I remember encouraging a young cheerleader who was frustrated after repeatedly struggling to master a skill. I could've allowed her frustration to end our practice, but instead, I chose patience. I broke the skill into smaller steps, encouraged her through each attempt, and celebrated every improvement. When she finally succeeded, her excitement brought me just as much joy as it brought her. That moment reminded me that excellence isn't always about being the person who accomplishes something extraordinary. Sometimes, it's about helping someone else recognize that they're capable of extraordinary things. My Christian faith shapes how I define excellence. Galatians 5:22-23 teaches us about the Fruit of the Spirit, which includes love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. I strive to make these qualities visible through my actions, especially when serving others requires sacrifice, discipline, or putting someone else's needs before my own. I practice patience and gentleness when mentoring young girls. After seven years of all-star competitive cheerleading and serving as Head Captain and Co-Captain of my high school's varsity cheer team, I understood how much encouragement influences a young girl's confidence. While independently coaching two Level 1 cheerleaders, I taught more than motions and tumbling skills. I taught perseverance. I reminded them that mistakes weren't failures and that their progress deserved recognition, even when it came slowly. I wanted each girl to leave our practices believing in herself a little more than she did when she arrived. I demonstrate faithfulness and self control through the responsibilities I accept and the standards I hold myself to. Balancing academics, cheerleading, and leadership positions required discipline, preparation, and accountability. As a Physics Peer Tutor, I approached struggling classmates with patience rather than frustration. I explained difficult concepts, adjusted my approach when necessary, and encouraged them to keep trying. I learned that excellence means giving someone your best effort, even when helping them requires more time than you anticipated. I put love, kindness, and goodness into action through community service. As a member of Key Club, Student Council, and the Black Student Union, I committed myself to contributing to my school community. Before leaving Mansfield, Texas, for college, I joined two other incoming Florida A&M University freshmen to organize an HBCU student giveaway. We provided a local graduate with school supplies, snacks, and drinks to help prepare her for college. We couldn't contribute to her financial challenges, but we could remind her that her community believed in her future. Giving brought me joy because I understood how meaningful it feels to have someone support your dreams. I also strive to bring peace into the spaces I occupy. As the oldest of four siblings, I recognize that my younger siblings learn from more than my words. They watch how I respond to disappointment, manage responsibilities, and treat others. I want my example to teach them that strength doesn't require harshness, leadership doesn't require recognition, and success should never come at the expense of compassion. Today, as a Biology Pre-Med student and cheerleader at Florida A&M University, I carry these principles into my pursuit of becoming a doctor. I want my future patients to experience gentleness when they're afraid, patience when they need answers, and love through the dignity and respect I show them. Harriet Russell Carr demonstrated that excellence and selfless service belong together. Her legacy challenges me to continue living what my faith teaches. To me, a spirit of excellence isn't something I claim. It's something I cultivate through faith and demonstrate through service. I want the fruit of my life to nourish the lives of others.

I'll never forget the feeling of watching a young cheerleader finally accomplish a skill she'd been struggling to learn. What might've looked like a simple cartwheel or forward walkover to someone else meant so much more to her. I could see the excitement on her face, but what stayed with me was the confidence that followed. In that moment, I realized that sometimes making a difference in someone's life doesn't require a grand gesture. Sometimes, it starts with believing in them until they learn to believe in themselves. Growing up in Mansfield, Texas, I've been fortunate to experience the power of a supportive community. From teachers who encouraged me academically to coaches who challenged me to become a stronger leader, I've had people invest their time and energy into helping me grow. Their encouragement taught me something I've carried into my own community involvement. When someone pours into you, you have a responsibility to pour into someone else. Cheerleading has been one of the most meaningful ways I've been able to do that. After spending seven years in all-star cheer and serving in leadership positions on my high school's varsity team, I began using my experience to mentor younger girls. I independently coached two Level 1 cheerleaders, helping them develop foundational skills while encouraging them through their frustrations. I wanted them to understand that their worth wasn't determined by how quickly they mastered a skill or how they compared to someone else. Every little improvement deserved to be celebrated. More importantly, I wanted them to leave our practices feeling stronger, more capable, and proud of themselves. My commitment to serving others also extended beyond cheerleading. At Lake Ridge High School, I participated in Key Club, Student Council, and the Black Student Union, organizations that helped me understand the importance of representation, service, and creating spaces where students feel valued. As a volunteer Physics Peer Tutor, I supported classmates who needed extra help understanding challenging concepts. I learned to be patient, explain things differently, and recognize that sometimes students need reassurance just as much as they need academic assistance. One of my proudest experiences came before leaving Texas for college. Alongside two other incoming Florida A&M University freshmen, I helped organize a student giveaway for high school graduates from our hometown who were preparing to attend college. We wanted to give back to the same community that had supported us. Through this effort, we provided a student with a basket filled with school supplies, snacks, and drinks to help prepare for college. Although the gesture was small, its meaning was much greater. We wanted the student to know that their educational journey mattered and that people in their community were cheering them on. Today, as a Biology Pre-Med student at Florida A&M University, I carry these experiences with me. My dream is to become a physician, but I don't want my impact to begin when I earn my medical degree. I want it to continue growing through every opportunity I have to mentor, encourage, and serve others. I'm now a member of two clubs where we do volunteer work, youth mentorship and bonding activities that promotes sisterhood. I've learned that strong communities aren't built by people who have everything to give. They're built by people who are willing to give what they can, even when it's simply their time, patience, or encouragement. If I've helped even one young girl believe she's capable of more, or made one student feel less alone in pursuing her dreams, then I've contributed something meaningful. And that's the kind of difference I hope to keep making.

