"I miss my son. He never comes and visits, but he's a single young man and a painter," Lois lamented. "Did he create this?" I gazed at the painting of the Appalachian countryside on her wall, her personal touch to what was a seemingly sterile room. "In fact he did! My son painted that. I miss my son. He really doesn't come to visit, but he's a single..." I knew her son painted it. He was a painter like me– one with a knack for depicting living landscapes onto a canvas. She had told me his occupation five times in 20 minutes. She had told me that the first time I met her. She'd be telling me again. I've learned that the simplest conversations are usually the ones that mean the most, the ones that have the most impact on our lives and the lives of others. I'll never be able to unhear the words -- "Lilianna, I feel like a prisoner in my own home" -- the words of my Grandpa, an Irish immigrant that was the epitome of a provider. By that point, he was no longer able to pour his own drinks without his tea spilling all over the counter. My Grandpa passed away after battling Alzheimer's Disease and a stroke. All I wanted to do was see him live out his final days joyful and feeling fulfilled, but unfortunately that was not the case. From that point on, I dedicated my life to easing the conditions of those that have received neurodegenerative diagnoses as they received a multitude of the stigmas surrounding it. After meeting the residents that regarded me as their family, the Life Care Center of Cleveland had encapsulated my heart. I volunteer at an Assisted Living building, which is designed with a third of the building reserved for memory care patients. Those residents are my favorite, because even though their minds can't always keep up with their bodies, their hearts still do. Some are further along in their battles with different forms of dementia including Alzheimer's, or even mental illnesses like Schizophrenia, but my mission is to aid them experience an interpersonal connection. They aren't just a shell, they are the people who came before us and have lived through the recent woes of humanity. They are the pioneers of the technology of the twentieth century. They are the soldiers that fought in World War II. They are sometimes those isolated without family and need me to be their adopted grandchild. They are my pillars of strength. Ruby was one of those people you wish you would have known your entire life, because she was a source of energy and excitement for the whole wing. She'd always tell me "I want my nails painted something wild." The next day, I brought Ruby a pack of vividly colored nail polish for her hands to match her personality. The next time I went back to the Life Care Center, I was stopped in my tracks. The state of her room, down the hall on the left, mirrored what I immediately felt -- empty. Ruby was dying, they told me. She wouldn’t return. All week I kept googling her name, looking for an obituary. I found nothing. Fast forward to Sunday -- sitting in church at the end of the service, my pastor said something I'll never forget, "I'd like y'all to pray for the family of Ruby. She passed away last night." I didn't even know her family went to my church. When Ruby's family later informed me they kept her nails painted until the day she died, I knew I was performing my ultimate purpose. That day was the first and only time I've ever cried happy tears. Moments like that make me feel boundless in my emotions. It's difficult to watch people progress through the stages before my eyes, but that doesn't scare me away -- it motivates me to love unconditionally. My mission is to not let brain atrophy, painful joints, or being confined to a wheelchair force the aging community to just wither away in their beds without regard. With dedication and passion, I want to help those, who are experiencing the harsh realities of aging, to remain connected to others as long as possible and live a life worth living. I learned that a life in service to others is the most rewarding and is more valuable than money itself. The tid-bits of memories, stories, and new friendships I get to hear make me wealthy in knowledge of experiences and morals of those that have endured what was once thought to be impossible.

