On Wednesday, May 29, 2024, I graduated high school with only my sister in the crowd cheering for me. I should have felt proud at that moment. I had applied to every college myself, filled out the FAFSA, and navigated every confusing step of the process with my school’s career office as my only support. But all I could think about was what came next; the pressure to survive college financially and emotionally, without a safety net. Starting college meant I had to figure out an entirely new system all while trying to keep myself afloat. My sister and I are first-generation immigrants from Haiti. We came to the U.S. with big hopes of attending college and little support. I pushed through senior year determined to make my mother proud, even if she was cheering from miles away. I sent her a picture of me in my cap and gown. She said, “I’m glad you kept going” Getting accepted to all my colleges and committing to my first choice felt like a dream come true. But no one tells you what happens after the acceptance letters. Those first few weeks in college were brutal. I went to office hours, kept a planner, and met with professors. I did everything "right", but I still found myself crying on my dorm floor more nights than I wanted to admit. While many of my peers could focus solely on classes, I was managing financial stress and housing insecurity while trying to be emotionally present for my family. So why did I keep going? Continuing my education is a quiet act of resilience; I show up each day despite the fear of failure. It's radical because, as a first-generation immigrant and student, I'm stepping into institutions that weren't designed with people like me in mind. My presence challenges expectations of where I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to accept, and who I'm allowed to be. Higher education for me isn’t just about a degree. It’s learning how to lead with compassion, whether that means helping a classmate struggling like I was or using my knowledge to help family friends translate documents or even schedule their appointments when needed. It's about learning to ask difficult questions, like why some of us carry so much more than others into the classroom, and how we can build spaces where all voices, including mine, belong. It's learning to understand others and myself beyond the boxes we've been placed in. And when my future children or my younger brother ask why I kept going, I want to say, " Because I had to – for us” That’s why I do it. That’s how I’ve prepared: by refusing to give up on my right to feel human, to dream, to rest, and to grow. Even when those things were never guaranteed to me.

My mother always told me that education was the key to freedom. She didn’t say it loudly but through her sacrifices. I remember the night she sat me and my older sister down and said we would be moving to the US. I was twelve at the time, and I didn’t fully grasp the weight of that moment. What I did understand was that we were leaving behind everything familiar: our neighborhood, our routines, and the people we loved. We came to the U.S. with hope and uncertainty. I moved in with my father, who was already living here. Adjusting to a new country, new systems, and a new household dynamic was not easy. But I kept going. Through middle school and into high school, I held on to the quiet belief that I could build a different life. The summer before my freshman year of high school, I made a list. It wasn’t just a list of academic goals, but a roadmap. I knew my family couldn’t afford college so I had to figure it out on my own. I met with my guidance counselor, researched scholarships, and got involved in as many extracurriculars as I could while balancing a difficult home environment. I learned everything I could about the college application process so that by senior year, I was ready. I completed my FAFSA, applied to schools, wrote countless essays, and submitted them all ahead of time. Now that I finished my first year of college, I’ve come to understand that getting in was just one step. My mission now is to help others do the same. That’s why I became a Matriculate advising fellow. Through this nonprofit, I mentor high school students through the college application process, especially those who, like me, are first-generation students navigating unfamiliar systems. I want them to know they are not alone. But there’s more to me than my academic story. Who am I in the midst of it all? I’m a writer learning how to speak from the heart. A daughter learning how to forgive. A young woman healing and building her own identity outside of survival mode. I want to grow with others, not in front of them or above them. Someone who values empathy as a form of leadership. My struggles with anxiety and emotional burnout have reshaped the way I think about impact. I used to think success meant climbing the ladder quickly. Now, I believe impact means listening more deeply, showing up authentically, and offering softness in spaces that are often too harsh. I believe healing is activism, and compassion is a radical form of resistance. My long-term goal is to create spaces where people feel seen, heard, and empowered. Whether that’s through advocating for women’s health, working in government, or simply uplifting her peers, I want my life to reflect the values that carried me this far: empathy, persistence, and curiosity. Education gave me language for what I’d lived through. It gave me tools to imagine better futures; not just for myself, but for those who come after me. That’s the heart of everything I do: making sure that the next student, the next young woman, doesn’t have to do it all alone. Every paper I write, every shift I work, every student I help is a step toward that vision. I’m not exactly sure what my future job title will be, but I know the kind of person I want to become. Someone who leads with compassion, fights for equity, and keeps showing up even when the road gets hard.

Growing up, I always felt like life was shaped by rules that everyone had to follow, and that was just the way it was supposed to be. A child went to school, parents went to work, and people lived the lives expected of them. But as I got older, I started to wonder: why? My illusion of normal was shattered when I realized that not everyone lives or shares the same version of “normal”. Some people live with different rules, different opportunities, and different struggles. That pushed me to wonder how we even got to this place to start with. Why do we all have those unspoken expectations tied to us? That early sense of questioning stayed with me and led me to pursue higher education. I wanted to understand much more about why things are the way they are. During my first year of college, especially in my government and philosophy classes, I realized how deeply connected everything is. The Enlightenment ideals shaped the culture and values we live with today. What adults around me would describe as “just the way things were” turned out to be a product of history, psychology, and the power structures we inherited. Having the language and knowledge to understand these forces now feels like a gift; a way to move forward with clarity. The Buddhist idea of dependent arising or oneness suggests that nothing exists in isolation; this resonated with me deeply. A tree can stand tall because of the soil, the sun, the rain, and the hands that nurture it. In the same way, people are shaped not just by personal experiences but also by the histories and communities they come from. Although I’m not a Buddhist, this belief in interconnection reflects the truth I have witnessed in my life. Science supports this too. Research shows that trauma can be passed down genetically, shaping us in ways we might not even recognize. As a first-generation college student, I carry the dreams and struggles of generations before me. It’s always a struggle between doing things for myself while simultaneously acknowledging and respecting their sacrifices. My mother’s experiences shaped the way she raised me, and my experiences shape the way I move through the world now; I’ve learned to treat others with kindness, patience, and understanding. That is why I’m committed to using my education and lived experiences to create spaces where others feel seen and heard. Whether through policy work, volunteering, or storytelling. I want to help people understand the legacy they carry– and show that by acknowledging our shared history, we can move toward healing and change. Every action leaves a legacy. By honoring the stories that came before us, we can build a better, more compassionate world.

