At the age of 4, I had to hear about my father’s death in hospital as I watched my mother’s tearfulness and loss for words. The sudden loss of my father left a void my mother cannot fill. It also created a financial burden on our family and forced my mother to work days and nights just to put food on our table. We did not have access to clean drinking water, fresh air, electricity, or a decent home. It was likewise difficult to get a good education. When the lantern's energy turned off, so did homework time. My mother always told me to study carefully before the lights turned out. Our options were limited: either remain in poverty and become sick in Vietnam or escape to a better life. We chose the latter. Coming to the U.S., I was amazed by how people lived. The inequity between the two countries—knowing how many people died or lingered in wretchedness simply because they did not have food, shelter, adequate medical care, or access to education—dismayed me. I struggled, not sure what to think of the excesses in my new world. I was shocked to see food wasted and surprised that students did not understand the value of their free education. Learning a new culture and language was difficult. While being an immigrant has been challenging, it is now a motivating force. I am driven by the values ingrained in me by my family: gaining as much knowledge as possible, being responsible, and giving back to the community to alleviate some of the sufferings that take place in the world. Watching my grandparents suffer from cancer instilled in me an interest in medicine. I joined a research program called Pathmakers, which helped me learn about different types of cell diseases. Through participation in The National Youth Leadership Forum: Medicine, I was introduced to an organization working to improve the quality of life for those facing cancer. Eventually, I was nominated by the National Academy of Future Physicians to shadow medical school deans. Driven by my aspiration to help others, I also established a club at my school to collect clothes and hygiene products to help the homeless, cancer patients, and kids with congenital disorders gain adequate resources. Since freshman year in high school, I started discovering the taste of a normal life: cultivating friendships, challenging myself with the most rigorous classes to not only pass but to learn from, and smiling genuinely. In the process, I discovered two important things. The first thing is my lesson in life: my adversities and ordeals are not my fault but are still my responsibility. The second thing is my purpose in life: volunteering allowed me to see the possible usage of psychology to help other people who suffer from mental traumas, challenges, and illnesses. Weathering adversity, I have come to understand that death is an inevitable loss and life is a cherished possession. I know time must be used wisely and never wasted. I have accomplished academic successes through hard work, resilience, and determination. I have learned that the key to freeing myself from poverty, adversity, and suffering stems from helping those in need and gaining knowledge through higher education. I know that with education, impossibilities become realities. I am determined to study biological science and its importance, to honor my grandparents by helping people battling cancer. I will take advantage of every opportunity before me to better my future, family, and community. I know that if I attack my future with persistence and resilience, success is inevitable.

The effects of a brain aneurysm, a disease with a high fatality rate and complex long-term health effects, have resulted in a permanent neurological deficit that deprived my aunt of her ability to perceive the world normally. Even though Auntie Trinh survived the disease, her brain can no longer function like any of ours anymore. The differences I have observed between my aunt’s brain and mine have prompted my interest in neuroscience and psychology from a young age as I began questioning how her brain functioned and processed stimuli differently. Eventually, I discovered a burning passion for brain research as I sought the roots behind my aunt’s disease that changed her entire life forever. Going to college, I want to pursue a major in neuroscience and a minor in psychology while following my pre-med track as an undergraduate. Attaining a Bachelor’s degree at the end of my four years would prepare me for a longer, more arduous journey that I have to embark on when I attend medical school. Studying in an extremely competitive environment at a university, I know I will find myself struggling with a new horizon of challenges that demand my dedication and courage and that I would never imagine before. Even so, the final result, a Bachelor’s degree that certifies my hard works, will serve as a reminder that I am one step closer to fulfilling my cherished dream of becoming a brain surgeon and having the opportunities to make a direct impact on people’s life who, like Auntie Trinh, had fallen victim to complex chronic diseases. Entering medical school, I am possessed by the knowledge that I would eventually be exposed to the intense courses and rigorous study as expected from those who dare to enter the medical field. No matter how prepared and dedicated I could be, I am no stranger to the fact that those hours of continuous mental stress and suffering from burnout will inevitably strain my energy, sway my mind from my ultimate goals, and make me question my initial decision I was once so firm about. Yet I can imagine how becoming a brain surgeon will grant me endless opportunities to touch the lives of many people whose lives are threatened by complex neurological disorders or spinal conditions. With my unwavering dedication driven by a feverish thirst for a better life, I want to contribute my acquired expertise and experience to the development of the neuroscience field through my cutting-edge brain researches that could unlock many doors to innovative treatments. Though becoming a brain surgeon is a dream, it is not my final destination. My career is not going to be tied only to the hospital setting; instead, I want to accomplish life-changing health projects that provide free clinics where affordable medical assistance can be provided regardless of the patient's immigration status. I also intend to provide an interpreter for patients in case they do not speak English and establish a financial assistance program to help patients who cannot pay for any type of surgery that needs to be performed. The brain works wonders that so many will never get to fully understand. I will not let myself be one of those people. I live a life driven by a desire to learn more about everything around me and inside me. I aspire to study neuroscience and psychology to gain an in-depth understanding of the human brain so that I can use my knowledge as a physician to help other people from becoming too harmed and damaged before they even have the chance to grow and thrive, like Auntie Trinh.

