In Dao De Jing (also known as Tao Te Ching, 道德经), Laozi states: “If you understand others you are smart. If you understand yourself you are illuminated. If you overcome others you are powerful. If you overcome yourself you have strength. If you know how to be satisfied you are rich. If you can act with vigor, you have a will. If you don't lose your objectives you can be long-lasting. If you die without loss, you are eternal.” To find balance and my true self is a life long goal. I first read Dao De Jing at sixteen, during a year when I challenged myself to explore as many ancient Asian texts as I could. I included famous works such as The Art of War, Bhagavad Gita, and Hagakure. Among them, Hagakure became a text I reread often, searching new meanings each time. Yet, Dao De Jing holds a special place in my mind for its complexity and exploration of Daoism and asceticism. It offers a philosophy fundamentally different from other texts I’ve read, emphasizing self-awareness, harmony, and the balance between action and inaction. This particular passage reflects on the relationship between oneself and the external world. Laozi contrasts understanding and mastery of others with understanding and mastery of oneself, showing that true strength and illumination come from one’s own mind. To me, the text speaks to the importance of inner balance before directing energy outward. This philosophy has shaped my own beliefs and the way I strive to live—to truly know myself and reach harmony within my mind before trying to influence the world around me. Understanding oneself is no small task. For me, Dao De Jing calls for full honesty and disclosure with yourself and your inner world. Moving between continents and learning new languages has shown me that the most complex “tongue” to learn is the language of my own mind. I have always been fascinated by the intersection of science and belief, often thought of as contradictory, yet I see patterns that connect them. While Daoism can be considered a religion, I focus on the essence of its lessons, finding ways to resonate with its wisdom and use it to shape myself. The same idea has been taught by so many, yet feels the most fundamental in Dao De Jing text. As Ray Bradbury wrote, “It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching.”Laozi’s words inspire me to change myself from “grass to lawn,” to tend to my inner world with the same care and attention as a gardener. I search for the roots of my emotions, thoughts, and ideologies, overcoming the influence of others and striving to overcome myself. Learning to be satisfied with nothing but my life and mind is a daily practice, though success often feels fleeting. Nonetheless, I return to this practice again and again, seeing it as a way to grow into something more fitting for my soul. As a young person, I often hear that being eager for change is natural, and that my ideals will fade with age. I’ve even been told, “You’re heartless if you haven’t been a liberal as a youth and a concervative as an adult.” Yet I hold firm to the ideologies I have built—through experience, reflection, and stories from books and people around me. Like the stars that never appeared in Moscow’s gray skies but always existed beyond the clouds, my beliefs are constants, guiding me through change and challenge. To lose sight of these beliefs would mean losing the very essence of myself. If I don't lose my objectives I can be long-lasting Laozi’s teachings, likely written in his elder years, carry a timeless wisdom. His concept of wu wei (无为)—often translated as “non-action”—urges readers to remain unwavering in their true selves. It is not about passivity, but about refraining from forcing outcomes, avoiding selfish acts, and staying true to one’s original purpose. Wu wei is the foundation of inner harmony, the key to becoming illuminated and strong, rather than merely powerful or clever. Ultimately, the Dao De Jing is about balance. It reminds me that intention and willpower exist within everyone if we are willing to look inward. Acting with vigor and purpose makes us human, but only through inner balance can we act without judgment or fear. Illumination, as Laozi describes, is not a physical ascension but a state of mind where even death holds no fear. It is a philosophy that continues to inspire me to search for harmony, to overcome myself, and to live in balance with my beliefs and values.

