I was born and raised here in America by two amazing parents who could not speak a single word in the English language. I grew up only knowing how to speak and understand Arabic, so I struggled when communicating with everyone around me who spoke English. Being bilingual is such a great advantage, but back then it did not feel like one. My parents were not aware that preschool existed, so I attended kindergarten right away. Kindergarten was my first year attending school and as you can probably expect as someone who couldn’t understand anything going on, I was terrified. I was the kid who sat alone at recess because I could not communicate with my peers. Although scared, I met the most amazing role model who would help me learn to read and speak English. Mrs. Norton was my kindergarten teacher and the woman who taught me more than I can explain. Not only did she help me learn to speak and write English, but she also helped me get to know some of my best friends till this day. She even taught herself Arabic words so she would be able to communicate with me. Of course she did not have all the time in the world to help me, but any time she was available she would. After she taught me the basic knowledge I needed to know, I slowly began working on speaking and writing English. By the end of fourth grade, I was basically fluent in English. I am beyond grateful for being blessed with a teacher like Mrs. Norton during that time in my life. I have grown up and learned so much about the English language and I am still learning new things everyday. My accent still peaks through certain words when I talk, but it just shows where I began and where I am today. Being the oldest child, I taught my younger siblings how to speak and write English so they wouldn’t have to go through the same struggles I went through. Whether it was the struggles I faced or the amazing people I met through my journey, I am grateful. Life is tough enough as it is and you need people to be there by your side. My parents have always supported me and tried their hardest to help me, even when there was nothing they could do. I am so thankful that I was so blessed through my journey with amazing people, where others had to go through it all by themselves. Mrs. Norton is an absolute inspiration and she inspires me to become a better person everyday. My struggles have helped me grow as a person and I want to use this experience to help others around me in the same situation. I plan to volunteer at the Philadelphia Library to tutor children struggling with speaking and writing English. I love working with children and I believe Mrs. Norton is one of the reasons why I will be pursuing a career involving children.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes, that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact, I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who did not know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards sciences and math. You could say that is what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get a degree in medicine or are doing it for the money, those things do not even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I do not have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can not explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. I am aware there will be obstacles in my way and times that I want to give up, but I know I can overcome them and become even stronger. To become a doctor, money is a huge aspect and this scholarship would help me achieve my goals and begin the journey to my future. I know I was born to heal others and becoming a doctor will allow me to save lives in my community and eventually the world. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes, that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact, I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who did not know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards sciences and math. You could say that is what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get a degree in medicine or are doing it for the money, those things do not even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I do not have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can not explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. I am aware there will be obstacles in my way and times that I want to give up, but I know I can overcome them and become even stronger. To become a doctor, money is a huge aspect and this scholarship would help me achieve my goals and begin the journey to my future. I know I was born to heal others and becoming a doctor will allow me to save lives in my community and eventually the world. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

One hundred percent middle eastern and American, I never really owned the former part of me. Born and raised in America an atypical Arabic girl, I never left the states until this summer, for a three month stay in Lebanon. One foot through the airport doorway, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with my friends at a summer party or down the shore, laying on the warm smooth sand, the sounds of waves crashing, but I was miles and miles away in a land full of people I was sure wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with street carts screaming “Corn on the cob! Get some!” as beeping horns, some squeaky and some like sirens, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or painted lines, cars were glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them as we made our way to the city. Motorcycles, owned by at least half of the country’s residents, loudly growled at high-school girls in pink uniforms, hair slicked back into tight buns, no makeup, gossiping past children as young as thirteen holding real guns at their sides for protection. Say “Lebanon” anywhere in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, war, and conflict, but that’s not what Lebanese children learn. That comes later on, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like New York in Times Square. A modern aesthetic with a diverse culture, all types of people come together and coexist. The social and cultural scenes fit my American self, despite minute differences. But on traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, food carts lining crowded streets, long sleeves and coverings in extreme heat, culture and religion oozing out of poverty, Innately beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry enormous guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike or when people are going to shoot. After two weeks, we heard gun-shots within walking distance; days later we ducked under the table at a restaurant, watching a car blow up across the street. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by commonplace violence and economic turmoil. Hard to find work, most people struggle as the cost of living becomes so expensive, they can’t afford to pay for water and electricity. An American in Suwayda can make the dollar go a long way. My experiences in my family’s homeland changed my perspective on who I really am. There, people love to visit family and new places everyday; you forget your phone at home all day without remembering you forgot it. My beautiful grandmother greets me at the door in a long black dress, her hair wrapped in a white futa, the smell of home cooked Arabic meals lingering as my family sits, laughing and talking under the dark blue sky filled with bright white stars, eating sunflower seeds we just bought from the dekane on the side of the street. There, I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. Listening to the stories my father tells of the water man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me and gave me, without my even knowing. As a Lebanese child, I was taught a dance, the “debke,” to remember our culture and struggles, to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by changing weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, singing, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, about my community, but actually going to Lebanon gave me access to a history and heritage that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes, that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact, I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who did not know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards sciences and math. You could say that is what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get a degree in medicine or are doing it for the money, those things do not even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I do not have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can not explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. I am aware there will be obstacles in my way and times that I want to give up, but I know I can overcome them and become even stronger. To become a doctor, money is a huge aspect and this scholarship would help me achieve my goals and begin the journey to my future. I know I was born to heal others and becoming a doctor will allow me to save lives in my community and eventually the world. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes, that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who didn't know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards science and math. You could say that's what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get into a degree in the medical field or are doing it for the money, those things don't even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I don't have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can't explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. There will be obstacles in my way and times that I want to give up, but I know I can overcome them and become even stronger. To become a doctor, money is a huge aspect and this scholarship would help me achieve my goals and begin the journey to my future. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

