I sat in the office of a private doctor with my grandmother and listened as she slowly disclosed the results of her recent scans. The tumors grew larger. She did not look surprised—her body had already warned her that something was wrong—but the news weighed on me. I was in the midst of being a senior in high school at the time, in the early stages of applying to colleges. That day, as hard as it was, became my turning point: the day I realized I was meant to be a doctor. It wasn't the medical facts that amazed me that day so much—it was the attitude of the doctor. He was compassionate, respectful, and very humane. He even went out of his way to praise the radiologist who found the growth of the tumor early, showing how healthcare is an ecosystem that depends on teamwork. That experience changed my outlook on radiology—not just as a technical science in the background, but as an essential and compassionate aspect of patient treatment. I realized at that point that I would be a doctor who would be able to bring clarity, hope, and dignity to the most difficult of moments. College is important to me because it's the foundation that will allow me to become that kind of physician. I'm double majoring in Sports Medicine and Biology, as I wish to understand the human body from all sides. My time in college is not merely a path to medical school—it's a chance for me to become academically, emotionally, and professionally prepared. Through coursework, research, and hospital-based volunteer experience, I'm gaining the mindset and skills it takes for a career in medicine. My professional and overall ambitions for my career in medicine are to be a radiologist. It is the only specialty that aligns my interests in science, problem-solving, and compassionate care. But in addition to this, I hope to serve in a healthcare system more diverse, more innovative, and more accessible. My aspiration is to someday do research with agencies like the National Cancer Institute or the National Institute of Biomedical Imaging and Bioengineering, assisting in the progression of cancer imaging and diagnostic equipment technology. I also plan to establish programs within the departments of radiology that I work in—providing for mentorship and shadowing programs for students, especially those from underrepresented and underserved groups. As a low-income Black student, I have seen first-hand how disparities of opportunity affect everything from education to medicine. That's why I believe increasing the racial diversity of medicine is not only an imperative—it's an emergency. Patients are more comfortable, listened to, and respected when they see someone who shares or honors their identity. Representation creates trust. It erases stereotypes. It's about visibility, as well. Young students see doctors, researchers, and leaders that look like them and know that they can belong there, as well. My big goal in the long run is to create scholarships for students like me—ambitious and bright but stymied by financial limitations. I hope to be a person who shatters barriers, not just for patients, but for aspiring doctors, as well. My inspiration to become a physician arises from empathy, curiosity, and a passion for service. I wish to heal people, assist individuals with significant problems, and change systems from within. Through being a physician, I can be an act of reverence to my grandmother, assist others to get well, and make space for new voices in the healthcare sector. College is the first step to that process—and I plan on making the most of each opportunity.

I sat in a private doctor's office beside my grandmother and listened as her doctor slowly disclosed the result of her previous scans. The tumors had grown. She didn't respond with shock—her body had already told her something was wrong—but it bothered me. I was a senior in high school at the time, just beginning the college application process. That encounter, as painful as it was, was the beginning of something wonderful: a clear recognition that I was interested in a career in medicine. That doctor wasn't just a medical doctor with a medical degree—he was a communicator, a listener, and an calming presence. He even went out of his way to praise the radiologist who found the changes in the scan early on, and it impressed me. It taught me to see radiology as not this behind-the-scenes specialty but as an integral part of patient care. I saw how science and empathy could meld together to give light and reassurance in one's most vulnerable moments. That was the kind of power I wanted to have. College is important to me because it's the next step in becoming that person. I desire my college experience to provide me with the knowledge, experiences, and networks that will equip me to be a physician—namely, a radiologist who is both innovative and empathetic. I am double majoring in Biology and Sports Medicine currently because I think that having an understanding of the human body from all sides will help me to be a better rounded, ready candidate for medical school and the world beyond. But college isn't merely the doorway to medical school. I hope it will be a period of growth—academically, professionally, and personally. I've started along that track by shadowing physicians in different specialties and working in hospital settings where I watch doctors work with patients at their most vulnerable. I hand out blankets, listen to doctors discuss diagnoses, and witness the human and technical skill involved in medicine. These are the times that make me remember why I'm here and why I keep striving. Other than striving to prepare for my career, I would like to utilize my college experience to begin paying it forward. Being a low-income student, I am familiar with firsthand the stress and anxiety produced by financial distress. That is why one of my long-term goals is to establish scholarships and mentorship opportunities for students like me—bright and driven but in way hindered by circumstance. In the future, I also hope to establish and administer shadowing programs in radiology suites to give high school and college students a realistic and inspiring view into the medical field. Ultimately, I hope that college can equip me not just to have a positive effect on the lives of my future patients, but also on the lives of other students, researchers, and young physicians. I would like to be among the bigger picture by contributing to national research studies with agencies like the National Cancer Institute or the National Institute of Biomedical Imaging and Bioengineering. Supporting the research into cancer treatment imaging technologies would be the greatest way to honor my grandmother's memory and my first encounter with that small examination room. College isn't just something I'm entering as a stepping stone—it's a cornerstone. It's where I'll learn the tools I need to pursue a calling larger than myself. I don't want to emerge from my college years with more than a degree; I want to emerge with a stronger sense of how to serve, lead, and heal.