Little did I know that the anatomy & physiology textbooks I had been pooling over for weeks would be my greatest asset in overcoming a very real, ground-shaking adversity. Tears streamed down my face as my mind kept replaying the events of her fall and my fingers pushing 9-1-1 with silent command. Sirens blared, but all I could see was her. My voice box was muted by shock as I grasped her outstretched hand during the ride. For months I had anticipated our arrival in Cape Canaveral as it had encapsulated my interest as the leading research center in aeronautics and space-medicine. Despite our planned tour, I was unexpectedly rushed to the hospital in an ambulance carrying my abuela (grandma). As a fifteen-year old from a single income household, without a driver’s license, and eleven hours from home, I was distraught over the prospect of losing the only support my family had. My distress propelled action as I made some of the bravest choices of my life. After two rounds of thrombolytics, my abuela’s condition was stable; however, we were still states away from home and I communicated with my abuela’s practitioners in Tennessee to schedule the emergency operation that would save her life. The surgery stretched for eons and memories flooded back of her caring for my siblings and me for the majority of our lives while my papi worked nights and my mother attended nursing school during the day. She was our pillar of strength and despite being told that there had been another complication or delay, I knew I could embrace the coming responsibilities and be strong for her recovery ahead. I knew any hope for survival required those that depended on her to grow resilient. Throughout my abuela’s healing from her stroke, I adopted her steadfastness and dedication as I became the support for our family. Every week, as I presented her with the produce and eggs from my grocery haul, I pronounced their names and indicated what their purposes were. My efforts were motivated to help in restoring her link to the physical world and communicating. This was like the axons and dendrites of the diagrams of neurons I’d previously drawn– the firing of the signal could be strengthened by synaptic growth stimulating new connections. With this in mind, every small achievement was celebrated; I dedicated each morning to rise and cherish it with her before the lieu of daily appointments and school work began. This daily, reinforced direct contact filled the gaps her rehabilitation meetings could not restore. This instilled within me a newfound passion for patient mental stamina recovery through cognitive reinforcement. My path to become a neurologist was cemented as I could convey the interpersonal compassion I’d developed through holistic care to fortify each patient’s mind-body connection. For stroke treatment care, this would materialize as research into preserving and compounding upon the neurotransmitter reuptake and synaptic growth rates. For preventative techniques in an ever-evolving field, I plan to evaluate blood clot detection-capture devices for maximum efficacy. My career will reflect the strength I’ve garnered through healing my abuela and will make a lasting impact for the personal care of every patient’s life it touches.

Tears streamed down my face as my mind kept replaying the events of her fall and my fingers pushing 9-1-1 with silent command. Sirens blared, but all I could see was her. My voice box was muted by shock as I grasped her outstretched hand during the ride. For months I had anticipated our arrival in Cape Canaveral as it had encapsulated my interest as the leading research center in aeronautics and space-medicine. Despite our planned tour, I was unexpectedly rushed to the hospital in an ambulance carrying my abuela (grandma). As a fifteen-year old from a single income household, without a driver’s license, and eleven hours from home, I was distraught over the prospect of losing the only support my family had. My distress propelled action as I made some of the bravest choices of my life. After two rounds of thrombolytics, my abuela’s condition was stable; however, we were still states away from home and I communicated with my abuela’s practitioners in Tennessee to schedule the emergency operation that would save her life. The surgery stretched for eons and memories flooded back of her caring for my siblings and me for the majority of our lives while my papi worked nights and my mother attended nursing school during the day. She was our pillar of strength and despite being told that there had been another complication or delay, I knew I could embrace the coming responsibilities and be strong for her recovery ahead. I knew any hope for survival required those that depended on her to grow resilience. As I began sophomore year, others assumed the crisis was over, but it truly began to impact my life. Fatigue became my abuela’s companion as her body progressively underwent treatment. Due to this, I assumed more responsibility, juggling family duties, school, athletics, and work. I made numerous trips to the local pharmacy, cooked dinner, biked to the grocery store, cared for my rambunctious siblings, and provided the attentive care my abuela needed to recover. This maturity and resourcefulness was not known to me until it was called upon. Each day was a stage in my gradual transformation from dependence to relative independence. Throughout my abuela’s healing from her stroke, I adopted her steadfastness and dedication as I became the support for our family. Every week, as I presented her with the produce and eggs from my grocery haul, I pronounced their names and indicated what their purposes were. My efforts were motivated to help in restoring her link to the physical world and communicating. Every small achievement was celebrated and I dedicated each morning to rise and cherish it with her before the lieu of daily appointments and school work began. This experience has taught me about the viscosity of life and how quickly it can change. My newfound passion for enduring the journey of patient recovery and investing my best efforts for their wellbeing has cemented my path to become a neurologist. My hands were made to heal as true medicine comes from an interpersonal compassion I’ve developed from enduring these tribulations. They’ve uncovered the mind-body connection that speaks volumes about individual health, personality, and the best course of action for their care. By specializing in diagnosing and treating ailments of the entire nervous system, I would be enabled to think holistically about the patient and explore with them what the future holds.

