My story is shaped by the sacrifices of my immigrant family and the determination they passed on to me. My parents came to the United States from Egypt wanting to give us opportunities they never had. They worked long hours, shared crowded living spaces with relatives, and never complained because they believed education would be our way forward. That belief became the center of my life. When I started elementary school, I spoke only Arabic. I sat in class confused, unable to follow simple instructions, and feeling like I did not belong. But instead of letting that become permanent, my family surrounded me with support. My cousins, who were only a few years older, refused to let me struggle the way they once did. Every summer, they got a huge workbook for the next school year and sat with me every day, teaching me a few pages and skills so I would not fall behind. They remembered how hard multiplication tables were for them, and they did not want me to endure the same frustration. They printed worksheets, made homemade flashcards, and even turned the lessons into games. By the time school started, I was not only prepared, I had caught up to the level of my classmates. Those summers taught me resilience and resourcefulness. I learned that hard work can close gaps and that the people around you can be your best tools for success. That experience later shaped how I approach challenges today in STEM. Science became the place where everything clicked. I loved learning how the human body worked, how diseases happen, and how treatment saves lives. I pursued a biomedical sciences program even though it meant a thirty minute commute because I knew that was where I belonged. I worked in labs, ran PCR tests, studied diseases, and learned phlebotomy. I earned top placements at HOSA and volunteered at hospitals because I wanted to use science beyond the classroom. Every new lab I completed reminded me of those summer lessons from my cousins, slow steps turning into strong skills. Coming from an immigrant family means facing financial difficulties, language barriers, and limited resources. But it also gives strength, creativity, and a deep sense of purpose. I learned early that when you lack tools, you make them; when you do not understand something, you study it harder; when you fall behind, you work until you catch up. This scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing my education in STEM, reduce financial pressures on my family, and help me build a future in healthcare where I serve others with compassion and cultural understanding. I am determined to achieve my goals and honor every person who helped me along the way, especially those summer study sessions that changed my life.

Growing up, I learned that strength isn’t measured by what you have, but by what you build from what you don’t. My family came to the United States from Egypt with almost nothing, sharing crowded apartments, one car, unpredictable schedules, and heavy responsibilities. Still, they created stability out of chaos, and love out of struggle. My cousins and I were raised like siblings, caring for each other because our parents were working long hours to build a life from scratch. That upbringing taught me that support doesn’t have to come from money, it can come from sacrifice and heart. School didn’t come easily to me at first. I entered elementary school barely speaking English, feeling like a stranger in a world I didn’t understand. But instead of letting that barrier define me, I showed up every morning before school for tutoring, and the most meaningful part is that my mom came and learned with me, even though she didn’t know English herself. Her message stayed with me: progress doesn’t have to be fast, it just has to be steady. I learned to see struggle like a seed beneath the soil: invisible at first, but growing roots that allow it to bloom later. When I earned reading trophies years later, it wasn’t because I was naturally gifted, it was because I built from the dirt I started in. Losing my grandmother was another obstacle that could have broken me. She battled diabetes, Alzheimer’s, and dementia, and I spent late nights helping my aunt and mom to feed and care for her all while balancing AP classes and school. Even in her hardest moments, she used to blow me kisses, reminding me that love survives even when health doesn’t. That experience didn’t just shape me, it strengthened my desire to work in medicine, especially for children. To pursue that dream, I enrolled in a biomedical science program 30 minutes away, and my parents never hesitated to make the drive. I competed in HOSA, placing 3rd in California and top 25 internationally, completed college courses early, and volunteered at hospitals and clinics because I refuse to wait for my dreams to happen, I work toward them. Students from disadvantaged backgrounds deserve scholarships not because we want pity, but because we have already proven we can grow despite having less. When resources are scarce, motivation becomes fuel, and when opportunities are limited, determination becomes direction. Supporting students like me means investing in potential, resilience, and futures that will give back. This grant would allow me to continue my journey toward becoming a healthcare provider, taking the financial pressure off my family and letting me focus on my education instead of worrying about whether I can afford it. I have worked through each obstacle not with excuses, but with effort, and I am committed to using that effort to serve my community, honor my family’s sacrifices, and build the future they dreamed of the moment they stepped foot in this country.