As a child, I have become familiar with the word Kiên Trì- or resilience in Vietnamese - spoken from my mother’s mouth either to my tendency to quit easily or my brother’s refusal to do his kindergarten homework. “You can’t give up, not now,” she would usually tell us. To me, I had never understood the word Kiên Trì and what it meant to my mother since my 10-year-old self was too consumed in living my little world inside my head. As I grew up, though, the admiration for my mother would drive me to grow beyond our hardships as I became inspired by incredible stories of my mother’s untold resilience and sacrifice. Born to a poor family of five children in Vietnam, my mother struggled to support the family financially at a very young age. Not long after her marriage, she suffered another tragedy when she lost her husband before giving birth to my little brother. This sudden loss left a void my mother cannot fill. Going through everything, she had to find ways to cope with our situation by working days and nights to put food on the table. Deep down, I know that this woman has suffered a tremendous amount of pain and restlessness that went unnoticed throughout nights of sleeplessness and days of intense labor, all just for the health and benefits of her children. The first time my mother saw an American flag, it was dripping with loss. Every morning for the last five years, I have watched her get ready for work and spend her days earning a pay wholly unreflective of her skills. Every night, I have watched her study towards a more comfortable grasp of English, determined to avoid another confrontation with the uncomfortable words “I can’t understand you”. Every morning, I have walked into school with a determination to honor the deep love that stains my mother’s heart and hands as she works endlessly to pursue the American dream. From the tiredness in her eyes, yet strength in her bones, I have come to share with my mother her boundless resilience and determination. Thus, in my life, my mother and her constant fight for a better life have become my greatest inspiration. Her definition of the word Kiên Trì has proved to me as an inescapable means through which honest, respectable work is created, and through which self-growth is achieved. It has shaped my outlook on academia, relationships, and surprisingly, my ability to embrace failure. Now as a college student, I'm aware of the synchronized rhythm that beats in the hearts of mine and my mother as I explore my own definition of Kiên Trì that reigns my mother’s life. Whenever I feel cornered by challenges in life, I breathe and remind myself that part of my hero’s resilient spirit is also flowing inside my body. I know that if I attack my future with the same persistence and resilience as my mother does in her everyday life, success is inevitable.