I was sitting in a small, humble doctor's office with my grandmother and her main. Next to her thinning body, her eyes were low but bright. This was a follow-up visit, but I had prepared myself instinctively for bad news. Before long, the doctor came—not only with comparative charts, but with a sympathetic note to his greeting: "I hope the hassle of coming here wasn't bad today." Next thing I knew, he brought up side-by-side scans and examined her lungs in front of us—one from the scan eight weeks ago, one from the latest scan. The side-by-side wasn't worrisome in itself, but it was unavoidable: the tumors had grown. My grandmother observed, not surprised, for she could sense the effect of the cancerous tumor on her body. But for me, as a high school student navigating the college application process, it was burdensome. It was the beginning of finding myself in a degrading period in my life. But it did also spark my interest in medicine. Looking back, I can acknowledge that I approached medicine as science and as humanity—that shaped the way I learned healthcare. It's not just the diagnosis; it's the dignity and clarity you bring to patients and their families. Having such an amazing primary, who even boasted about the radiologist who discovered these changes in my grandmother, encouraged me to pursue the field of radiology to follow. Those scans verified how much work those physicians performed, and I alternated caring for my grandmother on weekends or weeknights whenever possible throughout the remainder of the year. Since then, I have been discovering this vocation by shadowing doctors in other specialties—such as radiology over this past summer break prior to my sophomore year in college. In addition to shadowing, I also volunteer distributing blankets to patients while observing doctors interpret diagnoses or results. These experiences reiterated my respect for the cooperation and precision that define the medical life. The observation of a few families consoled and cared for by the presence of a doctor reassured my belief in the beauty and goodness of medicine. As a double major in Sports Medicine and Biology, with some research experience under my belt, my intention is to go on to medical school and ultimately match for a radiology residency. My purpose is to practice radiology for decades and give back to my community of low-income future medical professionals. First, I plan to work as a medical assistant or research assistant during medical school—expanding my understanding and forging clinical networks. Once I continue my professional career in medicine after graduating from medical school, I plan to provide scholarships to low-income medical undergraduates and medical students, dismantling the economic barriers of rising tuition that I've experienced firsthand. I also look forward to coordinating shadowing schemes in my future working environment, that is in the radiology department, to give actual exposure to young bright minds whose ultimate dream is to be a doctor. Following the relinquishment of these programs, my final giveaway to humanity would be enrolling in national research programs provided by the National Cancer Institute (NCI) or the National Institute of Biomedical Imaging and Bioengineering (NIBIB), through which I can be contributing to innovations in radiologic science and cancer imaging. My profession is medicine because it allows me to combine the morals of helping another human being with the aspiration of being an innovator. With compassion and determination, I want to offer treatments to patients, develop new discoveries, and inspire people who have a passion for medicine.