My name is Elizaveta Choreklieva, and from my name to my accent and mentality, I will always be foreign. My story is one of resilience, adaptation, and determination to build a life defined by both purpose and compassion. I am a sophomore majoring in Biomedical Engineering with a focus on biomaterials, driven by a desire to contribute to advancements in gene therapy and synthetic organs. My academic journey is rooted in a personal and cultural narrative that began when I was ten, and my family kept moving from one place to another, first within the same country, and then to whole other continents. This pivotal transition set the foundation for my identity, academic goals, and aspirations to create meaningful change in the world. Life as an immigrant has been both challenging and enriching. The first huge change was when my family and I moved from Middle East, Turkmenistan, to Russia. It was middle school, and while I knew Russian, I still spoke a different language. In my attempts to adapt and make friends with other kids at school, I bended my identity to feel accepted. Academically I was allowed to shine more than I was able to back in Turkmenistan, but teachers never saw the passion I had for science and discoveries. I ended up never really being true to myself, and never made worthwhile friends. But it didn’t last long, since my family moved again, this time to US. Arriving during high school, I faced the dual task of navigating adolescence while learning to thrive in a new educational and cultural environment. I knew little to no English, and faced a whole new level of barrier between myself and those around me. I was no stranger to rigorous academics, having grown up in the Russian education system, where literature and intellectual pursuits were emphasized. However, adapting to a new system of education, language, and cultural norms was a steep learning curve. These experiences taught me resilience and self-reliance, but they also heightened my awareness of the silent struggles many immigrants face. For instance, as a first-generation student, I had to find my own path in a system unfamiliar to my family, which lacked the resources to guide me. All I had was translator and google on my phone, but I found how to make the best out of it. I have come to learn much about myself, my home country, and my new home in the United States. Since Turkmenistan, I learned to appreciate freedom of thoughts and inner strength. From Russia, I carry a love of intellectual depth and creativity, through love to classical literature and a culture that values introspection. Yet, I have also grown to appreciate the U.S.‘s diversity, its encouragement of innovation, and the importance of advocacy. When COVID-19 disrupted lives worldwide, my family hosted a Ukrainian college student who became homeless after dorm closures. This experience brought me courage to fight for those those who are vulnerable. Additionally, I started a club back at my high school, helping immigrant students make friends and learn more about school and United States. My name is Elizaveta Choreklieva, and I no longer change it to something pronounceable by others. I learned the need to help others, to acknowledge my privilege among so many that I left behind, accept and never change myself for others, and always pursue my dreams. My immigration journey has instilled in me the courage to move forward despite setbacks and the humility to learn from others, because the experiences is what shape the world. I hope you learned something from me too.

My aunt has been struggling with congestive heart failure for many years, a disease that has changed both her and my life. Her shortness of breath, fatigue, and numerous hospital visits here in PA have opened my eyes to the difficulties faced by heart disease sufferers—in this case, not just those with the diagnosis but their whole family. Death lies a breath away with her condition as we always tremble at the thought of something going wrong and having another heart failure. I learned many things from following her journey, the biggest lesson I was able to glean was in seeing my own health differently. Whenever I feel my heart beat hard because I get stressed out or do something physical, I always wonder if the same fate awaits me. Her experience has made me hyper-aware of my own heart and stress levels. Whenever I feel my chest tighten or my heart beat faster than usual, I can’t help but overthink. My grandmother had the same condition as my aunt. Will I inherit these same health issues? The thought lingers in the back of my mind, and it pushes me to be more careful with my own my body and manage stress. While I may not currently suffer from heart disease, the emotional burden of watching someone I love battle it has shaped me greatly. Living within a heartbeat of possible heart disease has also impacted my academic journey. Being so close to someone with a chronic heart condition has sparked my interest in healthcare, specifically in biomedical engineering. I want to be part of the solution—to contribute to research and innovation that might one day make managing heart disease easier, or even prevent it from ruining thousands of lives. My aunt’s strength she’s shown in the face of her illness motivate me to push forward in my studies, despite the challenges I face. I see my education as a way to honor her fight and to work toward a future where fewer families have to endure the same struggles. Beyond the academic and career goals her condition has inspired, my aunt’s journey has taught me a lot about perseverance. Her strength through endless hospital visits and lifestyle changes has been a constant reminder that even the hardest obstacles can be overcome with confidence and optimism. This has shaped my approach to my own life, especially in managing academic stress and personal challenges. I’ve learned that failing is inevitable, but with the right mindset, it can be overcome and teach you so much more. Receiving the John Nathan Lee Foundation Heart Scholarship would not only provide me with the financial means to continue my education but would also allow me to carry forward the lessons my aunt has taught me. Her battle with congestive heart failure has been a defining experience in my life, shaping my academic path and inspiring me to make a difference in the world of healthcare. This scholarship would be a way to honor her perseverance while helping me pursue my goal of contributing to the fight against heart disease.