One hundred percent middle eastern and American, I never really owned the former part of me. Born and raised in America an atypical Arabic girl, I never left the states until this summer, for a three month stay in Lebanon. One foot through the airport doorway, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with my friends at a summer party or down the shore, laying on the warm smooth sand, the sounds of waves crashing, but I was miles and miles away in a land full of people I was sure wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with street carts screaming “Corn on the cob! Get some!” as beeping horns, some squeaky and some like sirens, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or painted lines, cars were glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them as we made our way to the city. Motorcycles, owned by at least half of the country’s residents, loudly growled at high-school girls in pink uniforms, hair slicked back into tight buns, no makeup, gossiping past children as young as thirteen holding real guns at their sides for protection. Say “Lebanon” anywhere in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, war, and conflict, but that’s not what Lebanese children learn. That comes later on, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like New York in Times Square. A modern aesthetic with a diverse culture, all types of people come together and coexist. The social and cultural scenes fit my American self, despite minute differences. But in traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, food carts lining crowded streets, long sleeves and coverings in extreme heat, culture and religion oozing out of the poverty, Innately beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry enormous guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike or when people are going to shoot. After two weeks, we heard gun-shots within walking distance; days later we ducked under the table at a restaurant, watching a car blow up across the street. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by commonplace violence and economic turmoil. Hard to find work, most people struggle as the cost of living becomes so expensive, they can’t afford to pay for water and electricity. An American in Suwayda can make the dollar go a long way. My experiences in my family’s homeland changed my perspective on who I really am. There, people love to visit family and new places everyday; you forget your phone at home all day without remembering you forgot it. My beautiful grandmother greets me at the door in a long black dress, her hair wrapped in a white futa, the smell of home cooked Arabic meals lingering as my family sits, laughing and talking under the dark blue sky filled with bright white stars, eating sunflower seeds we just bought from the dekane on the side of the street. There, I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. Listening to the stories my father tells of the water man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me and gave me, without my even knowing. As a Lebanese child, I was taught a dance, the “debke,” to remember our culture and struggles, to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by changing weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, singing, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, about my community, but actually going to Lebanon gave me access to a history and heritage that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who didn't know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards science and math. You could say that's what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get into a degree in the medical field or are doing it for the money, those things don't even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I don't have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can't explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. There will be obstacles in my way and times that I want to give up, but I know I can overcome them and become even stronger. To become a doctor, money is a huge aspect and this scholarship would help me achieve my goals and begin the journey to my future. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

If it wasn't for our students in STEM, the United States wouldn't be able to maintain its global position. Students in STEM are a big part of the changes happening in the world today. There is a global pandemic going on as we speak and we need our STEM occupations to help adapt in a post-pandemic world. Engineers are developing different types of gels to use during and after the pandemic. Since most districts are switching to teaching online, technology is an impactful occupation for adapting after the pandemic. Math is needed to treat patients and understand the information to possibly find a vaccine, so mathematic occupations have a huge part of helping the world thrive today. Scientists are changing the world for the better, especially during this global pandemic. Our scientists are working day and night to find a vaccine to save the world, not only will they help people adapt in a post-pandemic world but they will be the ones to get us out of this pandemic.

100% middle-eastern, I never owned that part of me. Say “Lebanon” in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, but that’s not what we learn. That comes later, when politics turns you into a newsreel. Suwayda, where my family originated, religion oozing out-of-poverty, there, five-year-olds carry guns, because they don’t know when a bomb will strike. As a Lebanese child, I was taught the “dabke,” --mud-houses, cracked by weather, community, holding hands, stomping mud together, to fix them. I realized I was taught about my culture since childhood, the history unlocks the whole of who I am and I'm proud.

"My culture is my everything." One hundred percent middle-eastern, I never owned the former part of me. Born in America, I never left the states until this summer, for a stay in Lebanon. One foot through the airport, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with friends down the shore, laying on warm smooth sand, but I was miles away in place full of people, who wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with carts screaming “Corn on the cob!” as beeping horns, some squeaky, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or lines, cars glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them. Motorcycles, owned by half of the residents, growled at high-school girls in uniforms, gossiping past children holding guns at their sides for protection. Say “Lebanon” in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, but that’s not what Lebanese children learn. That comes later, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like Times Square. A modern aesthetic with diverse culture, all types of people together. Traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, carts lining streets, religion oozing out of poverty, beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by violence and economic turmoil. Experiences in my homeland changed my perspective on who I am. There, you forget your phone at home without remembering you forgot it. My grandmother greets me in her long dress, the smell of home-cooked meals lingering as my family sits, talking under the blue sky filled with bright stars. I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. The stories my father tells of the water-man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me. As a Lebanese child, I was taught the “dabke,” to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, but going there gave me access to a history that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.