Tears streamed down my face as my mind kept replaying the events of her fall and my fingers pushing 9-1-1 with silent command. Sirens blared, but all I could see was her. My voice box was muted by shock as I grasped her outstretched hand during the ride. For months I had anticipated our arrival in Cape Canaveral as it had encapsulated my interest as the leading research center in aeronautics and space-medicine. Despite our planned tour, I was unexpectedly rushed to the hospital in an ambulance carrying my abuela (grandma). As a fifteen-year old from a single income household, without a driver’s license, and eleven hours from home, I was distraught over the prospect of losing the only support my family had. My distress propelled action as I made some of the bravest choices of my life. After two rounds of thrombolytics, my abuela’s condition was stable; however, we were still states away from home and I communicated with my abuela’s practitioners in Tennessee to schedule the emergency operation that would save her life. The surgery stretched for eons and memories flooded back of her caring for my siblings and me for the majority of our lives while my papi worked nights and my mother attended nursing school during the day. She was our pillar of strength and despite being told that there had been another complication or delay, I knew I could embrace the coming responsibilities and be strong for her recovery ahead. I knew any hope for survival required those that depended on her to grow resilience. As I began sophomore year, others assumed the crisis was over, but it truly began to impact my life. Fatigue became my abuela’s companion as her body progressively underwent treatment. Due to this, I assumed more responsibility, juggling family duties, school, athletics, and work. I made numerous trips to the local pharmacy, cooked dinner, biked to the grocery store, cared for my rambunctious siblings, and provided the attentive care my abuela needed to recover. This maturity and resourcefulness was not known to me until it was called upon. Each day was a stage in my gradual transformation from dependence to relative independence. Throughout my abuela’s healing from her stroke, I adopted her steadfastness and dedication as I became the support for our family. Every week, as I presented her with the produce and eggs from my grocery haul, I pronounced their names and indicated what their purposes were. My efforts were motivated to help in restoring her link to the physical world and communicating. Every small achievement was celebrated and I dedicated each morning to rise and cherish it with her before the lieu of daily appointments and school work began. This experience has taught me about the viscosity of life and how quickly it can change. I would inform someone encountering the same circumstances to trust in themselves as there is a covert strength that’s been influenced by everyone in our lives to rise and provide for our loved ones. My newfound passion for enduring the journey of patient recovery and investing my best efforts for their wellbeing has cemented my path to become a neurologist. My hands were made to heal as true medicine comes from an interpersonal compassion I’ve developed from enduring these tribulations. They’ve uncovered the mind-body connection that speaks volumes about individual health, personality, and the best course of action for their care. By specializing in diagnosing and treating ailments of the entire nervous system, I would be enabled to think holistically about the patient and explore with them what the future holds.