The effects of a brain aneurysm, a disease with a high fatality rate and complex long-term health effects, have resulted in a permanent neurological deficit that deprived my aunt of her ability to perceive the world normally. It had brought pain and distress to our family when Auntie Trinh came home from a trip to Japan with an impaired brain that no longer functions like any of ours anymore. From that day, my aunt became silent and started to behave like a child with the body of an adult. Sometimes, she would just articulate some inscrutable syllables that usually signified her hunger or thirst, or spend the entire day looking up at the ceiling while lying on her bed. “It was a miracle that she was able to survive from what happened to her brain. Not many doctors thought that she could make it even after surgery,” my uncle said. I knew it was such a miracle, but looking at the paralyzed body that once showed the generous love of a second mother always brought tears to my eyes and prompted endless questions about how my aunt’s brain functioned and processed differently. Eventually, I became interested in neuroscience and discovered a burning passion for brain research as I sought the roots behind my aunt’s disease that changed her entire life forever. Going to college, I want to pursue a major in neuroscience and a minor in psychology while following my pre-med track as an undergraduate. Attaining a Bachelor’s degree at the end of my four years would prepare me for a longer, more arduous journey that I have to embark on when I attend medical school. Studying in an extremely competitive environment at a university, I know I will find myself struggling with a new horizon of challenges that demand my dedication and courage and that I would never imagine before. Even so, the final result, a Bachelor’s degree that validates my hard works, will serve as a reminder that I am one step closer to fulfilling my cherished dream of becoming a brain surgeon and having the opportunities to make a direct impact on people’s life who, like Auntie Trinh, had fallen victim to complex chronic diseases. Furthermore, a Bachelor’s degree in neuroscience means that I am fully capable of intense biological and scientific research in the lab as well as working alongside other graduate students, medical students, physicians, and researchers towards a collaborative achievement. Entering medical school, I am possessed by the knowledge that I would eventually be exposed to the intense courses and rigorous study as expected from those who dare to enter the medical field. No matter how prepared and dedicated I could be, I am no stranger to the fact that those hours of continuous mental stress and suffering from burnout will inevitably strain my energy, sway my mind from my ultimate goals, and make me question my initial decision I was once so firm about. Yet I am more aware that the years of study and training would pay off when I successfully complete my doctor of medicine, or MD, degree before choosing to practice as a certified neurosurgeon in the hospital. To me, nothing could be more fulfilling than seeing myself equipped with the knowledge, professionalism, and compassion that go with the title. Either walking in the white coat to check on patients or dressing in the blue scrubs during surgery, I can imagine how becoming a brain surgeon will grant me endless opportunities to touch the lives of many people whose lives are threatened by complex neurological disorders or spinal conditions. With my unwavering dedication driven by a feverish thirst for a better life, I want to contribute my acquired expertise and experience to the development of the neuroscience field through my cutting-edge brain researches that could unlock many doors to innovative treatments. Though becoming a brain surgeon is a dream, it is not my ultimate goal. My career is not going to be tied only to the hospital setting; instead, I want to accomplish a life-changing health project that provides a free clinic where affordable medical assistance can be provided regardless of the patient's immigration status. I also intend to provide an interpreter for patients in case they do not speak English and establish a financial assistance program to help patients who are not able to pay for any type of surgery that needs to be performed. No matter how ambitious I am with my dreams and goals, I am no stranger to the fact that most pre-med students do not end up as doctors, most do not even make it to medical school. As strongly as I believe this will not be me, I must not turn a blind eye to the possibility. Should I choose to stray off the path to medical school, a Bachelor’s Degree in neuroscience opens up the possibility of jobs in forensic science, which would also be an exciting career. With a neuroscience degree, I could continue my education to pursue a Master’s Degree and become a physician’s assistant if I happen to find that medical school is more than I can commit to. I will still continue to contribute back to underserved populations that struggle every day to sustain a family, and who do not have as much access to medical assistance as other privileged groups. Personally, I do not see this scholarship as financial aid to earn a lucrative degree for a better life. Rather, I see it as an honor and a responsibility because it means someone has faith in me—that I could eventually become a person who can help better our society no matter how small. It would mean someone is giving me a chance to earn a degree that allows me to help my community beyond the facility. It would mean my chance to become a person who can help stop the blood from bleeding, to help other people from becoming too harmed and damaged, like Auntie Trinh.