As a little girl, I didn't fully understand how much sacrifice could exist behind a parent's smile. I just knew that my parents always found a way to make things happen, even when I couldn't see everything they were carrying. Now that I'm older, I recognize the long days, difficult decisions, and quiet sacrifices that have helped me reach this point. Sometimes, I think about the little girl I used to be, dreaming about becoming a doctor without understanding how challenging that journey might be. Today, I'm living the beginning of that dream, and although the road ahead isn't easy, I'm determined to make every sacrifice worthwhile. I'm currently a freshman at Florida A&M University, majoring in Biology Pre-Med. My ultimate goal is to become a physician, specifically a radiologist. I've always been fascinated by the human body and how medicine allows us to understand what isn't always visible on the surface. Radiology especially interests me because it combines science, technology, and critical thinking to help physicians identify illnesses and guide treatment. I want to be part of a profession where my knowledge can provide answers, ease uncertainty, and potentially change the course of someone's life. As a Black young lady pursuing medicine, I understand that representation matters. There are still spaces where girls who look like me aren't always represented or encouraged to see themselves as future leaders. I want to help change that narrative. I want younger Black girls to see me and recognize that their ambitions aren't too big, their voices aren't too small, and their dreams aren't beyond their reach. Through my experiences mentoring younger cheerleaders, I've already discovered how meaningful it is to help young girls build confidence in themselves. I hope to carry that same encouragement into my future career, showing girls that they belong in classrooms, labs, hospitals, and every other space where they aspire to make a difference. Academically, my immediate goals are to maintain strong grades, develop meaningful relationships with professors and mentors, participate in undergrad research, and gain clinical experience that will prepare me for medical school. I know becoming a doctor requires years of dedication, discipline, and perseverance. Balancing my responsibilities as a full-time student and FAMU cheerleader has already taught me the importance of managing my time and remaining committed to my priorities. However, one of my greatest challenges isn't academic. It's financial. As an out-of-state student, I'm facing a tuition balance of just over $10,000. Being the oldest of four children, I understand that my parents' financial responsibilities extend far beyond my education. I have three younger siblings whose needs matter just as much as mine, and knowing how hard my parents work makes me even more determined to succeed. Receiving this scholarship would help reduce my outstanding balance, ease the financial pressure on my family, and allow me to devote more energy to my education rather than constantly worrying about how I'll afford to continue. I don't expect my journey to be without obstacles. But I refuse to allow financial hardship to determine how far my dreams can take me. This scholarship would be more than financial assistance. It would be an investment in a young girl who's determined to become a physician, uplift her community, and remind the next generation that their circumstances don't have to define their possibilities. One day, I hope to be the reason another little girl believes she can, simply because she saw that I did.