The summer of my junior year of high school, I attended a workshop that catered towards identity and building skills for students. I remember clearly one of the activities we had to do for this was to build a bear, then to write a letter and place it inside. The prompt for this letter was to write a message to your future self that you would open after your first year of college. At that point, the idea of going to college terrified me. I was struggling mentally and had just taken my first step towards finding a therapist. As I looked around that room and saw others writing, I realized that I never had a set dream. At least not like those people who knew they would become doctors when they were five. I was just surviving, so I wrote myself a few short lines and scribbled down a checklist of things to do when I opened the letter. Fast-forward, here we are now in 2025, and I'm a few weeks shy of finishing my freshman year of college. I kept the plushie but out of sheer curiosity and impatience, I opened the letter back in February. The moment I read those words; I found relief in knowing that I could change my mind. The words that struck me were: “It’s okay if BioChem doesn’t work out. Dreams change.”, Those words brought me to tears because for the last two semesters, I was battling not just academic stress but the weight of anxiety, doubt and fear that came with letting go of a path I thought would define me. Those words reminded me that I'm allowed to be human and that changing direction is okay no matter what. Anxiety has reshaped both how I see the world and myself, in ways that words can only begin to describe. I've learned to be patient, gentle and truly to be more intentional because everyone is carrying their own weight. It is not necessarily a job title, but I hope to carry a future where I help create spaces for others to feel understood, seen, and heard. Whether that is through advocating for women's health, government work, or volunteering to help high school students who are in the space I was just a few years ago. I want to show up with empathy– and be part of the change that shifts around the system that hurts the most vulnerable. To turn this into reality, I've been challenging myself to stretch beyond my own comfort zone. I believe that supporting others requires knowledge that I do not already have, but it also requires listening. Reading this letter made me realize that the only dream I had set for myself from the start was to be compassionate to myself and to others because it really is needed in this life. I’ve been persistent through hard times and that has shown me how patience and softness are needed to heal. Every paper I write, every conversation I have, and every shift I work brings me closer to the kind of work I want to do. What really matters is learning to enjoy the process, because even if the destination changes, you'll be where you want to be. Healing and growth aren't linear. I've experienced it, and that's why I want to show up with compassion every day.

When I moved to the US at 12, it was a real shift. I was suddenly stripped of a big part of all that I was used to, whether it was language, people, or systems, and that took a huge toll on me. My family and members of my community that I knew growing up were now all hundreds of miles away with only a phone to connect us, and at times, that phone call was not enough. It was a big change, and for a long time, I could not process it. Like many young people, I was in search of connection; but I had to start from scratch since I was in a completely new environment. Amongst all these struggles, I was grateful to experience some good moments, and this included getting my first phone. I remember being so happy. I loved the phone case with green polka dots I had brought for it. It was with that phone that I started using Webtoons. Webtoons is a webcomic app I found, and it offers a variety of stories that are either self-published or originals. Not even one week into using it I had already fallen in love with a story there. I think it was still ongoing since the translations to French were slow, so I decided to switch my whole app to English to read it. This was a leap of courage since the language barrier was still very present. My choice at that moment was deeply grounded in my determination to know what was next for the plot. It lit up once again the passion I had for reading. Although I needed more support in these moments to enjoy a lifelong hobby, I nevertheless enjoyed it. Google Translate and these drawings became my best help for a good while. I used to hear people say that learning things required motivation and patience but, this experience put it into perspective for me. I always felt the need to rush to understand it all but sitting down and taking it slow made me value the patience and consistency it takes to achieve more. By the end of my first year in the US, Webtoons had become an integral part of my routine. I had made friends and acquaintances through the app. It significantly helped me improve my vocabulary too. It was my support through all the changes and now I see it as a facet of my identity. I still use Webtoons to this date and it holds value to me. I’ve grown to love and learn something new with every single story I’ve read. There is this comfort it brings me that I can't find anywhere else. All these experiences combined gave me a new look into who I am as an individual and how I work best to achieve my goals. I now see change as an opportunity to learn more about myself and to open doors to new communities. Chaos will always be present, so I will try my best to face it using all the things I already love and cherish while accepting the new. In conclusion, overcoming adversity requires finding sources of comfort and motivation amidst the chaos. For me, Webtoons became that source, providing not just entertainment, but also a means to improve my language skills, make new friends, and rediscover my passion for reading. Through this journey, I learned the importance of patience, consistency, and embracing change. These lessons have become integral to my identity, equipping me to face future challenges with resilience and optimism.