Walking past the sharp scent of hairspray, the polyrhythms of bass-heavy music, and crowds of friendships, I stepped into a ballroom for the first time—it felt like walking into a dream. My queer friends from my professional dance world had invited me; they were part of a house and planned to walk in the “Face,” “Body,” and “Fashion” categories. Although I had seen clips online and watched HBO Max’s Pose, nothing compared to the exciting energy in person. I wasn’t competing—just there as a guest, on a date with my ex-girlfriend at the time, holding her hand as we managed through the crowd. The experience was monumental because there was no judgment of anyone’s identity. There was no need to explain my coming out story or quiet my joy. My queerness wasn’t just tolerated—it was celebrated. The crowd roared with every turn, dip, and strut, and I felt that pleasure ripples through me like electricity. Later, I met my friend’s house mother, and when she looked at us and said, “You guys are more than beautiful together". I was embraced. I hadn’t realized how deeply meaningful it could be to receive that kind of affirmation from someone rooted in the LGBTQIA+ community. Her words carried a weight and warmth that no compliment from my straight friends ever had—in that moment, she became my mother too. That night, I witnessed people living fully, loudly, and beautifully, and I saw the version of myself I had always dreamed of becoming. When I left the ballroom, I walked out a little taller, a little freer—finally understanding that queerness wasn’t something I had to protect. It was something powerful. Something sacred. Something mine. Because of that transformative experience, as someone who identifies as bisexual, I am passionate about giving back in meaningful ways—particularly through healthcare. In the future, I plan to become a doctor, specializing in internal medicine or radiology. I want to use my medical career not only to provide excellent patient care, but also to support LGBTQIA+ health equity through research, advocacy, and education. I hope to work with organizations like The Fenway Institute or GLMA to contribute to inclusive medical research, develop culturally competent care practices, and mentor future queer healthcare professionals. As someone in this community, I wouldn’t have any internalized homophobia that could block me from truly doing my mission of giving to LGBTQIA+. Giving back to my queer family—one that helped me grow into myself—is a personal commitment. Currently, my father is a single parent living with heart failure, which often causes him to miss hours at his part-time job. As a result, our household income is limited, and I actively seek scholarships to help cover the growing costs of my education—especially with tuition increasing by thousands this year. Receiving financial support would allow me to focus fully on my studies without needing to work a part-time job, giving me more time to excel academically. I’m currently majoring in Sports Medicine, with plans to double major in Biology and participate in faculty research during the spring semester. Earning this specific scholarship would be a huge mental relief for both me and my father, and it holds personal meaning to me as someone who is queer. As a first-generation college student from a low-income household, we are learning how to navigate higher education together, but the financial burden remains a major stressor. My father gives everything he can, despite his health and income challenges, and I want to do everything I can to ease that burden while achieving my academic and career goals.

With every note from the trumpet, my body followed suit effortlessly. I heeded my body as it gracefully stepped on stage right and pulled my body’s torque while I completed multiple turns. As I perfected my pointed feet, I stood still. Under the hot lights, my body felt tepid as my arms and head reached for the sky. I thought about the lyrics to “Home” as the music was drowned out by the sound of cheers. I had choreographed my movements to Diana Ross, as I thought about my own Blackness. I contemplated the inherited “criminal” Stereotypes of being Black in the United States and my desire to find a haven from police brutality. With each emphasized expansion and contraction of my body, I found myself responding to the pain of Breonna Taylor’s or George Floyd’s deaths. It was hard to rid myself of the feelings that I might be next. With the movements to “say her name,” the mental exhaustion was too much to bear. I took every concern and worry to begin journaling- translating them into movement. Choreographing my movements to Diana Ross, I grappled with my Black identity in the US, seeking solace from police brutality: a big societal problem. My translations became choreography, and I committed myself to executing the dance moves. Each gesture echoed the pain of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd's deaths, evoking a haunting fear of becoming the next victim. During my choreographic process, I remembered a few months ago- my father's advice during a tense traffic stop in South Carolina: "Record everything, Kyara." But our fight against injustice extends beyond protests and riots. Seeking solace in art, especially in dance's transformative power, I teach my black community: that we rise above our challenges. Dance becomes a tool of resilience, a defiant expression against oppression, healing the wounds of collective trauma. Through dance, we will affirm the sanctity of Black bodies and rise, united in our quest for justice, determined to carve out a future where every step is imbued with the joy of liberation. As a Black artist, I aim to become a dance professor or teacher at performing arts schools, guiding people of color to experience similar catharsis I did. I will fulfill the duty to inspire youth-adults to merge their passion for activism and dance, evoking both coping reflection and advocating art. Moreover, I aspire to add empowerment of people of color artists by deepening their appreciation of being Black, through learning versatile black thematic dances, unity, and a deeper analysis of black cultural dances or classical dance. Especially since we can be drowned by online media that reflect such hate against our simple existence of being black. My passion and profession of dance with the task of preparing fearless leaders of art, 100%, is my vision of how I change the world. As a Black woman, I aim to affirm others in a space that fosters both creativity and advocacy, turning dancer by dancer their stationary potential into reality.