In 7th grade, a classmate told me that all East Asians were either really hot or really ugly. It won a few agreements, but I sat stunned. “What am I?” I demanded. His face scrunched up a little. At the time, I was 12-year-old, and I was plain. He, however, had summed up people who share my basic features as either the supermodels he saw in advertisements or the nameless mass of pinch-faced Chinese mobsters in movies. Eventually, he called me ugly. Between “ugly,” “hot,” and “what I said was stupid, sorry,” insulting me was the least embarrassing response for him. In 9th grade, some boys on my bus asked me if I could see well. I replied that I was slightly near-sighted, but one of them corrected me, “No, I mean how wide do your eyes open?” I opened my eyes wide. They laughed and asked, “That’s it?” In 11th grade, we learned about the violence inflicted by the Japanese during World War II. A girl in my grade joked, “I guess you have the killing blood, then.” I wondered if she even told our German friend that she had the killing blood, too. To put things in context, my school, an 11-acre junk of land inside the city of New Orleans, teaches the national French curriculum in its original French. Thus, most students are from countries with cultural and historical ties to France, making it a mix of students of European, Arab, and African descent, an assorted fusion of international francophonie. In 2017, when I arrived at the school, I was the only Asian on campus. I was shocked. My classmates were shocked. Everyone was confused at seeing me. I was an outsider even in diversity. I have been asked every conceivable race-related question, often with good intentions, but with negative implications. For lack of exposure to Asian Americans, my classmates sometimes just don’t know better. As I befriended them, I learned to correct them, pleasantly but firmly. In the end, though, their words did affect me. I grew up justifying my ethnicity. I grew up convincing people my grades weren’t a product of some intellect-enhancing gene or Tiger Mom-induced overachievement, but of a neat trick called studying like everyone else. I grew up explaining that I was in a French school because my family and I value humanities and languages, not just math and sciences. I grew up consulted as the representative of all things East Asian, even though I am just one person, born in a country and raised in another. At first, my gut reaction to being different was to deny it. I didn’t actually tell people, “I’m not Asian,” but I did the subconscious equivalent and alienated myself from my ethnic identity. I played along with the stereotypes and told the jokes I knew kids would laugh at, about my high marks, my subpar P.E. scores, my “weird” food. I realize now how counterproductive it was, but at the time I believed I would be accepted, that I would be that “cool Asian” who wasn’t like the others, who could take a joke. Ethnicity goes beyond being a joke. Racial stereotypes box us in. We only know what we see and hear. Asian Americans are told they are good at math and science, don’t see many Asian CEO, hardly ever see Asian actors, never study Asian authors: a vicious cycle of monkey-doesn’t-see-monkey-doesn’t-do. Only recently have I even thought to distinguish my real passions from my socialized ones. I know now that, even if ethnicity is a meaningful part of me, how other people see it does not define me. My interest in art, languages, history, and geography is no less real than my interest in math because of the shape of my eyes or the tint of my skin.

I came from a poor family that lived in small towns outside of the big city in Vietnam. My mother was a seamstress, my father an architect who struggled to find jobs when there were not many opportunities around in our small town. When I turned four, my father died from a heart disease that had been building up inside his body as a result of sleepless working nights and poor dietary habits. This sudden loss left a void my mother cannot fill. It also created a financial burden on our family and forced my mother, who just gave birth to my brother, to work days and nights to put food on our table and to take care of our new family member. At a very young age, I learned to take responsibility for my family and myself. Since my mother was always busy with her work and my newborn brother, I had to adapt myself to doing everything alone. While my peers received much help with homework from their parents, I would find myself struggling with questions in the middle of the night until I became too exhausted and fell to sleep. Gradually, I developed a sense of independence and solely focused on doing my tasks by myself without seeking help. To fill the void left by my father on my little brother, I learned to adapt the image of a good role model by teaching my brother proper manners and guiding him in his academics so that he can do well. Being the firstborn child of a family of three imposed immense challenges on me, yet it was the only thing that stimulated my motivation and drove my decisions as I would seek a better life for my family. Even though my mother was the only provider and caregiver for both of us, I always knew that I had to acknowledge my responsibilities and become someone who could protect my small family. When I was twelve, my mother was married to a man who she met and fell in love with. Together, we decided to migrate to the United States of America to live with our step-father, leaving the place where I call my first home to seek a new life that awaits us in a new country. My mother barely knew English, so I became her translator for medical appointments and in every single interaction with English speakers even though English was also something new