The heavy rain pattered against the window, obscuring the light emanating from the singular porch lamp outside. I quietly sat next to my piano teacher, exhausted. I had just run in the rain (thanks to my winter track coach), and my mind was relentlessly reciting every assignment that had to be done before I could finally rest for the day. With a twinge of resentment, I lifted my eyes from my hands to the music that lay in front of me. In my mind, it was the last obstacle in my way to completing my homework. When my academic duties become more demanding, my musical obligations typically become secondary. Needless to say, I was eager to get the piece over with. My piano teacher sat patiently as I opened the booklet. Arabesque No. 1, written by Claude Debussy. With my hands hovering over the keys, I took a deep breath and began to play. From an early age, people are taught to fear failure. In academics, the quantification of success makes the fear all the more vivid since it’s subject to comparison. While playing the piano, my mind typically ventures elsewhere. That particular day, I was thinking about my schoolwork. I lamented about the minuscule mistakes I made in my calculus quiz. I anxiously calculated the extra time I would have had to study for Spanish if I had only stayed up a little longer the night before. My mind raced more and more with each thought until I couldn’t even think. Every sentence became muddled, and all I was left with was the soft melody of Arabesque. My favorite aspect of Debussy’s works is how the melody flows. It builds and recedes like emotion, being unclear at times. At that moment, my thoughts blended perfectly with the melody, and for a moment, I was directly connected to the music. As my emotions and thoughts flowed with the melody, I was reminded just how beautiful the song was. Near the end of the song, the melody gradually lifted higher and higher, along with my anxiety about the future. However, at the climax of the song, I felt a wave of gratitude: gratitude for my teacher, my parents, myself, and even Debussy. Emanating from the piano was the culmination of the persistence and determination of all those influences in my life. I felt grateful and proud that I persevered for 10 years through frustrating lessons and performances because it resulted in the beautiful melody I heard all around me. I also felt reassured about my future. Although I have no idea what it holds, I know that I am capable of persevering. Even if I face devastating obstacles, I will be content with the fact that I will always have this melody with me; It is my gift of self-assurance, one that is unwrapped anew every time I sit in front of a piano. If I am capable of this, I am capable of achieving anything.

The heavy rain pattered against the window, obscuring the light emanating from the singular porch lamp outside. I quietly sat next to my piano teacher, exhausted. I had just run in the rain (thanks to my winter track coach), and my mind was relentlessly reciting every assignment that had to be done before I could finally rest for the day. With a twinge of resentment, I lifted my eyes from my hands to the music that lay in front of me. In my mind, it was the last obstacle in my way to completing my homework. When my academic duties become more demanding, my musical obligations typically become secondary. Needless to say, I was eager to get the piece over with. My piano teacher sat patiently as I opened the booklet. Arabesque No. 1, written by Claude Debussy. With my hands hovering over the keys, I took a deep breath and began to play. From an early age, people are taught to fear failure. In academics, the quantification of success makes the fear all the more vivid since it’s subject to comparison. While playing the piano, my mind typically ventures elsewhere. That particular day, I was thinking about my schoolwork. I lamented about the minuscule mistakes I made in my calculus quiz. I anxiously calculated the extra time I would have had to study for Spanish if I had only stayed up a little longer the night before. My mind raced more and more with each thought until I couldn’t even think. Every sentence became muddled, and all I was left with was the soft melody of Arabesque. My favorite aspect of Debussy’s works is how the melody flows. It builds and recedes like emotion, being unclear at times. At that moment, my thoughts blended perfectly with the melody, and for a moment, I was directly connected to the music. As my emotions and thoughts flowed with the melody, I was reminded just how beautiful the song was. Near the end of the song, the melody gradually lifted higher and higher, along with my anxiety about the future. However, at the climax of the song, I felt a wave of gratitude: gratitude for my teacher, my parents, myself, and even Debussy. Emanating from the piano was the culmination of the persistence and determination of all those influences in my life. I felt grateful and proud that I persevered for 10 years through frustrating lessons and performances because it resulted in the beautiful melody I heard all around me. I also felt reassured about my future. Although I have no idea what it holds, I know that I am capable of persevering. Even if I face devastating obstacles, I will be content with the fact that I will always have this melody with me; It is my gift of self-assurance, one that is unwrapped anew every time I sit in front of a piano. If I am capable of this, I am capable of achieving anything.

