My journey into medicine began with Mr. P—a 90-year-old man who took a chance on a middle schooler with a rake and a willingness to work. What started as landscaping turned into one of the most formative relationships of my life. Over the years, Mr. P grew from client to friend, mentor, and eventually a patient I cared for. I drove him to doctor’s appointments, dressed his wounds, and spent time with him when he needed me most. He shared his wisdom, and in my own way, I shared mine. Mr. P showed me that empathy isn’t something you turn on—it’s something you live by. That lesson, planted into my soul for life, is why I chose to pursue medicine. Today, as a pre-med student, I try to live out those early lessons through service to the underserved. Every week, I walk the streets of downtown Pittsburgh with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, carrying bags of food, hygiene products, and clothing. One bitter January night, a homeless man asked me only for a sweatshirt. As we searched for the right size, he began to cry, then slowly shared his life story, grateful to be heard by someone willing to listen. In that moment, I didn’t just see his need; I saw his resilience, despite being emptied of his humanity. That man was one among communities of people who are stereotyped, shunned, and mistreated, yet somehow managed to maintain profound strength and kindness. Weekly, I volunteer at a free health clinic, where I witness firsthand how healthcare disproportionately favors those with better financial means; moreover, poverty is not a failure, but a circumstance that strips away dignity, support systems, and access to healthcare. In both the streets and the clinic, I’ve learned that the greatest impacts come from listening and compassion, seeing people for who they are and not what they lack. These experiences have shaped my long-term goal to become a practicing physician who listens to paying patients and underserved communities alike. After my undergraduate and medical school careers, I hope to save money as a doctor to eventually run a healthcare nonprofit. There will be no assumption about what a traditionally marginalized community needs. Rather, my healthcare approach will be individual and adaptable, especially for those who lack the resources to be flexible themselves. My ideal nonprofit organization would function as both a clinic and a community space. All patients—regardless of background—feel heard and respected. It would offer primary care services, mental health support, and social resources like transportation coordination and housing assistance. Away from the clinic, I want to advocate for reform in the healthcare system to ensure that all patients can afford to be seen, even if speaking out is uncomfortable. By directly asking the community about its needs, I believe we can push the boundaries of healthcare. I often think back to the life-long lessons that Mr. P taught me about genuine concern, patience, and empathy. I reflect on the coldest winter nights when members of the homeless community make small requests for basic items to survive. These experiences remind me that service doesn’t need to be complex to be meaningful. I want to be part of the growing movement of doctors who lead with both strength and softness—who advocate fiercely and listen humbly. I am ready to use my education and experiences to treat symptoms and make lasting impacts in the healthcare system. I will become a physician who provides hope to those who have long felt invisible, dedicated to making healthcare in my community more compassionate, equitable, and accessible for all.

My senior year of high school, I fought my toughest, yet most invisible battle. After weeks in the ICU, my father was diagnosed with sepsis, suffering multiple strokes, a spinal infection, a torn heart valve, and more. Those months, I could hardly eat or talk, as praying for my father’s life was engulfing my own. Little did I know, those long months would transform my distant relationship with Jesus into a personal one; I found new meaning in what it meant to have faith in God. Before my dad was in the hospital, I thought time was something I could count on. There would always be more chances to accomplish my goals or foster better relationships with my family. But after living through the worst period of my life, I learned that nothing is guaranteed—not even tomorrow, our health, or the people we love most. The only constant thing in one's life is faith in something more, faith that we are called to fulfill God’s plan, serve others, and love everyone. So, as someone I love comes so close to losing it all, I live my life with more intention. When I feel called to satisfy a need for the Lord, I set goals and pursue it without hesitation. I live fully, love fiercely, and act now, because there is no telling what the future holds. Peter 4:10 reminds us, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another.” For me, that gift is my ambition to provide for others and my passion for medicine. Weekly, I walk the streets of downtown Pittsburgh with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, carrying bags of food, hygiene products, and clothing. One bitter January night, a homeless man asked me only for a sweatshirt. He slowly shared his life story and began to cry, grateful to be heard by someone willing to listen. In that moment, I didn’t just see his need; I saw his resilience, despite being emptied of his humanity. That man was one among communities of people who are stereotyped, shunned, and mistreated, yet somehow maintain profound strength and kindness. Weekly, I volunteer at a free clinic, where I witness firsthand how healthcare disproportionately favors those with better financial means; moreover, poverty is not a failure, but