“I can’t.” The pen quivered in his shaking hand as he traded glances between the production possibilities curve and me as hopelessness crept into his tearing gaze. This was my first meeting with Nathaniel— a freshman that sought out my mentorship organization during its inception. I had tirelessly tacked posters to the walls and distributed infographics during club meetings to cure the ailment that had been so prevalent in my school. It came idly at first, after the pandemic, as we returned to physical school in droves eager to reunite with friends and reacclimate ourselves to society. However, the symptoms became more prevalent as social interactions clambered to find mutual ground as ceiling fans had replaced faces on Zoom meetings for the past year. Loneliness escalated as I witnessed students shield their expressions from one another as we mutely transitioned between classes. The hum of chatter in common spaces dwindled as conversational routes beyond greetings were becoming scarce. Socialization, I comprehended, was the cornerstone to a healthy work-life balance. Without the spontaneous chats and smiles between peers delivering a balm-like relief to the plethora of assignments and tests, perseverance to submit them had resultantly dwindled. This exigence stirred within me a purpose to cure the social isolation by enlightening the upperclassmen of the valuable experience they held and bestowing onto the lowerclassmen the lessons they learned. In order to ease the burdens that were harking on my classmates’ mental health, I had to coax down my own walls of insecurity and imposter syndrome. This began with me offering free tutoring lessons to those that needed them the most. Others, like Nathaniel, needed support beyond academics for someone to provide a comforting presence in order to reassure them. “Did you want to talk about what you understand? Or, is there something you’d like to share to help you focus?”, I replied. This ushered in an expression of relief as he delved into his personal story of supporting his family business despite economic recession. With a surge of dopamine, I connected the outputs of a business to the graphed curve, outlining every point to his unique experience. This opportunity has granted me the abilities of leadership and counseling as I shared the gift of mentoring. This has prepared me for emotional support services in my future neurological practice in order to fortify the links between fulfillment, communication, and neurochemical responses.

There is a significant contrast between the before and after of the experience. During some inexplicable moment, when one’s heart finds utmost contentment, the infusement within the culture ignites a period of intense emotion within the traveler as they are connected to their truest self. At the foot of the Black Hills, under the sapphire blue skies of South Dakota, with Ponderosa pine infiltrating my nostrils, I found my own incredible grain of truth while touring the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. A contact point with an unexpected traveler had propelled the collision course far from my planned getaway at Hot Springs, South Dakota. Definitely, the thermal mineral springs and Mammoth excavation sites had fulfilled my wanderlust and desire for memorable experiences with friends. The exposure to nature spoke volumes for the transformation of the landscape and healing remedies that laid at the bubbling waters. Yet, my soul still sought a resolution for my creative blockage– one that I later learned could be relieved through exposure to immersive storytelling and folk art. In pursuit of this, I perused trading posts and markets searching for an opportunity to be more immersed into the craft of the Native peoples. On the final night in Hot Springs, as I was dining upon some tatanka (buffalo) jerky at a post, the words “Tatanka Rez Tourz” claimed my attention. The braised meat was a sign! I enthusiastically overheard a tour guide vividly illustrate the features of his company— one that was mutually beneficial for the Lakota Oglala tribe’s self-determination and travelers’ education. I questioned such an experience as I was an ambivert embarking into the unknown to test my limits of social interaction outside of my current relationships. Standing tall, I swallowed my fear and the rest of my buffalo to arrange a journey with Guss Yellowhair into the reserve I had only heard extreme destitution about. After traveling 108 miles far into the Pine Ridge Reservation, we arrived at the touring caravan. With the hum of conversation, native tribes members and tourists mingled alike to commence bargains for goods. Traditional shawls were exchanged for medicines and buffalo hides for construction materials. Amidst all the melee, poverty still peeked through as doors were a patchwork of metals and generators were powered by gas vehicles. As I was led further to view the Black Hills, a shared humanity stirred within me to openly ask about the tribe’s artworks and participate in the active exchange of money and ideas to help the people prosper. Onward we descended to the central storytelling pulpit as my mind spun with the concept of the land remaining untouched by modernization. The catalyst for my bewilderment was that laughter was still shared as we heard the story of Ptesáŋwiŋ (White Buffalo Calf Woman) delivering the Seven Sacred Rites to the Lakota tribe. Here, I reignited my passion for painting landscapes and people as they truly were— alive with culture as the descendents of warriors fighting for a better tomorrow while treasuring the past.