Growing up, I learned that sometimes the most meaningful thing you can give someone isn't something money can buy. It's your time, your patience, or simply the reassurance that they're capable of more than they realize. I've seen how a few encouraging words can change the way a young girl carries herself, how she approaches a challenge, and even how she sees her own potential. Those moments have taught me that selflessness isn't always about making grand sacrifices. Sometimes, it's about recognizing something beautiful in someone else and helping them recognize it in themselves. As the oldest of four children, I've always understood the importance of being someone others can depend on. My younger siblings look to me for guidance, encouragement, and sometimes just a little extra attention. Through them, I've learned that leadership begins with patience and that the example I set can influence how they treat others. I carry those lessons with me beyond my home, especially when working with younger girls. Cheerleading has been part of my life for years, but some of my most rewarding moments haven't happened beneath the bright lights or in front of cheering crowds. They've happened while volunteering as a Level 1 coach to two younger cheerleaders, helping them develop their motions, tumbling skills, and confidence. I remember how important it was to offer encouragement when a skill didn't come easily. Rather than allowing frustration to discourage them, I wanted them to understand that progress takes patience and that mistakes don't determine their potential. Watching their confidence grow became just as rewarding as watching them master a new skill. I wasn't simply teaching cheerleading. I was helping young girls learn to believe in themselves. That same desire to uplift others followed me into the classroom. As a volunteer Physics Peer Tutor, I helped classmates work through challenging concepts, offering patience and encouragement when they felt overwhelmed. I understood that asking for help can sometimes make someone feel vulnerable, so I wanted my classmates to feel supported rather than judged. Their progress reminded me that sharing what you know becomes even more meaningful when it helps someone else succeed. One of my proudest experiences was joining two fellow incoming Florida A&M University freshmen to organize a student giveaway in our hometown of Mansfield, Texas. Although we were preparing for our own college journeys, we wanted to support another student beginning hers. Together, we awarded a young lady, now attending North Carolina A&T State University, a basket filled with snacks, drinks, notebooks, pens, highlighters, and other college essentials. It wasn't an extravagant gift, but it came from a genuine place of love and encouragement. As young ladies pursuing college, we understood the importance of reminding one another that our dreams are worth pursuing and that our communities are standing behind us. Today, as a Biology Pre-Med student and cheerleader at Florida A&M University, I continue striving toward my dream of, one day, becoming a doctor while finding ways to encourage those around me. My experiences have taught me that success means little if I'm unwilling to help someone else succeed. Michael Rudometkin's legacy reflects something I hope to carry throughout my life. I don't want to be remembered only for what I've accomplished, but for how I made people feel, the confidence I helped them discover, and the opportunities I helped create. If someone walks away from knowing me feeling a little more capable, supported, or hopeful than before, then I know I've made a difference.

I was only 12 years old when I began learning how frightening it can feel to need answers about your own health. After months of complaining to my mom about my back hurting after cheerleading practices, I found myself sitting in a doctor's office, staring at X-rays of my spine. I was diagnosed with scoliosis and eventually learned that I needed a back brace. At that age, I didn't understand everything the doctors explained, but I understood how vulnerable I felt. I remember wanting reassurance that I would be okay. Looking back, I realize those experiences planted something in my heart long before I understood what it meant to become a physician. My name is Kemia Mendoza, and I'm a freshman Biology Pre-Med major at Florida A&M University, where I'm also a member of the cheerleading team. I'm a proud Black young lady from Mansfield, Texas, the oldest of four children, and someone who believes that where you come from should never determine how far you're allowed to go. My desire to pursue medicine extends beyond my own diagnosis. Before I was born, my dad lost part of his leg in a work accident. I've grown up understanding that his life was forever changed by an injury he never anticipated. My grandmother also lives with Sjögren's disease, an autoimmune condition that causes painful dryness, fatigue, and requires her to endure infusion treatments that take hours and often leaves her physically drained. I've watched how her condition affects her ability to work and enjoy everyday life. These experiences have taught me that behind every medical diagnosis is a person with responsibilities, dreams, fears, and a family who loves them. But there's also another reason I'm determined to become a doctor. As a Black woman, I understand that representation in healthcare isn't simply about seeing someone who looks like me wearing a white coat. It's about trust. It's about a Black mother feeling comfortable expressing her concerns without wondering whether she'll be dismissed. It's about a young Black girls and boys asking questions about their body and knowing someone is genuinely listening. It's about families who have historically faced barriers to quality healthcare finally feeling heard, respected, and valued. When I learned that Black physicians make up such a small percentage of doctors in America, I didn't just see a statistic. I saw an opportunity to become part of the change. I'm interested in radiology because I've experienced how medical imaging can provide answers when something is happening inside the body that can't be seen from the outside. I hope to use my medical education to improve access to diagnostic care, advocate for patients whose symptoms may be overlooked, and help underserved communities receive the attention they deserve. I also want to mentor young Black students who dream of a career in medicine but struggle to imagine themselves belonging in those spaces. As a student at an HBCU, I'm surrounded by reminders of what becomes possible when Black excellence is nurtured rather than questioned. I want to carry that same encouragement into the communities I serve. My journey won't be easy. As an out-of-state student facing expensive tuition expenses, I'm already learning how much sacrifice pursuing this dream requires. Still, I'm determined to keep going, not only for myself, but for my younger siblings, my family, and the little girls who deserve to see that their dreams are possible. One day, I hope a little Black girl walks into a hospital, sees me wearing my white coat, and realizes something important. She belongs there too.