to me. Even until now, I still translate for her and I teach my mother conversational English. Sometimes, lacking sufficient proficiency in the English language in daily conversation with native speakers would cast me to the island of self-insecurity and isolation. My fear of interacting with English speakers consumed my mind and brought me back from exposing my true self to the world. Eventually, I realized that the seed of social fear which roots shackled my life needed to be uprooted. I had to conquer my fear of people and learn how to connect and trust them. I started to get out of my comfort zone by forcing myself to raise my hand often in classes. Gradually, I began enjoying class discussions and many activities with my peers. My English skills significantly improved, and my self-confidence soared throughout my class discussion as well as my daily interactions with other people. With my newfound confidence, I soon won my teachers’ heart and received much selfless assistance from everybody, seeing myself exceed both academically and socially at school. I learned to take everything I do seriously and to put in all my effort to complete tasks such as becoming the leader of my school’s publishing club in my sophomore year and Key Club in my junior year. Along the way, I would come into contact with peers whose backgrounds moved me with stories of being born as the first child of a family with three or even four children. Like me, they struggled greatly with English and had to find ways to support their families with financial insecurities. Yet, the way they embraced their life challenges with unmovable determination and motivation would always remind me of my situation and the duty to protect my loved ones. My years of living without a father have taught me nothing but lessons of resilience and self-belief. Now working part-time to support my family financially and to help pay for my college in the future, I can look forward to fulfilling my potentials and finally realizing my cherished dream for my family. I can imagine stepping onto a U.S college campus as a first-generation student and pursuing a major in neuroscience while discovering the abundant opportunities to give back to the community. I want to become a leader who could lead the long, arduous fight for free health care policies and involve in many impactful decisions that can ultimately improve the quality of life for everyone. I want to be the head of a community organization that combines philanthropic efforts in medicine to deliver health education and care to minority groups all over the city I live in. Personally, I do not see this scholarship as financial aid to earn a lucrative degree for a better life. Rather, I see it as an honor and a responsibility because it means someone has faith in me—that I could eventually become a person who can help better our society no matter how small. It would mean someone is giving me a chance to earn a degree that allows me to help my community beyond the facility. It would mean my chance to become a person who can help stop the blood from bleeding, to help other people from becoming too harmed and damaged before they even have the chance to grow and thrive, like me.

One of the most significant adversities I have faced in my life is my social anxiety disorder. At the age of 4, I had to hear about my father’s death in hospital as I watched my mother’s tearfulness and loss for words. The sudden loss of my father left a void my mother cannot fill. It also created a financial burden on our family and forced my mother to work days and nights just to put food on our table. Growing up without a father, I struggled greatly to deal with my emotions and found it hard to find the cure to heal the wound in my heart. Gradually, all the unwanted grievances that haunted me throughout my childhood had cast me to the island of self-isolation. I resolved to refrain from expressing my emotions to anybody, possessed by the fear of exposing my bleeding wound to the world. Even after my immigration to the United States in 2016, the barrier of my social unfamiliarity magnified. In middle school, I was constantly teased by other peers about my "Chinese" accent. I started to avoid other people, compromising my social development. To my mother, seeking a new life in a new country is never an easy task. She was always the victim of discrimination at her work because of her limited knowledge of the English language. Wanting to help my mother overcome her language barrier and our survival in a foreign country, I needed to speak up-I needed to change. To overcome my language barrier, I immersed myself in trying to improve my English proficiency, equipping my mind with new knowledge of vocabularies attained from books. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to absorb all the information, my ideas were still trapped inside my head with no way to release them into the world, no way to bring them to life. I realized that the seed of social fear which roots shackled my life needed to be uprooted. I had to conquer my fear of people and learn how to connect and trust them. I must push myself out of my comfort zone. In my sophomore year, I decided to sign up to tutor orphans at a local foster home, hoping to help and inspire those who faced the same unfortunate fate. Throughout this eye-opening experience, I was able to meet and share with the children and peers, who are my age, stories of my traumatizing experience in childhood and how I overcame it. I also had seen some children who, like me, became depressed and withdrawn from their surroundings and other peers as a result of their past experiences. They would always remind me of my old self, too scared to let the world hear my voice and too