The concoction smoked below in the chamber as my gloved fingertips increased the dial’s magnetism for equal parts ammonia and hydrochloric acid to be stirred. Gaseous ammonium chloride was channeled through the main fractionator to increasingly undergo declining levels of pressure to finally deposition into a sparkling, crystalline solid. After pressure-sealing it into a canister, it was prepared for the following week for me to scatter across my tea rose garden with optimism of the blooms it would yield. Chemistry and creativity. Horticulture and harmonization. This balance in nature and my own pursuits, academic and recreational, fabricates who I am as a first-generation Latina college student cultivating her future one reaction at a time. The specificity of chemistry has always intrigued me as the most simple micromolecules compose utterly complex systems. Nucleotide strains of carbon, phosphate, nitrogen, and oxygen code for amino acid chains that compress and fold into designated or pluripotent proteins to form and sustain life. Like this, I am formulated of everything that has impelled my personality into fruition: my parents’ work ethic to provide a stable foundation despite unstable finances, my intuitive curiosity for the microscopic, and an imagination to transform a canvas or landscape into an invention of my mind’s eye. For peak optimization, I had to integrate my aspirations and aptitudes into an education that was once only a dream the women in my family dreamed of obtaining. The laboratory became my home as I worked strenuously into late evenings and bright early mornings to explore the chemical properties of nutrient-dense compounds and bacteria cultures. Fatigue was not possible as my pursuit of biomedical advances awakened my senses to discover disease treatments and preventions. My education was not limited to this space as the field (quite literally) provided a lecture hall buzzing with symbiosis and reactions ensuing in equal and opposite reactions. This extends beyond chemistry as ailments aggravated by organisms can be resolved through the potent properties of others. For instance, penicillin itself is derived from penicillium molds that attach to and destroy the cell walls of bacterias such as staphylococcus and meningococcus. The everlasting ramifications for humanity from this finding have inspired me to pursue precision bio-medicine to isolate variables further and tailor medications to the genetic composition of individuals. By improving the efficacy of such advances in virology and immunology, the body’s own defenses– determined by its chemical make-up– can be employed to the fullest extent to be more resilient in disease resistance. Ultimately, my life-long educational journey would continue reaching new heights by blurring the lines between biology, chemistry, technology, and art. By selecting nature as my medium and muse, I can extract and supplement genetic fortifications against diseases. These carbon chains, β-lactam rings, and side groups will be arranged and bonded like stained glass to form a synthesized mosaic that can change lives for the better. Education through depictions of microscopic bacteria and cells in my own paintings and glass collages would propel a chain reaction to inspire scientists for generations to come. Intricate artistry and scientific discoveries by those that overcame the status quo have made modern day advances and my own dreams of universal change possible.

The human sensation of pain is intended to be perceptible in order to alert the nervous system that something is amiss in the body. This pain can be long-withstanding for some– especially those that endure it alone in various settings. In the midst of someone else’s loneliness I discovered myself and the true meaning behind healing them and renewing their hope. It wasn’t easy. Early mornings and late evenings greeted me as I extensively volunteered as a member of the Patient & Family Support Team at Erlanger Hospital. For patients with visitors, I became the helping hands and feet for conveying information, hosting wheelchair races, and delivering heartwarming gifts. For the patients without visitors, I became their family by listening to their stories attentively, time and time again, recording their favorite shows, and offering to style them. Even if one of my newfound relatives didn’t remember me the next day, they knew someone cared to paint their nails sunshine yellow. Even without recognition, I know that our moments of fragility and vulnerability aided them in overcoming the mental obstacle of a diagnosis. Truthfully, it can be daunting. I reassured them that rising each day was a victory in itself and there was strength in optimizing one’s health and mental prowess. These people were human just like me after all and could experience recovery by feeling seen beyond their data chart or identified condition. My own limits were challenged as I additionally contributed to an underserved assisted living facility. There, it dawned on me that changing the world can mean changing someone’s world and commencing a chain reaction throughout a community. As a bilingual, I was able to teach English to a solely Spanish-speaking resident as she adamantly desired to converse with others herself without waiting for a translator. During that time, we combatted loneliness by engaging in new linguistic skills and American media. This opened doors for new friendships as other residents and volunteers could be transported to her homeland and culture through her vivid retellings now in English. From my experiences, I have learned that medicine doesn’t only come in a bottle, surgery, or IV drip– it is sourced from the heart yearning to mend the broken and unseen parts with an essential human connection. This is how hope glimmered in the eyes of the hopeless once more as I offered emotional support for them. Through service, I am honored to say I pinpointed my purpose to be a bilingual neurologist specializing in advanced life care. I strive to progress from being a certified nursing assistant in my undergraduate years with a pre-medical student encouragement blog to a young doctor restoring hope to medically underserved area hospitals. To move forward into a better world, I know there is value in implementing the lessons learned from others into our own lives and lifting each other’s spirits even in the bleakest of circumstances. This is why I encourage those of all generations to aid people that may be at their loneliest– even the simplest gestures can convey life-saving camaraderie.