“God, I don't know how You're going to make a way, but I'm trusting You to do it.” Those are words I've found myself praying more often since beginning my college journey. As the oldest of four children, I've always understood that my dreams would require hard work, sacrifice, and determination. But sitting in my dorm room at Florida A&M University, thinking about my future of, one day, being a radiologist while carrying the weight of a tuition balance exceeding $10,000, I've learned that determination alone can't carry me through everything. Sometimes, all I can do is pray, trust God, and keep moving forward. My faith has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, but being baptized during the COVID-19 pandemic made my relationship with Christ more personal. During a time when the world seemed filled with uncertainty, I made the decision to place my life in God's hands. I didn't know what my future would look like, but I knew I wanted Him to guide it. Since then, I've learned that faith isn't believing life will always be easy. It's believing God will remain faithful even when life becomes difficult. When I was 12, I was diagnosed with scoliosis after sufferring with severe back pain, especially after cheerleading practices. Eventually, I found out that I needed a back brace. As a young girl who loved cheerleading, accepting that reality wasn't easy. There were moments when I questioned why my body had to endure something I couldn't control. Yet, through prayer and perseverance, I found the courage to continue doing what I loved. Today, I'm blessed to be a collegiate cheerleader at FAMU, something my younger self once thought wouldn't possible. My faith also influences how I view the struggles of those I love. My father lost part of his leg in a workplace accident, and my grandmother lives with Sjögren's disease, an autoimmune condition that affects her daily life. Watching people I love navigate physical challenges has taught me that suffering isn't always visible and that compassion can be just as meaningful as treatment. These experiences have strengthened my desire to want to become a doctor. I'm interested in radiology, and I want to help patients find answers during some of their most frightening and uncertain moments. More importantly, I want them to feel seen, respected, and cared for. As I pursue my degree, I know there will be difficult exams, financial obstacles, exhausting days, and moments when I question whether I'm capable. But I often reflect on the story of Job, whose faith endured tremendous suffering, and Moses, who doubted his abilities yet was still called to fulfill an extraordinary purpose. Their stories remind me that God doesn't require me to have every answer before taking the next step. I also hold tightly to Ephesians 3:20, which reminds me that God can do exceedingly and abundantly above anything I could ask or imagine. Ultimately, I don't measure success solely by the title of doctor or the income I might earn. I want to build a career rooted in integrity, compassion, service, and faith. I hope to create opportunities for others and use whatever success God allows me to achieve to uplift my family and community. My journey is still unfolding, and I certainly don't have everything figured out. But I believe the same God who brought me this far will continue guiding my steps. My responsibility is to remain faithful, work diligently, and never forget who made the journey possible.

"Endure, my heart; a worst thing even than this didst thou once endure on that day, when the Cyclops, unrestrained in daring, devoured my mighty comrades; but thou didst endure until craft got thee forth from the cave where thou thoughtest to die." "Endure, my heart." Those three words stood out to me immediately, because I believe Homer is revealing something deeper than Odysseus simply surviving another difficult moment. He is showing that perseverance often begins as a private conversation with yourself. Before anyone sees your strength, you have to decide within yourself that what you're facing won't be the thing that stops you. In this passage from the Odyssey, Odysseus uses the memory of what he has already survived to give himself strength for what he is facing now. I understand his words to mean that our past struggles don't only leave scars. They can also leave evidence that we are capable of continuing. I connect with this passage because some of the hardest moments in my life have required me to keep going when stopping would have been easier. When I was 12 years old, I began experiencing severe back pain. I was a cheerleader, and after practices I would complain to my mom about how badly my back hurt. Eventually, I saw a spine specialist, had x-rays taken, and learned that I had scoliosis and needed to wear a back brace. At that age, I didn't fully understand why my body was giving me a challenge that other girls around me didn't seem to have. But I kept going. That experience changed the way I understand strength. Before then, I probably would have defined strength as something visible. I would've thought about an athlete pushing through a difficult practice or someone accomplishing something impressive. Now, I know strength can be much quieter. Sometimes it's putting on a brace you don't want to wear. Sometimes it's showing up when you're uncomfortable. Sometimes it's deciding that a difficult chapter of your life doesn't get to write the ending. That is what I believe Homer communicates when Odysseus tells his heart to endure. He doesn't pretend that his situation is easy. He does the opposite. He remembers something terrible. He remembers the Cyclops and a moment when death seemed almost certain. But instead of allowing that memory to scare him, he turns it into proof. He survived before. Therefore, the hardship in front of him isn't automatically stronger than he is. I find that idea especially meaningful as I've entered into a new stage of my life. After years of working toward college, I'm now a freshman at Florida A&M University majoring in biology pre-med. I'm also a member of the FAMU cheer team. From the outside, those things