diffident to believe that I, too, could shake mountains with my mind. Moved by the similarity between my background and the children’s stories, I decided to offer them emotional support to help them cope and recover from the intangible pains that plagued their lives. Over time, the orphans and I became attached and established congenial friendships. Also, volunteering to help and inspire them to look at life from a different angle taught me to appreciate life and recognize my potentials. I had learned my lesson. After all, how can I hope to change the world if I am too scared to let it hear my voice? How can I want to make a difference when I do not any have confidence in myself? Each individual has the capability to change the community, but change can only come when they are willing to speak up their beliefs and let their voice be heard. All it takes is a strong mind and an unmovable faith that I, too, can shake mountains with my mind. This newfound perception will benefit me greatly when I step onto a U.S college campus as a first-generation student and pursue my career as a surgeon in the future. Being more socially confident will not only allow me to engage in new meaningful relationships but also help build my ability to communicate with my other peers and learn from them. Furthermore, I will be able to discuss my ideas more freely and contribute more to the advancement of the medical field. I know I could fulfill my mission of giving back to the community that is in dire need of change and progress. I want to become a leader who could lead the long, arduous fight for free health care policies and involve in many impactful decisions that can ultimately improve the quality of life for everyone. I want to be the head of a community organization that combines philanthropic efforts in medicine to deliver health education and care to minority groups all over the city I live in. To accomplish these goals, I know that I have to be the community's voice, refusing to stay silent on any issues that need to be addressed. Overcoming my introverted self and embracing my confidence will help lay a solid foundation for my efforts to shake up the status quo and, hopefully, become an inspiration for the young generations to follow. Personally, I do not see this scholarship as a financial aid to earn a lucrative degree for a better life. Rather, I see it as an honor and a responsibility because it means someone has faith in me—that I could eventually become a person who can help better our society no matter how small. It would mean someone is giving me a chance to earn a degree that allows me to help my community beyond the facility. It would mean my chance to become a person who can help stop the blood from bleeding, to help other people from becoming too harmed and damaged before they even have the chance to grow and thrive.

At the age of four, I had to hear about my father’s death in hospital as I watched my mother’s tearfulness and loss for words. When I entered eighth grade, another bad news hit me: my aunt was hospitalized due to a burst blood vessel in her brain. As a kid, I was possessed by the naive assumption that a hospital was where my loved ones would only go in and never come out. However, the unforgettable experience that I had while visiting my aunt at a hospital had opened my eyes to the vital role doctors and nurses play in the life of everyday people like my family and myself. I could see my altitude shifting as I picked up the images of the nurses helping patients and the appreciation of their help in the people’s smiles. It was not the scene of people suffering before they took their last breath; instead, the whole scene was filled with nurses roaming around to help with their patients’ needs, with doctors hiding their exhaustion with warm smiles after a successful surgery. Although my aunt could not fully recover from her brain injury, the impact that the healthcare team had on her, my family, and I will serve as a starting point of my fascination with the medical field. I told myself that I have to become a physician, who not only stands for knowledge and professionalism but also possesses generous compassion and unmovable will to improve the health and well-being of all people. During my time in college, I could envision pursuing the human science major, equipping myself with new knowledge through the school’s academics and flexible core structure. Within this course of study, I would continue experiencing experiential learning opportunities and continuing my passion for scientific research in various laboratory settings. Furthermore, I want to engage myself in the examination of the basic principles of genetics as well as the role of genetics in common adult disease and discuss genetic disease categories that surpass the capability of innovative treatments. I hope to solve my biggest questions about how genetics play a role in heart diseases, which are also the main causes of my father’s death. For minor, I would love to learn more about Japanese because I believe that knowing another language that is not my native language would be useful in many situations and would allow me to take a closer look into a different culture. Possessing some certain knowledge about the Japanese language would grant me a significant advantage when I volunteer abroad in Japan during my undergraduate summer. This experience would not only provide me impactful opportunities to shadow Japanese physicians in pediatric hospitals but also encourage interconnection between students and doctors, who belong to different cultures. Overall, I want to major in human science in college because it will allow me to pursue my life goal, conduct my research, and touch the lives of people, both near and far.