In 2017, my cousin was listening to some music on her phone, so I sneaked one of the earbuds, leaning in closer to avoid ripping the old wired headphones, which had at least four knots in them. It’s hard to believe that 2017 was seven years ago—truly terrifying, especially since my tastes and opinions haven’t changed much since then. Maybe I never had a character growth arc, but I know I experienced one of the best moments of my life on 08/27/2019, in Moscow. After four hours of standing in line outside, I had to sit inside for two more hours, and then… the lights turned off, the stadium roaring with excited screams. The drop… and there she was. I swear it feels like it was just yesterday. The choir of people was louder than her microphone, and all I could hear was my own broken, screaming voice. My favorite song by Billie Eilish is “Watch.” It always has been. For me, it’s never been about the heavy beat or the creepiness—it’s always been about the bittersweet songs tinged with blue, sung with her beautiful high-pitched voice. “Watch” is about closing your heart to others after being hurt, about how being burned once makes you believe that things were never meant to be. It hurts, and it might be wrong, but even if you wanted to open up again, the fear of touching fire would never let you do that. Two other songs by Billie that I love are “Bored” and “idontwannabeyouanymore.” Despite the sad tone and themes of these songs, they feel almost comforting to me. In “Bored,” she sings about finding comfort in being alone, or even possibly alone with someone, and how even after finding boredom in the endless cycle of being left and hurt by those you care for, you can still find comfort in it. I relate deeply to this idea, as someone who spends most of my time alone with a book, but recently, there’s been another person joining my loneliness, and somehow, it doesn’t feel exhausting to be next to someone again. On the other hand, “idontwannabeyouanymore” is a song that hurts much more by reminding me of the struggles I faced with anxiety and self-harm back in late middle school, and how my self-hatred affected the way I saw the world and myself. Not wanting to be myself, both physically and mentally, is a problem that has never entirely left, and fighting against it is a daily battle. However, listening to Billie Eilish sing this song makes me feel like I can accept this part of myself and grow beyond it. Even if I’m made of a broken mold, I can still find happiness in being alone—or alone with him. Does that make sense?

Olivia Rodrigo epitomizes teenage drama, capturing the essence of the stupid romances, breakups, and expectations others place on you. There’s something touching about all her songs; even when you haven’t experienced something directly, you somehow know exactly how it feels. Her album GUTS stays true to her style, touching on similar issues, yet expressing them in unique ways. The songs I found myself relating to the most, and reflecting deeply on, are “Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl” and “All-American B***h.” While I’ve never been homeschooled, as an immigrant, I deeply relate to the feeling of disconnection, of being “on the outside of the greatest inside joke.” Even with Olivia’s songs, while others obsess over tracks about painful relationships, I’m still here, unable to get over my own issues—still on the outside of pop culture and adolescence. While I was trying to catch up with others in studies and skills, they were already making life-long experiences, good or bad, living their “best years” to the fullest, leaving me only further behind. Sometimes, I’m proud of myself for never making bad mistakes or losing myself in a relationship like others, but much more often, I hate the empty feeling inside from never having experienced the thrill of being young and stupid. But there was always music. Songs with lyrics I only recently began to understand—something that even I can be a part of. And “Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl” describes me a little too accurately. A little too painfully. On the other hand, “All-American B***h” reflects the aftermath of such a life—an attempt to fit in, to be someone I’m not. To be perfect and always be the girl the world expects me to be. But in the end, it cannot make you happy, even if you do fit in. If anything, I’ve definitely experienced how it feels to be a teenager, with a lot of expectations on my shoulders, and the overwhelming fear of disappointing everyone around me by revealing my true self. Oh, and I also wrote a poem about it. “And I hate all my clothes Feels like my skin Doesn’t fit right over my bones” And I was never homeschooled, Yet I moved schools so often That I do not remeber home. I was harassed For voice, and face, an accent, grades, By teachers, peers, family, I know I know And sexually harassed as well. My skin is pale and ugly, I want to rip it off, Ink it black with drawings Replace it with myself, Not parts of mommy and daddy. And maybe that is just a teenage Girl thing, But dying did not sound that bad At times. And I hate my face There is nothing wrong with it, But people always find a reason, And I am just a girl And I should die my hair, paint my face, Be pretty, smart, and funny, But not a pick me, that’s disgusting, And love myself, ‘cuz that’s the trend, So i will put my mask back on, And be happy and “greatfull all the time” Now “I am pretty when I cry”.