I have always been intrigued by science – how breathing is actually a hidden chain of steps, how my eye is a collection of tiny parts working together, and how simple elements can combine in endless ways to create life and everything around us. I wanted to know more. I would get lost in thought, thinking of new questions and researching them to feed my hunger for knowledge. I remember when I was in 8th grade my friend would tell me about the PLTW Biomedical Sciences program at her school and the different labs and activities she did. I mentioned it to my parents and told them how I thought it was the coolest thing ever, and they said if it was something I believed would help me in the future, then I could go there for high school—which I did. It’s a 30 minute drive every morning, but my parents were willing to make it work for me. There was so much I learned, some of which included forensics, the human body system, nano-tech, gene therapy, E.L.I.S.A., P.C.R, suturing, and debating. I was also taking an Advanced Patient Care course in which we learned not only by pen and pencil but by hands-on materials and tests. My teacher saw my passion and dedication and encouraged me to try drawing blood. One day I had the courage to try, and soon after I not only got the hang of it, but also developed a passion-- looking up how to properly invert what different tub colors meant and more. Through Biomed I had the opportunity to compete in a medical skill competition called Health Occupations Students of America (HOSA). I competed my Junior year in Phlebotomy, already knowing some background and hand on-- I studied for several hours a week reading and taking notes on a 500 page book. My hard work paid off with me placing 3rd in California and top 25 internationally. I also learned about dual and concurrent enrollment classes. I took that opportunity not only to finish credits early, but also to learn more. I completed around 50 college credits. My interest is science and my dream is the medical field, so I volunteered at both Riverside Community Hospital and La Casa Wound Specialist to get patient care experience. My school also offers a Medical Assistant program where you study and take the national exam to obtain your license. I am currently in this course, and every day is amazing. From learning how to draw blood, give injections, check blood sugar and hemoglobin, to taking notes on medical terminology and medical ethics, my mind never gets bored and my passion only grows.

The first time I volunteered at Riverside Free Clinic, working alongside a nurse, I remember a patient holding my hand as she explained that she had postponed care for months because she couldn’t afford insurance. Her voice trembled as she described the pain she’d been ignoring. At that moment, I realized that healthcare is more than medicine — it’s access, understanding, and compassion. That moment changed the way I saw science. It wasn’t just a subject I loved in school; it was a bridge that could connect care to those who need it most. Healthcare has always been a global issue, but seeing it up close in my own community made it personal. Many patients come to clinics like Riverside Free Clinic because they have nowhere else to turn. They all have different stories whether it's working long hours, caring for children, or not having any resources they still cannot afford the basic care they deserve. Around the world, the same story repeats itself — children losing parents to preventable diseases, patients delaying care, and in some areas hospitals struggling with limited resources. I want to be part of changing that. In my Biomedical Sciences program, I’ve learned how the body functions, how diseases progress, and how even the smallest cells carry stories of life and healing. But what has inspired me most are the lessons I’ve learned outside the classroom. At Riverside Community Hospital, in the Emergency Department, I help nurses and check in patients and witness how care and kindness can restore a patient’s dignity. At La Casa Wound Specialist, I assist with paperwork, updating charts and my respect grows for those who do the behind-the-scenes– yet crucial work. And at my church where I serve, I’ve learned that healing isn’t always physical — sometimes it’s found in listening, comforting, and showing up. Each experience has taught me that science means little without empathy, and empathy grows strongest when it meets real people. When I lost my grandmother last year, the meaning of healthcare became even more personal. I helped care for her through her illness, from feeding her to helping her walk. Watching her strength fade reminded me that medicine isn’t just about extending life, but about improving its quality. Her memory keeps me grounded in my dream of becoming a Pediatric Oncologist. I want to give children the care and hope that every human being deserves, no matter where they come from or what they can afford. Every test tube I hold, every class I take, and every patient I meet reminds me why I chose this path. Healthcare is my way of giving back to a community that has taught me resilience, compassion, and faith. I plan to use my education not just to treat illness, but to serve others; to make science a source of healing and equality. To me, being a woman in STEM means transforming knowledge into service. It means using every lesson, every late-night study session, and every act of care to create ripples of change. The future I see is one where every patient, no matter their story, feels seen, heard, and cared for. And that’s the kind of future I’m working to build — one act of compassion at a time.

The first time I read Twice as Hard by Jasmine Brown, I found myself pausing on almost every page. Her story of perseverance as a Black woman in medicine deeply moved me. Although I’m an Egyptian woman, her words spoke to a part of me that understood what it means to dream of entering a field where you aren’t always seen, but you still choose to stand tall. Reading about the women who came before her—those who had to prove themselves twice as hard just to earn a place in medicine—ignited something in me. It reminded me that resilience isn’t limited by background, but shared by those who dare to break barriers with grace and purpose. From a young age, I’ve always wanted to help people, but it wasn’t until middle school that I understood what that truly meant. Around Christmas, our class wrote letters to children at St. Jude. I remember decorating mine with stars and hearts, hoping it would make a child smile. I began sending letters regularly, sometimes hearing back from families who thanked me for bringing a small moment of joy into their pain. Those letters changed me—they made the faces of children battling cancer feel real, not distant. That’s when I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to helping children heal, both physically and emotionally. My grandmother’s illness later deepened that calling. I helped care for her through her final years, feeding her, holding her hand, and watching her face soften when I blew her a kiss. Even as her memory faded, she would smile and repeat — in Arabic, “God bless you,” as if to remind me that compassion is a language stronger than time. Losing her was painful, but her strength and faith live in me every day. The quote I hold closest to my heart is, “Every flower grows through dirt.” To me, it means that beauty and growth often come from struggle. My journey has not always been easy—learning how to read, knowing little English, adjusting to a place I felt I didn’t fit in, and balancing school with family responsibilities—but each challenge taught me patience and gratitude. I’ve learned that faith and perseverance can turn even the hardest soil into something capable of blooming. Another quote that guides me is, “Don’t let the world change your love for God, but let your love for God change the world.” My faith shapes the way I see medicine. I don’t just want to treat illnesses; I want to treat hearts—to comfort, to listen, and to bring hope where it feels lost. I believe medicine is not only a science but an act of service. As I continue my studies, I hope to become a Pediatric Oncologist who carries both skill and compassion into every room I walk into. My goal is to build trust with families during the most vulnerable moments of their lives and remind them that even in darkness, there can be light. I may not come from generations of doctors or scientists, but I come from generations of strength, faith, and service. I want to use my career to honor that legacy—to heal others, uplift women in STEM, and help the next girl, like Jasmine Brown once did for me, believe that she can grow through the dirt and bloom, too.

