My name is Journey Cayla Carreón Ambert, and I am a proud Filipina and Puerto Rican woman born and raised in Queens, New York City. I’m currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in rehabilitation science at the University of Pittsburgh and plan to complete my master’s in athletic training by 2027. My long-term goal is to earn a doctorate in physical therapy and become a sports medicine physical therapist, serving communities that are often overlooked or underserved. My mother, Jennifer Bautista Carreón, immigrated to the U.S. from the Philippines, and my father, John Andre Reyes-Ambert, is Puerto Rican, raised in the Bronx. From both sides of my family, I inherited rich traditions, languages, and histories. I speak Spanish fluently and understand Tagalog. My household was a mix of cultures—Catholic prayers in two languages, arroz con gandules next to pancit on the dinner table, and stories of Manila and San Juan passed down like heirlooms. But growing up multicultural also came with a quiet tension. I often wondered: Am I Puerto Rican enough? Filipina enough? In many spaces, I felt like I had to “prove” I belonged, yet never fully fit in. Too brown in one room, too ambiguous in another. These internal questions shaped my worldview—they made me sensitive to those who feel invisible or like they have to shrink parts of themselves to be accepted. Still, I’ve come to see my blended heritage not as something that divides me, but as something that expands me. I don’t belong to just one world—I belong to many. That perspective has given me empathy, adaptability, and pride in being multifaceted. I see the world through a lens of complexity, knowing that identity is not something to fit into a box—it’s something to grow into. Being raised in a Catholic household also instilled in me a deep sense of purpose. Faith taught me to lead with service, humility, and love. I’ve volunteered through my church, tutored peers, worked full-time jobs since I was 16, and shadowed physical therapists in underserved communities—all because I believe in showing up, especially when it's hard. My heritage and upbringing have also made me acutely aware of inequities in healthcare. I’ve seen how language barriers, racial bias, and lack of representation impact how care is given and received. I want to be part of the solution—a culturally competent provider who understands that healing is about more than treatment plans. It's about listening, respecting someone’s background, and restoring dignity. In my program, I’m currently the only Filipina & Latina woman in my cohort. It’s a challenge, but also a responsibility. I carry the stories of those who came before me—my mother, who left everything behind for opportunity; my father, who built a life from struggle; and my ancestors, who prayed for a future they’d never see. I want to honor them by creating pathways for those coming after me—through mentorship, advocacy, and representation in science and medicine. This scholarship would make a real difference in my journey. As someone who fully supports herself, the cost of living and student loans are significant barriers. Receiving this support would help ease that burden and allow me to focus on my education and clinical experience. More importantly, it would affirm that I’m not alone—that my community believes in my goals and the impact I hope to make.

Strength defines Filipino women—often unrecognized, yet undeniably powerful. Across generations, we have carried the weight of caregiving, poverty, discrimination, and sacrifice without complaint. From the provinces of the Philippines to the neighborhoods of New York City, Filipina women have endured and persevered. For me, that strength is embodied in my Lola. She immigrated to New York City and raised four children in a one-bedroom apartment in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of the Lower East Side. Despite overwhelming hardship, she never wavered. Her strength is not just her own—it is part of a legacy shared by countless Filipina women. But her story is not unique. Filipino women today continue to face deep-rooted challenges that limit their growth and well-being. Economic inequality persists, with many Filipinas working in low-wage or informal jobs that lack benefits and offer little chance for advancement. Traditional gender roles still push women to prioritize caregiving over personal ambition, forcing many to sacrifice career aspirations to care for family. In professional settings, we are often underrepresented, especially in leadership positions or male-dominated fields. Colorism and colonial beauty standards still influence perceptions of our value and professionalism. Mental health challenges are widespread, yet rarely addressed due to cultural stigma. Even violence against women continues to be normalized, while many survivors suffer in silence. I’ve experienced the weight of these challenges myself. As the only Filipina woman in my rehabilitation science cohort, I often feel invisible, pressured to prove I belong. I’ve also seen how these barriers affect others who never even get the chance to be in the room—those who are excluded from higher education, overlooked in hiring processes, or burdened with caregiving responsibilities that derail their dreams. Still, I’ve seen what’s possible when these barriers are broken. My mother, also a Filipina immigrant, grew up in that same Lower East Side apartment. Through relentless dedication to education, she rose from poverty to become one of New York City’s top educators. Her journey showed me that education doesn’t just uplift individuals—it can transform entire families and communities. I’ve also been inspired by my titas, who broke through gender and racial barriers. One runs a corporate fitness facility, leading in a space where women of color are often overlooked. Another holds an executive role at Nike, thriving in a male-dominated industry. Their stories prove that Filipina women can lead—and thrive—when given the opportunity. Their strength fuels mine. I’m currently pursuing a career in physical therapy, with the goal of serving underserved communities. I want to help people not only recover physically, but reclaim their confidence and dignity—especially those often ignored in our healthcare system. In the future, I plan to create mentorship programs for Filipina youth in STEM and healthcare, advocate for culturally competent care, and push for inclusive health and wellness initiatives that center the needs of our community. I also hope to develop scholarship and career support resources that make education and opportunity more accessible. Filipino women are not lacking in talent or determination—we are lacking in systems that see us, invest in us, and believe in us. Because of my Lola, my mom, and my titas, I know what resilience looks like. And because of them, I’m committed to using my education, career, and voice to uplift the next generation of Filipina leaders.