Flipping arithmetic figures and cross-mapping cortices during sleepless nights, scrutinizing m-RNA levels by morning, and interviewing neurologists, caretakers, and patients during mid-day took my greatest achievement from its genesis to a broadening culmination. It wasn’t the research meticulously outlined or the professional experience obtained while shadowing. Simply put, it was my confrontation with imposter syndrome. This leviathan has lurked behind the corner for most of my life— such as in pre-calculus class when I clutched onto my dollar store calculator as I braved through the derivatives by hand while others ordered their multi-function mini supercomputers to instantly compute them or being awarded for art as I attributed it to luck as my watercolor and pencil sets were secondhand. Conflict stirred as my inner persona and the steadfast champion before me remained two distinctive individuals with a cavasse of low socio-economic status dividing them. Insecurity of finances fed my insecurity of self as I doubted a path could materialize around this obstacle. After aspiring to dismantle the hold that unaffordability had on me and my family, it dawned on me that confronting this beast required the willpower to seek it out foremost. It sat begrudgingly as I attempted to use cognitive psychology to combat it; it was initially a mental blockade afterall. Positive affirmations and visualizations of my true self obtaining recognition contained the self-depreciating mindset, but the enormity of it had not been slayed as thoughts of social exclusion remained. The final quarrel required me to exit my comfort zone and combust whatever I believed my limits to be. This occurred on the steps of the Life Care Center retirement home with pen and parchment in my hands and echoes of vivid stories in the air. I sought this solution not to solidify the accomplishments the world deemed to my conscious, but redefine my inner self through selflessness. Not through my previous noteworthy achievements did I discover who I was, but through a humanistic compassion that saw beyond what I was materialistically equipped with. Daily, residents and patients recollected their favorite moments to me as I sketched the highlights in detail with fawns gracing meadows and umbrellas dotting the seaside in hopes of capturing them forever. However, as time elapsed over itself, declining memory left some of my dearest companions detached from the works displayed upon their wall. Emotional connections faded and it just became a trophy exhibited just to admire— just as I had once perceived myself externally. That junior year summer I decided to dedicate the remainder of my education and thereafter to research that would primarily seek treatment for Alzheimer’s disease and secondly provide stabilization for my family’s finances. Extensive work laid before me as the ailment was unidentifiable in origin and had no established cure. Nonetheless, the mental stamina I accumulated from challenging imposter syndrome through voluntary service empowered me to continue. Every time I view my name posted at the front of my published research or collection of data sets of mRNA production from amyloid-beta gene expressions, I know that I am worthy of the accolade as it is in honor of a noble cause. The individuals I continue to dedicate my time to are worth the countless hours doing painstakingly precise tasks and have evolved my personality to be more encompassing of our shared humanity and victories today. With this cleared pathway, I am able to truly step forth in becoming a neurologist specialized in late-life development and research.