are exciting, and they are. I'm proud of them, but reaching a dream doesn't mean every difficulty suddenly disappears. College has introduced me to a different kind of pressure. I'm learning how to balance demanding science classes, cheer, independence, and the financial reality of attending college as an out-of-state student. There are moments when I'm overwhelmed thinking about the cost of my education. I know what I'm working toward, but knowing your destination, doesn't always make the journey easy. That is another reason Homer's passage speaks to me. Odysseus doesn't tell himself that nothing bad will happen. He doesn't promise himself an easy road. He simply reminds his heart that it has endured before. I think there is wisdom in that. When people experience hardships, it can be easy to ask, "Why is this happening to me?" Homer presents another question through Odysseus. What has everything I've already survived taught me about what I'm capable of now? That question changes the meaning of struggle. Instead of viewing every obstacle as evidence that I should give up, I can look at the obstacles I've already overcome as evidence that I should keep moving. My experiences have also shaped what I want to do with my future. I plan to become a doctor. I'm especially interested in radiology. My own experiences with x-rays and healthcare made medicine feel personal long before I began studying biology in college. I've experienced what it's like to be young, hurting, and waiting for an image to give an explanation for what I was feeling. I want to someday be on the other side of that experience, using my education to help give answers and care to someone else. I don't believe endurance means never being tired, afraid, disappointed, or overwhelmed. Odysseus himself experienced those emotions. To me, endurance means feeling those things and choosing not to surrender your future to them. It means recognizing that fear and determination can exist at the same time. At 18, I know there are many parts of my journey that I haven't experienced yet. Medical school is still ahead of me. There will be difficult classes, more financial obstacles, failures, sacrifices, and probably moments when I question whether I can really accomplish everything I've dreamed about. I can't predict those moments. What I can do is remember. I can remember the 12 year old girl who kept cheering even after learning her spine was curved. I can remember being in high school working towards college while balancing AP classes, clubs, volunteer work and cheerleading. I can remember being a freshman who arrived at FAMU carrying big dreams and real responsibilities. Each version of me becomes evidence for the next one. That's why I believe the underlying meaning of Homer's passage is not simply about surviving hardship. It is about remembering your own endurance when you need it most. Odysseus looks backward, not because he wants to live in his suffering, but because remembering what he survived gives him the courage to move forward. I hope to carry that lesson throughout college and eventually into healthcare. There will always be another challenge that feels larger than the last. But when those moments come, I want to be able to look at everything that brought me there and remind myself of the same simple truth Odysseus told his own heart thousands of years ago. Endure. You've made it through hard things before. Keep going.

I remember sitting in a doctors office at 12 years old, staring at an x-ray of my own spine. For months, I had complained to my mom about my back hurting, especially after cheer practice, but seeing the curve on the screen made everything suddenly real. I was diagnosed with scoliosis and eventually fitted for a back brace. And an age when I was still learning to understand my own body, I became fascinated by the fact that an image could reveal something happening beneath the surface that no one could see just by looking at me. That experience is one of the reasons I chose to further my education in STEAM. Today, I'm a biology premed student at Florida A&M University with the goal of becoming a physician. I'm interested in radiology. I'm fascinated by the connection between science, technology, and medicine, and how doctors can use those tools that only to diagnose disease, but it's a give patients answers during some of their most uncertain moments. My interest in healthcare has also been shaped by the people I love. I grew up, watching my father navigate life after losing part of his leg in a work accident and seeing the role medical care, rehab, rehabilitation, and prosthetics played in helping him move forward. I've also watched my grandmother live with Sjögren's disease. I've seen her struggle with painful eye and mouth dryness, fatigue, and long days devoted to receiving infusions. These experiences taught me that medicine isn't simply about treating a condition. There's a person attached to every x-ray, diagnosis, lab result, and treatment plan. That person has a family, responsibilities, fears, and a life waiting outside of the hospital. That's the kind of doctor I want to become. I want the knowledge to understand what I'm seeing scientifically while never losing sight of who I'm caring for personally. Pursuing that dream, however, comes with a significant financial responsibility. As an out-of-state student at FAMU, my parents are working to manage the cost of my education while also caring for my three younger siblings. I'm the oldest of four, so I understand that the sacrifices being made for me affect more than just me. Receiving this scholarship would help reduce that financial burden and allow me to put more of my energy toward my classes, research opportunities, clinical experiences, and preparation for medical school. This scholarship wouldn't simply help me pay for college. It will become part of a much bigger journey that started with a 12 year old girl looking at an x-ray and wondering how doctors could learn so much from one image. Now, I want to become one of those doctors. One day, I hope to look at an image and find an answer that changes someone else's life.