a circumstance that strips away dignity, support systems, and access to healthcare. In both the streets and the clinic, I’ve learned that the greatest impacts come from listening and compassion, not seeing people for what they lack but for who they are, just like Jesus in the Gospels. I know my weekly handouts are meaningful, but I also know they are not enough. Rather, a long-term change requires systemic vision. I want to become a practicing physician rooted in listening to my patients and underserved communities alike. My faith reminds me of how Jesus healed the sick, sat with the outcasts, listened without judgment, and served. After my undergraduate and medical school careers, I hope to save money as a doctor to one day run a nonprofit. I want to create an organization that responds to as many people as possible, just like Jesus who never turned anyone away. There will be no assumption about what a traditionally marginalized community needs. Rather, my healthcare approach will be individual and adaptable, especially for those who lack the resources to be flexible themselves. My faith will be the foundation of the mission, treating every person as they were made in God’s perfect image. In John 13:14-15, Jesus tells his disciples, “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” This verse calls me to serve humbly and wholeheartedly, something I strive to do through my volunteer work, academics, and eventually my career in medicine. The pain of nearly losing my father led to the best transformation in my relationship with Jesus, and my experiences with underserved populations have deepened my purpose with God even further. I pursue higher education to become a vessel of God’s love as a doctor dedicated to the service and healing of others.

My journey into medicine began with Mr. P—a 90-year-old man who took a chance on a middle schooler with a rake and a willingness to work. What started as landscaping turned into one of the most formative relationships of my life. Over the years, Mr. P grew from client to friend, mentor, and eventually a patient I cared for. I drove him to doctor’s appointments, dressed his wounds, and spent time with him when he needed me most. He shared his wisdom, and in my own way, I shared mine. Mr. P showed me that empathy isn’t something you turn on—it’s something you live by. That lesson, planted into my soul for life, is why I chose to pursue medicine. Today, as a pre-med student, I try to live out those early lessons through service to the underserved. Every week, I walk the streets of downtown Pittsburgh with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, carrying bags of food, hygiene products, and clothing. One bitter January night, a homeless man asked me only for a sweatshirt. As we searched for the right size, he began to cry, then slowly shared his life story, grateful to be heard by someone willing to listen. In that moment, I didn’t just see his need; I saw his resilience, despite being emptied of his humanity. That man was one among communities of people who are stereotyped, shunned, and mistreated, yet somehow managed to maintain profound strength and kindness. Weekly, I volunteer at a free health clinic, where I witness firsthand how healthcare disproportionately favors those with better financial means; moreover, poverty is not a failure, but a circumstance that strips away dignity, support systems, and access to healthcare. In both the streets and the clinic, I’ve learned that the greatest impacts come from listening and compassion, not seeing people for what they lack but for who they are. By itself, the healthcare system in the United States is well-intentioned. We have one of the most innovative countries in the world for developing easier tools, more effective medicines, and new procedures to help treat the sick. However, a system so profound is bound to have flaws. Our country’s foundation and values lie in capitalism, and as I have seen firsthand, a significant number of people cannot buy into our current system of healthcare. I believe that the medical field is not just about prescribing medicine in offices and diagnosing illnesses in hospitals; I believe that, as healthcare workers, caring for patients means even serving the financially burdened. Our job is to help the sick and injured, and sometimes that responsibility lies beyond the walls of our employer. These realizations have deepened my desire to study medicine, as well as to advocate for healthcare reform, access, and equity. My long-term goal is to become a practicing physician who listens to paying patients and underserved communities alike. After my undergraduate and medical school careers, I hope to save money as a doctor to eventually run a nonprofit. Rather than implementing strict policies that only support narrow segments of underserved populations, I want to create an organization that responds to as many people as possible. There will be no assumption about what a traditionally marginalized community needs. Rather, my healthcare approach will be individual and adaptable, especially for those who lack the resources to be flexible themselves. My ideal nonprofit organization would function as both a clinic and a community space. All patients—regardless of background or home situation—feel welcomed, heard, and respected. It would offer primary care services, mental health support, and social resources like transportation coordination and housing assistance. Away from the clinic, I want to advocate for reform in the healthcare system to ensure that all patients can afford to be seen in the regular hospital, even if speaking out is uncomfortable. My nonprofit will employ a diverse team of medical professionals and social workers who try to change the definition of what it means to be