When I think about being a first-generation college student, I don’t just think about being the first to go to college—I think about the mornings when my mom sat beside me in first grade, sounding out English words she didn’t understand just to help me learn them. I think about how she would wake up early, walk me to tutoring, and remind me that even if progress is slow, it’s still progress. Those moments taught me what it really means to work hard for something you believe in. My parents came to California in 2004 with almost nothing but hope. They didn’t know the language or how to navigate a new world, but they were determined to give my siblings and I the education they never had. Growing up, I saw how they faced every obstacle with faith and patience. They couldn’t help me with my homework, but they gave me something far more valuable—strength. When I started school, I felt out of place. I barely understood English and struggled with reading, but I didn’t give up. My mom’s words stayed with me: “Putting in “A” effort is what’s important.” Eventually, I started earning reading awards, and that small victory showed me what perseverance could do. I’ve always remembered the saying, “Every flower grows through dirt.” That dirt, those early struggles, became the reason I bloomed. As I got older, I wanted to use what I’d learned to help others. In middle school, I started writing letters to children at St. Jude. It began as a school activity, but soon it became something I did from the heart. Hearing back from families reminded me that even small acts of kindness can bring light to someone’s darkest days. That experience helped me realize I want to bring hope to people through medicine. My goal is to become a Pediatric Oncologist—to care for children fighting cancer and be the kind of comfort I once tried to share through my letters. Being a first-generation student has shaped how I see success: not as a title, but as service. My parents gave me the strength to overcome challenges, and I want to use that same strength to help children and families find hope when they need it most.

The first time I held a test tube in my hand, I felt a spark of excitement I couldn’t explain. It was in my Advanced Patient Care class, and we were learning how to identify blood types. I remember staring at the small drops of liquid and thinking about how something so tiny could hold the key to saving lives. That moment made me realize that science isn’t just something you read about—it’s something you can touch, see, and use to help people. Ever since then, I have wanted to understand how the human body works. Every lesson in my Biomedical Sciences Program feels like uncovering a new secret about life. I’ve learned about the body systems, forensics, nanotechnology, gene therapy, and diagnostic tools like PCR and ELISA. What keeps me drawn to science is that every answer leads to another question. It is endless, and that’s what makes it beautiful. Through my Biomed program, I joined Health Occupations Students of America (HOSA) and competed in Phlebotomy. At first, I was nervous. The thought of drawing blood made me hesitant, but the more I learned, the more intrigued I became. I started studying every day, reading a 500-page book, taking notes, and practicing until it felt natural. What began as fear turned into fascination and confidence. That dedication helped me place 3rd in California and in the top 25 internationally. It showed me that challenges are just opportunities waiting for courage. My curiosity also pushed me to take dual and concurrent enrollment classes, completing around 60 college credits while I’m still in high school. I didn’t take these classes just to get ahead—I took them because I genuinely wanted to learn more. Each class helped me see how science connects to everything, from health to ethics to problem-solving. Outside the classroom, I volunteer at Riverside Community Hospital and La Casa Wound Specialist. Working with patients has taught me that science and compassion go hand in hand. It’s one thing to understand how the body works, but it’s another to see how care and kindness can make a difference in someone’s healing. I’m also currently in my school’s Medical Assistant program, where I’m learning real clinical skills like drawing blood, giving injections, checking blood sugar, and studying medical ethics. Every day reminds me why I want to be in the medical field—to use science to help people live better, healthier lives. Being a woman in STEM means being part of a community that turns curiosity into action. It’s about asking questions, staying determined, and breaking barriers for the next generation. I want to be one of those women who not only studies science but uses it to make a lasting impact. This scholarship would support me as I continue learning, growing, and contributing to a future where more women feel confident taking their place in STEM.