I've learned that some of the moments that shape us most don't announce themselves as life-changing when they happen. Sometimes, they look like sitting in a doctor's office at 12 years old, staring at an x-ray of your own spine and realizing that back pain you kept complaining about had a name. Other times, they look like watching your dad navigate with a prosthetic after losing part of his leg, or seeing your grandmother push through the exhaustion and challenges of Sjögren's disease. Growing up around those experiences taught me early that health can change a person's everyday life. My own diagnosis with scoliosis made that lesson personal. Together, these experiences helped shape the young woman I am today and sparked my desire to become a physician. I'm currently a biology premed student at Florida A&M university, pursuing an education that I hope eventually lead me to medical school. a special interest in radiology because medical imaging has been part of my own story. X-rays helped doctors understand what was happening inside my body when pain was the only thing I could explain. There's something powerful about being able to see what the human eye can't, and use that information to help someone find answers. I want to become the kind of physician who remembers that behind every image is a person who may be scared, hurting, or simply hoping someone can tell them what comes next. But medicine isn't the only place where I've learned the importance of helping others. Cheerleading has been a major part of my life and has taught me leadership discipline, patience, and how much encouragement can change someone's confidence. As a high school cheer captain, I learned that leadership wasn't about having the loudest voice. It was about noticing when someone was struggling, holding people accountable while still supporting them, and understanding that a team succeeds when everyone feels valued. I've carried those lessons into college as a member of the FAMU cheer team. I've also served through organizations such as Key Club and Student Council, tutored my peers and physics, and helped young cheerleaders develop skills and confidence. Each experience strengthened everything I deeply believe. When you are given an opportunity to grow, you should reach back and help someone else grow too. My biology degree is the first major step toward the life I am working to build. It will prepare me academically for medical school, but I believe my education is also shaping how I think, serve, communicate, and care for people. I want to use what I learned to become a physician who combines scientific knowledge with compassion, especially for patients, whose conditions or pain may not be immediately visible. Ultimately, I don't want my education to benefit only me. I want younger students, especially those who may not see themselves represented in medicine, to look at my journey and realized that becoming a physician is possible for them too. One day, I hope to mentor aspiring healthcare professionals, serve communities that need greater access to compassionate medical care, and use my career to make patients feel heard. At 12, I looked at an X-ray, searching for answers about my own body. Years from now, I hope to look at another patient's image with the knowledge and training to help provide theirs. That would bring my journey full circle. More importantly, it would allow everything I've overcome and everything I'm learning to become something that serves someone else.

I can still remember coming home from cheer practice at 12 years old with pain in my back that I couldn't explain. Cheerleading was something that I loved, so I was used to sore muscles and tired days, but this felt different. I would complain to my mom that my back hurt, hoping that eventually the pain would just go away. It didn't. Then COVID shut down the world, cheer practices stopped, and life became unusually still. In that stillness, we finally had the opportunity to find out what my body had been trying to tell me. After visiting a spine specialist and having X-rays taken, I was diagnosed with scoliosis. Soon after, I learned that I would need to wear a back brace. At 12, I didn't completely understand what that diagnosis would mean for my life. I just knew that suddenly, my spine, my pain, and a brace had become part of my story. Living with scoliosis has shaped my educational journey in ways that go beyond the classroom. I've had to learn how to focus even when I'm uncomfortable, manage appointments and X-rays while keeping up with school, and continue pursuing the activities I love despite physical challenges. There were moments when I wished I didn't have to think about my back at all. Still, scoliosis taught me something early that I carry with me today. Sometimes strength isn't about ignoring pain. It's about learning how to move forward while taking care of yourself along the way. That experience is also part of what drew me toward medicine. Today, I'm a Biology Pre-Med student at Florida A&M University with hopes of one day becoming a radiologist. I know what it feels like to stand in front of an X-ray and realize that an image can reveal something happening in my body that no one can see from the outside. As a future doctor, I want to use my education to give other patients that same sense of understanding while also making sure they feel seen as people, not just as images, diagnosis, or medical charts. Independence, to me, doesn't mean never needing help. I've learned that there is strength in recognizing when you need support and courage in learning how to advocate for yourself. Now that I'm in college away from home, independence has taken on an even deeper meaning. I'm responsible for balancing demanding science classes, cheerleading, my health, finances, and the everyday responsibilities that come with becoming an adult. My scoliosis has made me more aware of my body and my limitations. But, it has also made me more determined not to allow those limitations to decide how far I go. Earning my degree will give me the foundation to build a stable and independent future while doing work that has meaning to me. I want a career that allows me to support myself, care for my future family, and serve people during moments when they may feel afraid or uncertain about their health. The 12 year old girl staring at an X-ray couldn't have known where that moment would lead her. Today, I do. My scoliosis may have changed the path of my journey, but it has also helped shape the physician, and the woman, I'm working every day to become.