a traditional healthcare worker. By directly asking the community about its needs to shape the services we offer, I believe we can push the boundaries of healthcare into something more equitable for all. If I were honored as the winner of the Pastor Thomas Rorie Jr. Furthering Education Scholarship, I could dedicate myself fully to my education, volunteering, and leadership. As I am currently employed to help fund my education, this support would relieve a significant financial burden, allowing me to study stress-free. I could focus on my passion for bettering myself, gaining meaningful experiences, and becoming more sensitive to misunderstood communities. This growth would bring me one step closer to my dream of becoming a doctor who runs a nonprofit founded on community listening and compassion. Beyond relieving financial pressure, this scholarship would be an affirmation of the values I hold close—faith, service, and justice. Pastor Thomas Rorie Jr.’s legacy inspires me to pursue not just academic excellence, but moral responsibility. Receiving this scholarship would reinforce my commitment to leadership, empathy, and action. I could attend conferences on health equity, pursue further volunteer opportunities without hesitation, and learn from other professionals who have helped underserved communities worldwide. Additionally, this support would allow me to dedicate more time to growing as a student leader. As Vice President of my school’s chapter of MEDLIFE, I’ve helped organize events that support community health in underserved areas of the world. With more time and fewer financial constraints, I can create even more programs that serve others. As the newly elected Chairperson of Homelessness Awareness for my school’s chapter of the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, I can dedicate more time to advocacy, fundraisers, and outreach initiatives that support my local Pittsburgh community directly. These projects would serve as both practical learning opportunities and small steps toward my broader vision. I often think back to the life-long lessons that Mr. P taught me about genuine concern, kindness, patience, and empathy. I reflect on the coldest winter nights when members of the homeless community make small requests for basic items to survive. These experiences remind me that service doesn’t need to be complex to be meaningful. I want to be part of the growing movement of doctors who lead with both strength and softness—who advocate fiercely and listen humbly. I am ready to use my education and experiences to treat symptoms and make lasting impacts in the healthcare system. I will carry Mr. P’s memory and the faces of the people I’ve served to restore the dignity of many impoverished individuals. I see the whole person—their emotions, personality, background, and health. By combining my medical training with a commitment to social justice and faith-based service, I hope to become the physician who embodies hope for those who have long felt invisible. I am dedicated to making healthcare in my community more compassionate, equitable, and accessible for all.

It was a crisp fall afternoon in my senior year of high school. At the time, my older sister was in college, living with my dad, and I was with my mom during their separation. Instead of coming home after school to the typically silent house, my sister was parked outside. “Hurry,” she said. “Dad’s in the ER.” What felt like an endless 30-minute drive later, we arrived at the hospital. My dad had just been whisked away to an MRI. Still unsure of the severity of his situation, I pulled out my homework on Hamlet, analyzing away. Finally, as he was wheeled back into the room, I began to talk to him. But the man lying in the bed was hardly my dad—shaking, drenched in sweat, and a mumbling, nasally voice that wasn’t his. It was simply the body of a man who was trying to survive something much bigger than any of us could comprehend. At 9 pm that night, the doctors made the call to Life-Flight him to a more advanced hospital in Pittsburgh. I watched as they strapped him in, and I drove to the next hospital to be by his side. Whatever was happening to him was causing his body to deteriorate rapidly. In the following weeks in the ICU, he was diagnosed with sepsis, suffering multiple strokes, a spinal infection, a torn heart valve, and so much more. It was an invisible battle. Keeping my grades up in my 4 AP courses, remaining a dependable Featured Twirler as a majorette in the marching band, keeping my Mock Trial team afloat as team captain, and running the BioClub as president during all of this was the most difficult juggling act I’ve performed. Those months, I could hardly eat or talk to others, as praying for my father’s life was engulfing my own. I used to think that time was something I could count on. There would always be more chances to accomplish my goals or foster better relationships with my family. But watching my dad fight for his life changed everything for me. I learned that nothing is guaranteed—not even tomorrow, our health, or the people we love most. So, as my already tiny family shrinks from the deaths of my grandparents, aunts, and uncles—and as someone like my dad comes so close to losing it all—I live my life with more intention. I set goals and pursue what I love without hesitation. I am striving for a future career as a physician because life doesn’t wait; I want to save lives in the same way my dad’s life was saved, and this scholarship is one step in that direction. Sepsis didn’t just have lasting effects on my dad—it has lasting effects on me too. I wish sepsis on no one else, but I am thankful for the life lessons it taught me: to live fully, love fiercely, and act now because there is no telling what the future holds.