The human sensation of pain is intended to be perceptible in order to alert the nervous system that something is amiss in the body. This pain can be long-withstanding for some– especially those that endure it alone in various settings. In the midst of someone else’s loneliness I discovered myself and the true meaning behind healing them and renewing their hope. It wasn’t easy. Early mornings and late evenings greeted me as I extensively volunteered as a member of the Patient & Family Support Team at Erlanger Hospital. For patients with visitors, I became the helping hands and feet for conveying information, hosting wheelchair races, and delivering heartwarming gifts. For the patients without visitors, I became their family by listening to their stories attentively (time and time again), recording their favorite shows, and offering to style them. Even if one of my newfound relatives didn’t remember me the next day, they knew someone cared to paint their nails sunshine yellow. Even without recognition, I know that our moments of fragility and vulnerability aided them in overcoming the mental obstacle of a diagnosis. Truthfully, it can be daunting. I reassured them that rising each day was a victory in itself and there was strength in optimizing one’s health and mental prowess. These people were human just like me after all and could experience recovery by feeling seen beyond their data chart or identified condition. My own limits were challenged as I additionally contributed to an underserved assisted living facility. There, it dawned on me that changing the world can mean changing someone’s world and commencing a chain reaction throughout a community. As a bilingual, I was able to teach English to a solely Spanish-speaking resident as she adamantly desired to converse with others herself without waiting for a translator. During that time, we combatted loneliness by engaging in new linguistic skills and American media. This opened doors for new friendships as other residents and volunteers could be transported to her homeland and culture through her vivid retellings now in English. From my experiences, I have learned that medicine doesn’t only come in a bottle, surgery, or IV drip– it is sourced from the heart yearning to mend the broken and unseen parts with an essential human connection. This is how hope glimmered in the eyes of the hopeless once more as I offered emotional support for them. Through service, I am honored to say I pinpointed my purpose to be a bilingual neurologist specializing in advanced life care. I strive to progress from being a certified nursing assistant (CNA) in my undergraduate years with a pre-medical student encouragement blog to a young doctor restoring hope to medically underserved area (MUA) hospitals. To move forward into a better world, I know there is value in implementing the lessons learned from others into our own lives and lifting each other’s spirits even in the bleakest of circumstances. This is why I encourage those of all generations to aid people that may be at their loneliest– even the simplest gestures can convey life-saving camaraderie.

At my fingertips lies a mathematical phenomenon of a homogeneous solution of variables balancing to reach equilibrium. Infinitesimal changes in temperature, angles of added milk and honey, and permeability of the bag lining, among other variables, contribute to significantly different behaviors of the final product of a cuppa of tea. Mathematics and my love of tea are so intertwined that they are directly proportional to each other and my sense of wonder. With the difference between the cooler air on the surface and scalding hot beverage inside, convection currents form and become visible with the addition of milk. Circular symmetry serves as the proof of this as the milky shapes are reflected across the axis of pouring– one defined by the diameter of the cylinder mug. With fluidity, these shapes descend into the tea with a seemingly randomized pattern; however, this can be predicted and standardized through mathematics. The theory of Rayleigh-Taylor Instability elucidates that when the more condensed liquid (milk) descends into a less dense one (tea), the fluid with the greater density flows below the other one and resultantly lowers the gravitational potential energy. This forms swirls of the milk within the mug until stirring commences for an even taste profile. This process and its reversal are pertinent to newfound understandings into plasma transfusions, astrophysics of star formations, and currents on ocean topography. Let’s focus back on this sensation that’s making my mouth water. To achieve the ultimate sipping experience, I’ve had to derive an equation to calculate the ideal temperature for this liquid within an open cylinder with an even heat distribution throughout. By beginning with boiling water at 373.15 K and the initial temperature of tea-milk solution at 293.15 K, once mixed, the temperature of the tea at any time can be calculated with Newton’s Law of Cooling with a cooling coefficient of -0.0005 per the cylinder shape of the mug. Rearranging this would yield the solution sought after with an average strength of green tea with a light bitterness at 19 minutes. No scorching of the tongue. No overwhelming of the senses of the taste. This is how math can universally communicate by turning the abstract concrete and discomfort into hospitality. This is how the modern world has been forged and how bonds will be formed as an extension of our shared qualities.

She showers the disadvantaged with kindness, travels the world as a life-long learner, and has earned a medical doctorate to heal beyond boundaries; she is who I dream to be.