Women's empowerment has always been important to me because I know how powerful it is when girls are encouraged, supported, and reminded of their worth. Throughout high school, I've tried to lead by example, showing younger girls that they can be confident, resilient, and successful while staying true to themselves. As a varsity cheer captain, peer mentor, and community volunteer, I learned that empowerment is not always about grand gestures, but is often found in the everyday moments. The moments when you encourage someone to keep going, to believe in themselves, or when you create a space where they feel seen and valued. One of the ways I've contributed to women's empowerment is through leadership and mentorship. As a cheerleader, I had opportunities to work with younger athletes who were learning new skills as well as struggling with self-confidence. I understood how discouraging it can feel when you're making progress at a slow pace and comparing yourself to someone who seems to be getting everything right. I've been that girl too. That understanding shaped the way I worked with younger cheerleaders. When I trained two Level 1 athletes, I helped them with their motions and skills like cartwheels, somersaults, and forward walkovers, but I wanted them to gain confidence. I celebrated the little improvements because I knew those moments mattered. Sometimes empowerment sounded like, "Try it one more time." Other times, it meant reminding a girl that someone else's success didn't take anything away from her own. My leadership also taught me that empowering women means making room for their voices. As a varsity cheer captain, I learned that being a leader wasn't about being the loudest person in the room or having all the answers. It was about paying attention to the people around me. I wanted my teammates to know they could come to me when they were frustrated, nervous, or simply needed encouragement. I carried that same mindset into my involvement in the Black Student Union, Student Council, Key Club, and as a student representative on my district's Ad Hoc Fine Arts Committee. Being in those spaces showed me that my voice had value, but it also gave me a responsibility to make sure other young ladies understood that theirs did too. Now, as a freshman at Florida A&M University and a new member of the FAMU cheer team, I'm entering a new chapter where I have even more opportunities to empower the women around me. I'm surrounded by intelligent, ambitious young women who remind me that empowerment isn't about one woman standing above everyone else. It's about reaching back, reaching beside you, and helping another woman recognize what she already carries within herself. As I pursue my major in Biology Pre-med in hopes of one becoming a doctor, I want that belief to remain part of who I am. Whether I'm encouraging a younger cheerleader, supporting another student, or one day caring for a patient, I want women and girls to leave my presence feeling a little more confident in themselves than they did before. To me, that is empowerment.

Sometimes the person sitting beside you in class, laughing with friends and saying, "I'm fine," is fighting a battle no one else can see. They may want help. They may even know they need it. But when therapy costs more than they can afford, appointments are weeks away, or they're afraid of being judged for asking, "I'm fine" can become easier than telling the truth. That's the problem I would want to change. My contribution would be creating a community-based mental health program that brings free or affordable support directly to places people already trust, including college campuses, schools, churches, and community centers. I'd want to partner with licensed mental health professionals, universities, and trained peer advocates to offer counseling support groups, virtual appointments, and connections to additional resources. As a college student, I understand how someone can carry academic pressure, financial worries, loneliness, and problems at home while still showing up every day with a smile. People shouldn't have to struggle silently simply because they can't afford help. As someone who hopes to become a physician, I want to help care for the person behind the symptoms. Mental health is health, and I hope to help create a world where saying, "I need help" is met with compassion, access, and support not a price tag.

I remember the excitement of realizing I was actually going to college. I had worked for this moment for years. But somewhere between celebrating my acceptances and looking at the cost of attendance, that excitement became mixed with a question I wasn't prepared for. How are we going to pay for this? I knew my parents would do everything they could to help me, but as the oldest of four children, I also knew I wasn't the only person they had to provide for. Suddenly, going to college wasn't just about earning good grades, getting accepted, and choosing a major. It was also about finding a way to afford the future I'd worked so hard to reach without the financial responsibility becoming too much for the people I love. I've always known that I wanted to study about medicine. But as the oldest of four children, I'm aware that my decisions don't exist in a bubble. I have three younger siblings who have needs of their own, and my parents have a family to support beyond just me. When I chose Florida A&M University and to major in biology on the pre-med track, I knew I was choosing a path that would require years of education, sacrifice, and hard work. What I didn't fully understand until it became real was how stressful the financial side of that dream could be. There's a strange feeling that comes with being excited about college while also worrying about how you're going to pay for it. I can sit in class taking notes, then later find myself thinking about tuition, scholarships, and how much my family is sacrificing to make sure I have this opportunity. I don't want finances to be the reason I have to give up something I've worked so hard for. The people who have helped me overcome that fear the most are my parents. They've never allowed me to look at our financial circumstances and decide that my dreams are too big. Instead, they've taught me to look for another way. Apply for another scholarship. Ask questions. Work harder. Keep going. Their support doesn't mean the financial obstacle suddenly disappears. It means I don't have to face it alone. My mom, especially, has been beside me throughout the college and scholarship process. She's helped me search for opportunities, encouraged me when applications became overwhelming, and reminded me why all of this work matters. My dad has shown me perseverance in a different way. After losing part of his leg in a work accident, he had to adapt to a life he never planned for. Growing up watching him push forward taught me something I carry with me now. And that is, circumstances can change your path without being allowed to determine your destination. So I keep applying. I keep studying. I keep searching for opportunities that will make staying in school possible, because I know what I'm working toward. I want to become a doctor. I've gained interest in radiology, and eventually I will use my education to care for people during moments when they may feel scared, uncertain or overlooked. Finances are a real obstacle for my family and me, but they've also strengthened my determination. My parents have sacrificed so I can stand where I am today. The best way I know to honor those sacrifices is to keep moving forward, earn my degree, and turn the opportunity they fought to give me into a future that makes all of us proud.