1. “Alright, what would you like to watch?” my mother asked me. Without hesitation, my 9 year old self responded “Monsters Inside Me.” Cocking an eyebrow, my mother then put on Animal Planet, leaving me in the family living room to learn about the devastating effects of parasites and bacteria. I’ve always found comfort in the objective truths that science offers. It was like putting together a puzzle; analyzing the intricacies of a topic allowed me to put the pieces together, discovering a fact or answering a question that would always make sense. Researching multiple sclerosis under my mentor at the Tisch Multiple Sclerosis Research Center truly allowed my scientific interests to flourish. I love learning about MS because it is a multifaceted disease, with its cause speculated to be brought about by numerous factors, ranging from mitochondrial dysfunction to an imbalance in the gut microbiome. I was drawn to its complexity, and wanted to help piece together the factors that may trigger the cause of the disease. The fact that I was able to contribute one piece pertaining to astrocytes to the grand picture of our knowledge of the disease brings me great joy. Another place I have found joy is onstage, a place with principles quite opposite to science. As a pianist and violinist, I have found that objective truths are absent from performance, as subjective interpretation is encouraged as a method to connect with dynamic melodies. Nothing is more enriching than having a life imbued with juxtaposition. There are a million different ways to interpret the way Clair De Lune by Claude Debussy is supposed to make someone feel, but only one way to interpret the error bars on a graph depicting the proliferation intensity of astrocytes. My involvement in both areas has led me to truly understand myself and my goals in life. In essence, I am a creator. I want to add things to the world that make impacts on people's lives, and I’ve been able to do so with both science and music. My mentor and I’s research surrounding multiple sclerosis serves as the basis for biotechnology that will go on to improve the lives of those suffering from primary progressive multiple sclerosis. Performances with my quartet have given me multiple opportunities to bear witness to the direct effects music can have on others; it heightens emotions and helps people close their eyes, relax, and simply feel alive. Fundamentally, art and science have allowed me to discover that I find joy in contributing things to the world. They have both offered outlets for me to impact people's lives, and while science gives consoling structure, music frees up room for expression. It is truly a gift to be involved in both. Pioneering runs deep in my family’s blood. Like a dandelion, we have spread ourselves to new lands unapologetically. My father’s parents migrated to America from Greece, and my mother came here from Poland at the age of 17. They both had to learn from early ages how to live independently. Despite now being settled in the quiet town of Hampton Bays, we find new ways to challenge each other. When I expressed an interest in science, I knew that my family could only lend me their support, as help with schoolwork was out of the question. Their lack of experience has led me to hunt for information from a variety of sources. Learning was the product of research, engagement with teachers and discussion with peers. As a result, I have developed a deep appreciation for varied perspectives. My parents have served as the bridge between worlds, fostering in me the same drive that brought them to America. Whether it’s through driving hours away from home to the Tisch MS Research Center or flashing me a smile that basically says “I did not understand a single word that person said,” following a science symposium, my parents’ support never wavered. Car rides get me to where I need to be, but it’s their smiles that remind me that their motive for challenging me is rooted in affection. Pioneers face challenges all the time. However, these challenges, once surpassed, often bear the fruit of new lands and discoveries. For every new territory I’ve explored, whether it be learning the piano, researching multiple sclerosis, or trying Muay Thai, I’ve always learned something about myself. The activities I’ve enjoyed the most were always ones that allowed me to contribute things to my community. I loved adding things that were unique, whether it be my interpretation of a tango through the violin or my work surrounding unexplored aspects of multiple sclerosis. Being a creator at heart, I desire to expand my family name into the realm of college. My parents diverged much of their time to enrich my life, and likewise have taught me to utilize every opportunity I am given. In college, I would have full-time access to graduate-level facilities and laboratories, and fully immerse myself in innovative technology and culture. At the same time, I’d get involved in student-ran music groups, putting on performances for the local community just as I’ve done in my own town. In essence, college is the gateway to countless new opportunities to create research and music for the benefit of others. It is the path to giving my life meaning.