When I was seven years old, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I recall what I thought was a fun visit at our family friends' house, who was a doctor. Instead, it turned into her witnessing my symptoms and rushing me to the emergency room. It was Christmas 2013. Some snowy roads, beeping monitors, and nurses running around later, I was placed into a cold, sterile hospital room. At the time, I didn’t understand much, except that my body changed forever. My parents tried their best to help, but truthfully, they couldn’t follow me to the classroom, playground, after-school activities, or every moment where my blood sugar could become dangerously out of range. Moreover, I had to grow up quickly. By second grade, I was an expert at self-advocating. Telling the teachers when I needed a snack during our lesson, asking for time to check my numbers, or altogether stepping away from class when I didn’t feel quite right was a heavy responsibility for a child; I learned that I could still live a full life, even if that life looked different from my other classmates. Still, there were the quiet struggles. I was consumed by the loneliness of being different, especially when my classmates asked questions about my beeping insulin pump in the middle of class. Ergodically high and low blood sugar was invisible to others, but to this day, it is a burden that makes it hard to focus, participate, or even just feel normal. Type 1 Diabetes likes a scheduled day-to-day life; perhaps my hardest challenge was staying consistent even when my life wasn’t. Now that I am a young adult in college battling this disease, I struggle in different ways. I find myself burdened by the cost of medical supplies and appointments, even with insurance. Turning 18 didn’t just mean independence; it meant becoming responsible for the daily cost of staying alive. With school expenses accumulating, I’ve taken on jobs to ease the load. However, balancing a chronic illness, academics, and employment sometimes feels like a tightrope with no one below to catch me. Growing up, my doctors helped me to the best of their ability, giving me my first taste of the medical field. While they are not my main inspiration to start a career in the field of medicine, they opened my eyes to how being a doctor is just as much about treatment as it is patient interaction. They provide comfort and clarity in moments of fear. For example, in the past two years, I have started to develop another unknown autoimmune disease. The not knowing, the bloodwork, the waiting, the testing, and everything in between is scary. But as my doctors remind me that uncertainty is part of every path, they inspire me to become an equally empathetic and supportive doctor. I don’t pretend that my journey with Type 1 Diabetes has been the hardest. Many people carry heavier burdens. But I’ve learned that strength is not measured by comparison, but by an individual's ability to keep moving forward every day, no matter the obstacles. This scholarship can help me take more steps toward pursuing a career as a doctor. It would support my education, as well as my dream to serve others as a medical doctor.

My journey into medicine began with Mr. P—a 90-year-old man who took a chance on a middle schooler with a rake and a willingness to work. What started as landscaping turned into one of the most formative relationships of my life. Over the years, Mr. P grew from a client to being a friend, a mentor, and eventually a patient I cared for. I drove him to doctor’s appointments, dressed his wounds, and spent time with him when he needed me most. He shared his wisdom, and in my own way, I shared mine. Mr. P showed me that empathy isn’t something you turn on—it’s something you live by. That lesson, planted into my soul for life, is why I chose to pursue medicine. Today, as a pre-med student, I try to live out those early lessons through service to the underserved. Every week, I volunteer with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, walking the streets of downtown Pittsburgh with bags of food, hygiene products, and clothing. One winter night, a homeless man asked only for a sweatshirt. As we searched for the right size, he began to cry, then slowly shared his life story with us, people who were simply willing to listen. In those moments, I don’t just see the need of a homeless man, but his resilience, despite being emptied of his humanity. Many of the people I’ve met feel scared to share their real names because of how society has misjudged and failed them. I’ve learned that poverty is not failing, but a circumstance that strips away dignity, support systems, and access to healthcare. While I know my weekly handouts are helpful, I’ve come to understand that the system to treat the impoverished is not working, and sustainable change is needed. Rooted in community listening, I hope to one day run a nonprofit. Rather than assuming what underserved communities need, I want to ask. If someone is limited by transportation to a preventive screening, we’ll offer it. If our appointment hours don’t fit schedules, we’ll adjust. I envision a healthcare model built on empathy, flexibility, and dignity—because healing should never be one-size-fits-all. This vision isn’t just a career aspiration; it’s a calling rooted in my faith. The words of 1 Peter 4:10 say, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another.” My gift is not just academic ability or ambition, but a passion for listening and healing. I don’t seek medicine for prestige—I see it as a form of justice, a sacred space where compassion meets action. As a woman in healthcare, I hope to challenge the systems that overlook marginalized voices, including those of women themselves. I want to be part of the growing movement of female physicians who lead with both strength and softness—who advocate fiercely and listen humbly. I believe that women bring a necessary perspective to medicine, one rooted in emotional intelligence, empathy, and resilience. I am ready to use my voice, my education, and my hands to make a difference—not just in treating symptoms, but in transforming lives.