One problem in health care that I refuse to accept as inevitable is the idea that patients and their families should simply learn to live around an illness or physical condition. I've watched people I love reorganize their lives around their health. Their experiences have taught me that good health care isn't only about treating a diagnosis. It's also about understanding what that diagnosis takes away from a person and finding ways to give some of it back. I first understood this through my dad. Before I was born, he was involved in a work accident that resulted in the loss of part of his leg. I've only ever known him with his amputation, so his prosthetic has always been a normal part of my life. But as I've gotten older, I've understood more about what it means. Prosthetics, rehabilitation, mobility, pain, and adjustments became part of his life. Watching him has made me think about the difference between keeping someone alive and helping someone continue to truly live. I see that same difference with my grandmother, but in a completely different way. She has Sjögren's disease, and many of her symptoms are things another person might not immediately notice. Her eyes become painfully dry and red. Her mouth becomes extremely dry. Then there's the fatigue. Some days, it becomes so overwhelming that she can't work her job driving an 18-wheeler for UPS, a job that requires her to be alert, focused, and physically capable. Her treatment affects her life too. She receives infusions, and getting one basically requires her to dedicate an entire day to treatment. Afterward, instead of immediately feeling better, she can be even more exhausted. She's also more vulnerable to getting sick, so something as ordinary as keeping her home clean takes on a completely different importance. I've watched how one diagnosis can reach into someone's career, energy, schedule, home and independence. These experiences are part of what pushed me toward medicine and made me want to understand the human body beyond a textbook. As a biology pre-med student, I'm still early in my journey, and I know I have much more to learn. That excites me. I want to pursue research opportunities, learn from physicians and scientists, and better understand how diseases are diagnosed and treated. My growing interest in radiology especially interests me because imaging can help doctors see what isn't obvious from the outside and sometimes provide answers to patients who have spent far too long searching for them. I may not be able to build the solution today, but I can start building the knowledge that will allow me to contribute to one tomorrow. I want to become a physician who looks beyond a scan, lab result, or diagnosis and remembers the person attached to it. My dad taught me that a changed body doesn't erase a person's future. My grandmother has taught me that an illness doesn't have to be visible to completely disrupt someone's life. Together, they've shaped the kind of future I want to help create in medicine. One where we don't simply ask patients to adjust to what their conditions take from them. We keep searching for ways to give something back.

My commitment to becoming a physician assistant comes from both my passion for science and the personal experiences that shaped how I see healthcare. Over the years, I have seen how much of a difference compassionate and knowledgeable providers can make in someone’s life. Healthcare is not just about diagnosing illnesses or prescribing treatments; it is about supporting patients through difficult moments and helping them regain confidence in their health and their future. Because of this, I am committed to pursuing a career as a physician assistant where I can combine medical knowledge with empathy to improve the lives of others. Some of my earliest experiences with healthcare came through my family and my own medical journey. Before I was born, my dad lost part of his leg in a work accident. Growing up, I watched him work with doctors and therapists as he learned to walk again with different prosthetics and adjust to a completely different way of life. At the same time, I have managed scoliosis and regularly visit a spine specialist for routine X-rays to monitor my curves. Living with back pain and wearing a brace gave me my own perspective as a patient. These experiences showed me how much people rely on healthcare professionals not only for treatment, but also for guidance, encouragement, and reassurance. When I picture my future, I see myself in business casual attire with a white coat over my shoulders, walking into an exam room with purpose. I’m excited, not just because I’ve reached my goal of becoming a physician assistant, but because I’m about to help someone feel better. To me, being a PA means having the opportunity to care for patients during moments when they may feel uncertain, overwhelmed, or in pain, and helping them leave feeling supported and understood. To prepare for this career, I plan to major in health sciences or biology and take courses such as chemistry and anatomy to build a strong foundation in medicine. Outside the classroom, I hope to volunteer in clinics, private practices, and hospitals so I can better understand patient care and learn directly from experienced providers. After earning my undergraduate degree, I plan to continue my education in a physician assistant program where I can deepen my medical knowledge while gaining hands-on clinical training. What excites me most about becoming a physician assistant is the opportunity to meet patients where they are, especially in communities with limited access to healthcare. I have seen how long wait times can be when families try to schedule appointments. When my mom tries to book sick visits for me or my younger siblings, appointments with our pediatrician are often scheduled weeks out. As a PA, I would be able to step in to diagnose and treat patients, helping ensure that families can receive care sooner when they need it. Ultimately, I want to be the kind of healthcare professional who provides not only treatment, but also empathy, encouragement, and reassurance. Watching my dad rebuild his life after his accident and navigating my own scoliosis journey have taught me resilience, compassion, and the importance of dedicated healthcare providers. I want to become one of those providers—someone who empowers patients, supports them through challenges, and reminds them that they are not facing their health struggles alone.