“I need everybody’s attention, please. Next week, there will be a STEM research competition held at South University of New Orleans,” said Ms. Simon, my geometry teacher in my tenth grade, “It is open to all high school students, and I think anyone interested in it should take a shot and sign up.” My heart jumped up and down with excitement, and my imagination went wild at the thought that I could have a chance to research math or science, my favorite subjects. Soon, that excitement immediately dropped when I thought about presenting my ideas to others. I would quickly lose my train of thought and believe in giving up before I even started. Being an immigrant in a foreign country was not easy. In middle school, I was constantly teased by other peers about my "Chinese" accent. Growing up with the fear of communication, I resolved to become less sociable and immerse myself in books and knowledge, figuring out that it was for the benefits of myself and my future. Now sitting in front of the registration form and being overwhelmed with anxiety, I mustered all my courage and gave it a shot. I worked incessantly on this project, spending five to eight days researching and even longer just to practice my presentation. To take advantage of every second in the night before the big day, I revised my presentation countless times before my mom and brother. I practiced breathing slowly, holding eye contact, and concentrating on my fluency while speaking. I was ready. The day finally arrived. My heart quickened slightly as I walked into a room not much larger than a classroom. I finished setting up everything and started to take a deep breath. Fifteen minutes passed, and the judges finally came. The universal silence that prevailed among the students had now been fired up with conversations. A lady approached me. She introduced herself and asked me to start my presentation. My voice shook as I led the judge from one idea to another. As I continued, though, I became more and more confident in my presentation. Suddenly, the lady asked me questions about my research’s significance and how it could be applied in reality. At these words, I felt myself hitting a solid wall. My cheeks glowed hotly, and my mouth turned to sandpaper. I could feel my heartbeat faster and faster under my breast-thump thump, thump thump. I had ideas trapped inside my head with no way to release them into the world, no way to bring them to life. I was too scared. Slowly, I caught my breath and mustered up the courage to answer the questions. A sudden change happened on the lady’s face. She had a sort of look in her eyes that grew interested in what I just said. For a brief moment, when I looked at her, I realized that people actually care to know what I had to say. My confidence soared, and I became more fluent in my presentation and answered other judges’ questions. In the end, my research project won me second place in the competition. From that moment, I realized that I do not need to have a perfect accent to communicate or express my thoughts. I started to look at my life differently. I had learned my lesson. After all, how can I hope to change the world if I am too scared to let it hear my voice? How can I want to make a difference when I do not any have confidence in myself? Each individual has the capability to change the community, but change can only come when they are willing to speak up their beliefs and let their voice be heard. All it takes is a strong mind and an unmovable faith that I, too, can shake mountains with my mind. This newfound perception will benefit me greatly when I pursue my career as a surgeon in the future. Being more socially confident will not only allow me to engage in new meaningful relationships but also help build my ability to communicate with my patients and understand them more. Furthermore, in the hospital setting, I will be able to discuss my ideas more freely and contribute more to the advancement of the medical field. I know I could fulfill my mission of giving back to the community that is in dire need of change and progress. I want to become a leader who could lead the long, arduous fight for free health care policies and involve in many impactful decisions that can ultimately improve the quality of life for everyone. I want to be the head of a community organization that combines philanthropic efforts in medicine to deliver health education and care to minority groups all over the city I live in. To accomplish these goals, I know that I have to be the community's voice, refusing to stay silent on any issues that need to be addressed. Overcoming my introspective self and embracing my self-confidence will help lay a solid foundation for my efforts to shake up the status quo and, hopefully, become an inspiration for the young generations to follow. Dalai Lama, a famous Tibetan Buddhist monk, once said, "With realization of one's own potential and self-confidence in one's ability, one can build a better world." I will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation or insecurity anymore. I will not conform to others' judgments or distrust myself because of people's opinions. Instead, I will speak up. I will stay strong and confident. I will be the person who can build a better world and touch the lives of people, both near and far.