“Your body is so much stronger than you think it is,” cheered Allison, encouraging her cabinmates during our ten-mile hike; she was always the first to offer uplifting words. Pulling her aside to admire her genuine concern for others, she shared her story with me—months spent in the ICU for a menu of health issues, physically and emotionally drained. “There was a point in my life where I wasn’t strong enough to complete any of these activities. So, of course, I want to cheer people on in these times where they think they can’t keep going.” That conversation reminded me exactly why I chose to be a camp counselor at Outdoor Odyssey Leadership Academy. Our mission is to provide campers with a unique wilderness challenge that molds them through physically and mentally demanding team-based tasks. I facilitate high ropes courses, backpacking trips, and team-building discussions, as well as teaching camp philosophies and traits of leadership. As the counselor who has direct contact with leaders in training, I must be the most polished version of a leader. I work around the clock, whether it's 2 p.m., coaching kids through repelling 50-feet downward or 2 a.m. when a camper wakes up homesick. I must be physically present, emotionally composed, and relentlessly positive. Each week, new personalities arrive on the mountain; I can be assigned to high-achieving future leaders or students struggling with trauma, bad home lives, or depression. The sleep deprivation—waking before the kids and completing tasks after they go to sleep—while being a role model to young minds is a heavy responsibility; truly connecting with campers is both challenging and an honor. What sustains me is the list of philosophies that we teach our campers. My favorite is something called 54321, or the most important words. 5: “All men are created equal.” It is my job to level the playing field because, unfortunately, not everyone is treated equally. 4: “In the beginning, God…,” a phrase we use to show campers that this life is about something bigger than themselves. 3: “I love you.” In this case, we talk about brotherly love, how we love every human, even if sometimes we dislike them. 2: “Genuine concern.” For each person I interact with, I care about their health, needs, and wants. 1: “Humility,” where I put others before myself while also self-examining. Being a counselor is challenging, and I may not always have the answers, but I can lead by listening, being present, and using 54321 to be the best version of myself. By the end of the summer, I will have helped sculpt hundreds of campers into better versions of themselves. After being pushed out of their comfort zones, the campers who were once quiet and anxious become more confident and self-aware. The most fulfilling part is when campers tell me they have a new perspective on life, are ready to be a better friend or teammate, or that I am their new role model. In those moments, I know I’ve done something meaningful. The lessons I’ve learned at Outdoor Odyssey will stay with me as I pursue a career in medicine, specifically serving underserved communities. I will continue to lead by grounding myself to connect with people from all walks of life and adapting to their unique needs. When it’s my time to treat a patient or guide I team, I know that true leadership is not about being in charge, but rather it’s about empowering, uplifting, and leaving an impact that stays with someone for the rest of their life, just like my experience at Outdoor Odyssey.