Dancing Through My Blackness With every note from the trumpet, my body followed suit effortlessly. I heeded its graceful steps as it moved stage right, pulling my body’s torque while I completed multiple turns. Perfecting my pointed feet, I stood in a moment of stillness, bathed in the hot lights. My arms and head reached for the sky, and the lyrics to “Home” echoed in my mind, drowned out by the sound of cheers. Choreographing my movements to the spirit of Diana Ross, I reflected on my own Blackness. What did it mean to be Black in the United States? How could I find a haven from the relentless storm of police brutality? Each emphasized expansion and contraction of my body became a response to the pain of Breonna Taylor’s and George Floyd’s deaths. The fear that I might be next clung to me, and the movements to “say her name” left me mentally exhausted. I took my concerns and worries, translating them into dance. My journal entries transformed into choreography, and I committed myself to executing those moves. With every step, my heart stung—the pain of watching my community suffer at the hands of officials weighed heavily. Dance became my refuge, easing the mental burden of my Black pain and giving me a voice of advocacy. My love for dance began in elementary school. I grew up watching shows like “Shake It Up,” mimicking Zendaya’s moves and grooving to the beat of “Swagger.” As I matured, life’s circumstances deepened my commitment to the arts. Whether it was processing the grief of police brutality victims or coping with the recent loss of my grandfather, choreography remained my solace. Now, as a Black artist, I envision spaces where my artistry intersects with advocacy for Black communities. Definitely a collegiate dance program will be that canvas—a place where my movements can continue to tell stories, heal wounds, and amplify voices. A program such as Howard’s dance program that I have recently been admitted to. Here, I will eagerly learn about versatile black thematic dances, unity, collaboration, and a deeper analysis of black cultural dances, tribal dances. Howard's Dance curriculum and Dance Ensemble in all genres would not only support my growth but deepen my appreciation of the performance of choreography. As an aspiring professional dancer, Howard’s dance program is key in my development and preparation as I work to train in either classical or commercial-based dance companies. Furthermore, the Rylie Scholarship with the task of preparing fearless leaders of art, 100% aligns with my goal of being a Professional dancer. I believe in Howard’s faculty turning my stationary potential into reality and this scholarship will help me be able to attend and engulf all of my teachings.

With each note from the trumpet, my body effortlessly followed suit, gracefully stepping stage right and executing multiple turns. As I perfected my pointed feet, I stood still under the hot lights, feeling the warmth as my arms and head reached toward the sky. Thoughts of the lyrics to “Home” were drowned out by the cheers of the audience. I had choreographed my movements to the likes of Diana Ross, as I thought about my own Blackness. I thought about what it meant for me to be Black in the United States and my desire to find a haven from police brutality. With each emphasized expansion and contraction of my body, I found myself responding to my pain of Breonna Taylor’s or George Floyd’s deaths. It was hard to rid myself of the feelings that I might be next. With the movements to “say her name”, the mental exhaustion was too much to bear. Turning my concerns and worries into dance movements, I created choreography that expressed my pain and frustration. With each step, I felt the sting in my heart as I watched my community endure violence at the hands of authorities. As a Black artist, I aspire to use my artistry to advocate for Black communities. Joining a collegiate Dance program or future dance companies, I hope to further my art of advocacy. While facing challenges such as how to best convey my message and which issues to address, the process of brainstorming content helps me find solutions. For a Black artist like myself, dance offers the opportunity to explore versatile Black thematic dances, unity, collaboration, and a deeper understanding of Black cultural and tribal dances. Enrolling in a dance program like Howard’s would not only support my artistic growth but also deepen my appreciation for choreography. Cheogrsohy created in my “African Dance l-lll” and “African and Seminar” classes that develop my West African and Afro-Caribbean training with access to professors such as Ofosuwa Abiola and Royce Zackery. Overall, my aspirations to join classical or commercial-based dance companies, Howard’s dance program is essential for my development and preparation. The Gayle scholarship brings me closer to achieving my goal of joining Howard’s dance program and becoming a professional dancer. I believe that Howard’s faculty can help me unlock my full potential and prepare me for success in future dance companies. As a Black woman, it is important for me to be affirmed in a space that fosters both my creativity and my passion for advocacy.