pursuing a degree in chemistry, I’m deeply aware of the barriers that still lie ahead. Preparing for graduate or professional programs means facing significant financial burdens. Standardized test fees, study materials, and application costs and quickly add up. For someone already balancing a part-time federal work study job and family responsibilities, these expenses can be heavily discouraging. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than just financial relief. It would mean time and peace of mind. It would allow me to focus more on my academics and research, instead of constantly worrying about how to afford the next step in my education. It would also remind me that students like me - students who don’t come from privilege but fight for every opportunity - are seen and supported. Looking ahead, I hope to work in either a pharmaceutical or forensicchemistry, contributing to the development of affordable and accessible medications or using Chemistry to help keep communities safe from drug crimes. But I also see a future where I give back by mentoring other first-generation STEM students and advocating for educational equity. I want to help others believe they belong in labs, in leadership, and in spaces they’ve historically been excluded from. This scholarship is not just an investment in my education. It’s an investment in a future scientist committed to making a difference not only in the field of chemistry, but in the lives of students like me.