I am a Filipina and Puerto Rican woman, born and raised in New York City. My inspiration to pursue Physical Therapy is deeply personal and rooted in both my family’s sacrifices and my lived experience. My mom immigrated to the U.S. from the Philippines with very little, but she never let that stop her from building a better life. She was raised in a one-bedroom apartment on the Lower East Side with three siblings and, through hard work and sacrifice, eventually became one of the top educators in New York City. My dad is Puerto Rican and grew up in a tough environment as well. He never finished college, and while he’s done everything he can to support us from a distance, he often reminded me how much he wished he had someone to guide him earlier in life. Their stories have fueled my determination to become the first in my family to earn a doctorate. I’m currently enrolled in a five-year dual-degree program where I’m earning my Bachelor’s in Rehabilitation Science and my Master’s in Athletic Training. My ultimate goal is to become a Sports Medicine Physical Therapist—a field where Filipina and Latina women are severely underrepresented. I want to change that. I want patients to see someone who looks like them, speaks their language, and understands their cultural values when they walk into a clinic. I’ve been working since I was 16, earning low wages to support myself. I currently hold a full-time job at my university throughout the school year and spend my summers shadowing physical therapists while continuing to work. My parents are divorced and live in separate states, so I don’t receive much financial support from either of them. Everything I’ve achieved so far has come from loans, work income, and occasional help from my older brother, who’s an occupational therapist and a major role model in my life. Despite the financial hardship, I’m deeply committed to this profession because I’ve seen how life-changing physical therapy can be. Whether it’s helping an athlete return to their sport or helping an elder regain mobility and independence, physical therapy restores more than movement—it restores confidence and dignity. That’s the kind of impact I want to make every day. Being the only Filipina woman in my undergraduate cohort can feel isolating, but it also fuels my purpose. I want to open doors for other women like me—those who grew up in working-class homes, who speak more than one language, and who dream of doing meaningful work in healthcare. This scholarship would lift some of the financial pressure I carry and allow me to stay focused on my education, training, and clinical experience. More than that, it would be an investment in my mission to represent, to heal, and to lead with compassion and cultural awareness. I’m not just pursuing a career, I’m building a future that honors where I come from and helps others rise with me.

As a proud Filipina and Puerto Rican woman born and raised in New York City, I’ve learned to navigate life with resilience, grit, and purpose. My mother immigrated from the Philippines with the dream of a better future, while my father, a Puerto Rican man born in the Bronx, New York, never had the chance to graduate college. Their lives have shaped my understanding of sacrifice and hard work and growing up in a multicultural environment has shaped my identity. Being fluent in Spanish has helped me connect with people from all walks of life. But while I carry my culture with pride, I’ve also seen firsthand how underrepresented women like me are in fields like Sports Medicine and Physical Therapy—something I am determined to change. I am currently in a five-year dual-degree program pursuing a bachelor’s in Rehabilitation Science and a master’s in Athletic Training at the University of Pittsburgh. My ultimate goal is to become a Doctor of Physical Therapy specializing in Sports Medicine—a field where few Filipina or Latina women are represented. It’s a challenging and demanding path, but I’m passionate about helping athletes of all backgrounds heal, recover, and perform at their best, especially those in communities that are often overlooked or underserved. My journey hasn’t been easy. I’ve been financially independent since I was sixteen, working low-income jobs to support myself through high school and now college. I currently hold a full-time job on campus during the school year, and in the summer, I shadow physical therapists while continuing to work to cover my living expenses. My parents are divorced and live in two different states, and I receive minimal financial support from them. Everything—from rent, tuition, books, and food—is covered by a mix of student loans, work income, and occasional help from my older brother, who’s an occupational therapist and one of my biggest inspirations. Despite the financial and personal challenges, I’ve never let my circumstances define my potential. Every job I’ve taken, every hour I’ve spent shadowing in clinics, and every late night studying has brought me one step closer to my dream. I want to be the representation I rarely see in sports medicine—a bilingual, culturally competent, compassionate physical therapist who can advocate for and relate to her patients on a deeper level. Receiving this scholarship would relieve a significant burden and allow me to focus more fully on my education and clinical training. It would help me invest in required materials, afford transportation to clinical sites, and reduce my reliance on loans. Most importantly, it would bring me closer to my goal of entering a profession where I can break barriers, serve my community, and inspire other young Latinas and Filipinas to do the same. My story is not just about hardship—it’s about resilience and purpose. I’m not only working toward a career in physical therapy; I’m working toward a future where young women like me know they belong in medicine, leadership, and beyond.