The homeless man didn’t ask for much—just a sweatshirt on a cold January night. We dug through the bags of food, hygiene supplies, and clothes we were carrying to find something that would fit, offering other essentials along the way. “Thank you,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes, as he began to tell us his life story. Every week, I volunteer with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul to serve God by serving others. Meeting the poorest of the poor in downtown Pittsburgh, I’ve seen the overlooked and listened to the unheard. There are communities of people who are stereotyped, shunned, and mistreated, somehow maintaining profound strength and kindness. A reflection of how judged they feel by everyday society, many are too scared to share their real names. Listening to their stories has taught me that poverty often isn’t a choice, but a circumstance. They are stripped of their support systems, dignity, and health. Among a variety of factors, the health of a community is heavily influenced by access to healthcare. Homeless populations struggle with things we don’t think about, like staying dry to prevent infections, let alone finding warmth or their next meal. Mental health issues spiral, diseases go untreated, and lives are lost. These disparities in who has access to healthcare are why I want to become a doctor. I want to be a physician who understands the person’s situation, working in free clinics or offering free check-ups to underserved individuals. While I know my weekly handouts are meaningful, I also know they are not enough. Rather, a long-term change requires systemic vision. That’s why I one day hope to make a nonprofit that doesn’t just serve, but listens. My nonprofit would be built on community listening sessions, where we take a moment to listen to the underserved, and where the services we provide are tailored to the individuals in the community. If a patient doesn’t have a way of transportation to a preventative screening, we provide transportation. If the hours of service for our appointments don’t work, we adjust. Healthcare should be flexible, especially for people who don’t have the resources to be flexible by themselves. My vision is not just a professional goal; it’s rooted in my faith. At my core, I am called to love and serve others. As Peter 4:10 reminds us, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another.” For me, my ambition and passion for medicine are that gift. My career path is not driven by prestige. Healing is a form of justice and a way for me to act on my values of compassion and equity. I often think back to that cold January night. His request for a sweatshirt, so simple yet so important to his health, reminds me that service doesn’t need to be complex to be meaningful. Whether it’s one-on-one interactions in downtown Pittsburgh or building something greater through a nonprofit, I plan to make the world more just, more compassionate, and more human.

Through science, we are taught how to heal. Through math, we are taught where that healing is most needed. I envision myself where data meets humanity, where numbers begin to tell human stories, and where the power of healing is accessible to all. My journey into medicine began with my first employer, Mr. P. I started landscaping on a self-employed basis in middle school, and he was the 90-year-old man who had the kindness to hire me at such a young age. As the years went on, Mr. P and I became close friends, sharing our problems and seeking wisdom from each other. But with time, his health deteriorated, and I took responsibility for taking him to doctors' appointments, applying new bandages and gauze to his wounds, and easing his pain. He taught me countless life lessons, which is why I decided to pursue a career in medicine. Currently, I am an undergraduate student on the pre-med track. Mr. P taught me to have empathy for those who can’t help themselves, so I joined a menu of organizations that serve the underserved; I was elected VP of MedLife, a club that provides healthcare to empower neglected communities through medicine, education, and development. I became the Chairperson for Homelessness Awareness for the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul. I am a regular volunteer at the Neighborhood Resilience Project, a free clinic in the heart of Pittsburgh, among other programs that have similar goals of helping the marginalized. Some of my most impactful experiences have been with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, where we walk through downtown Pittsburgh every Sunday night to pass out meals, hygiene products, clothing, and more to the homeless population. In serving the poorest of the poor, I’ve seen how people can become stripped of their humanity while just trying to survive. Many of these people are too scared to use their real names in conversation, yet they are some of the kindest souls. Among a variety of factors, the health of a community is heavily influenced by access to healthcare. Homeless populations across the country are struggling to stay warm and dry to prevent infections, let alone to receive regular medical treatment. This is where I plan to contribute to the field of math and science. My experiences allow me to ask the kind of research questions that are shaped by human need, not just academic curiosity. For example, what is the best way to foster long-term healing in individuals with housing unavailability? Underserved populations are often misrepresented in studies; I want to reshape who is the focus of research data, ensuring that the overlooked are seen, heard, and accurately represented. We should be advocating for the type of research that asks underserved community members what they need help with most. I want to build science-based solutions to help unhoused communities, like medical tools, predictive and preventative models, and outreach strategies that are designed with empathy and equity in mind. Science is a field that should not only value what we discover, but also who benefits from it. Math and statistics are ways that we can uncover what populations need help and which problems we can help solve. I want to use both fields to address health inequalities. Whether it's working through clinical practice, research, or advocacy, I want to spend my medical career in service to others so that no one is overlooked.