I want to become a physician as much as I want to breathe. Yes that might seem too extreme for some people, but that is just how I feel. I am a biology major on a pre-med track at Thomas Jefferson University. In fact I am a first generation college student. I grew up with immigrant parents who didn't know anything about college or how to speak english but were trying to give me the best life they could. My first language is Arabic, so you could suspect English was not my strong suit in school and that caused me to navigate more towards science and math. You could say that's what started my love for science and the medical field. A degree in medicine would be a dream come true. I know a lot of my peers are pressured to get into a degree in the medical field or are doing it for the money, those things don't even cross my mind when thinking about medicine. Even if I'm not the smartest student in my science class or I don't have the highest grade, I attend my classes with passion to learn more because science spikes a fire in me that I can't explain. I hope to build a career in the medical field, I believe I am born for this field and the power to help heal others. I have a dream set in mind of earning a degree in the medical field and becoming a physician in my white coat helping my patients and I am ready for that dream to come true.

One hundred percent middle-eastern, I never owned the former part of me. Born in America, I never left the states until this summer, for a stay in Syria. One foot through the airport, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with friends down the shore, laying on warm smooth sand, but I was miles away in place full of people, who wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with carts screaming “Corn on the cob!” as beeping horns, some squeaky, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or lines, cars glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them. Motorcycles, owned by half of the residents, growled at high-school girls in uniforms, gossiping past children holding guns at their sides for protection. Say “Syria” in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, but that’s not what Syria children learn. That comes later, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like Times Square. A modern aesthetic with diverse culture, all types of people together. Traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, carts lining streets, religion oozing out of poverty, beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by violence and economic turmoil. Experiences in my homeland changed my perspective on who I am. There, you forget your phone at home without remembering you forgot it. My grandmother greets me in her long dress, the smell of home-cooked meals lingering as my family sits, talking under the blue sky filled with bright stars. I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. The stories my father tells of the water-man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me. As a Syrian child, I was taught the “dabke,” to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, but going there gave me access to a history that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.

One hundred percent middle-eastern, I never owned the former part of me. Born in America, I never left the states until this summer, for a stay in Syria. One foot through the airport, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with friends down the shore, laying on warm smooth sand, but I was miles away in place full of people, who wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with carts screaming “Corn on the cob!” as beeping horns, some squeaky, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or lines, cars glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them. Motorcycles, owned by half of the residents, growled at high-school girls in uniforms, gossiping past children holding guns at their sides for protection. Say “Syria” in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, but that’s not what Syria children learn. That comes later, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like Times Square. A modern aesthetic with diverse culture, all types of people together. Traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, carts lining streets, religion oozing out of poverty, beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by violence and economic turmoil. Experiences in my homeland changed my perspective on who I am. There, you forget your phone at home without remembering you forgot it. My grandmother greets me in her long dress, the smell of home-cooked meals lingering as my family sits, talking under the blue sky filled with bright stars. I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. The stories my father tells of the water-man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me. As a Syrian child, I was taught the “dabke,” to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, but going there gave me access to a history that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.

One hundred percent middle-eastern, I never owned the former part of me. Born in America, I never left the states until this summer, for a stay in Syria. One foot through the airport, I instantly regretted the trip. I could’ve been with friends down the shore, laying on warm smooth sand, but I was miles away in place full of people, who wouldn’t understand me. Hopping into a car built circa 1990 that rocked up and down as it moved, I heard men with carts screaming “Corn on the cob!” as beeping horns, some squeaky, juxtaposed with cow sounds. No street lights or lines, cars glued together with only enough room for a strand of hair between them. Motorcycles, owned by half of the residents, growled at high-school girls in uniforms, gossiping past children holding guns at their sides for protection. Say “Syria” in the U.S., a diatribe begins about politics, but that’s not what Syria children learn. That comes later, when politics turns you into a newsreel. In actuality, the streets of Lebanon are like Times Square. A modern aesthetic with diverse culture, all types of people together. Traveling to Suwayda, where my family originated, carts lining streets, religion oozing out of poverty, beautiful, it is dangerously so. There, five-year-olds carry guns, because they don’t know when a bomb is going to strike. Suwayda reveals a beautiful country ruined by violence and economic turmoil. Experiences in my homeland changed my perspective on who I am. There, you forget your phone at home without remembering you forgot it. My grandmother greets me in her long dress, the smell of home-cooked meals lingering as my family sits, talking under the blue sky filled with bright stars. I became aware of how hard my family worked to stand where they stand today. The stories my father tells of the water-man who came once a week, spilling water onto the ground that kids would fight over, I am grateful for what they’ve spared me. As a Syrian child, I was taught the “dabke,” to remember where we came from--houses made of mud, cracked by weather, the community, holding hands, stomping the mud together, to fix them. I realized I was taught about our culture since childhood, but going there gave me access to a history that unlocks the whole of who I am, who I could be-- and I am proud.