**Facing Adversity: A Journey of Growth and Resilience** My life has been marked by significant changes and challenges, especially as an immigrant. Born in Turkmenistan, I moved to Moscow at age twelve, and later, just before the COVID-19 pandemic, I relocated to the United States. This last move presented me with some of the greatest obstacles, testing my determination and resilience in ways I had never imagined. When my family and I arrived in the U.S., I faced the daunting task of learning English from scratch. This challenge was compounded by the fact that I was thrown into advanced science classes. Adjusting to a new culture while trying to excel academically was overwhelming. Every day felt like a struggle to catch up, both in my studies and in everyday conversations. The language barrier was a major hurdle. It wasn’t just about learning new words; it was about feeling isolated and unsure of myself. As someone who is naturally introverted, this isolation was even more intense. I often felt disconnected from my peers and hesitant to participate in class or social activities, which made it difficult to build relationships and gain confidence. To overcome these challenges, I took several proactive steps. First, I worked hard to improve my English. I attended extra language classes, practiced with online tools, and sought help from teachers and classmates. I knew that mastering the language was essential not only for my academic success but also for my personal growth. In addition to focusing on my language skills, I threw myself into extracurricular activities. I joined several clubs and even took on leadership roles. One of my proudest achievements was leading a school magazine club to a national competition, where we won a top prize. This experience was a turning point for me, showing that my efforts to overcome the language barrier were paying off and helping me gain confidence. Being an immigrant has played a crucial role in my journey. Moving from Turkmenistan to Russia and then to the U.S. has given me a unique perspective and taught me the value of resilience. Each move required me to adapt quickly and find strength in my new surroundings. These experiences have made me more empathetic and resourceful, qualities that have been valuable in both my studies and personal life. The lessons I’ve learned from facing adversity are deeply ingrained in who I am today. I have learned that resilience is about more than just getting through tough times; it’s about using those challenges to grow and achieve my goals. My experiences have also founded my passion for advocacy and creativity, allowing me to speak out on global issues like the conflict in Ukraine and the fight against authoritarian regimes. Now, as a second-year Biomedical Engineering student, I use these lessons to approach problems with a fresh perspective and to advocate for positive change. The skills and confidence I’ve gained from overcoming language barriers and cultural differences continue to drive me in my academic and personal pursuits. The struggles and distance are still there, and i am afraid they will never entierly leave me, but I am learning to embrace them. My journey as an immigrant has turned challenges into opportunities, helping me grow stronger and more determined to achieve my goals and dreams.

My mother used to tell me stories about my childhood. I was always a mix of opposites: quiet yet talkative, smart but often foolish, brave but always crying. I loved taking rice grains and making little drawings on the table, or mixing them with other grains and separating them back into their jars. In the late evenings, I would run around the neighborhood, rallying kids to play hide and seek, sometimes turning it into a massive game with dozens of children. I had a habit of secretly breaking my toys, especially my Barbies, and then trying to put them back together. Sadly, not all of them could be fixed, so I would hide them under my bed. My mom would laugh, recalling how I’d eventually come to her in tears, begging her to fix my toys. She knew I was too young to understand that some things can’t be fixed, but I was too stubborn to accept it. I would glue legs back on or create makeshift structures to hold things together, determined to prove that anything could be fixed. Unfortunately, that courage didn’t last long. Then I went to school. My father believes that school broke me. Naturally, I tend to disagree with him. It wasn’t school; it was society. Turkmenistan was too broken for anyone to fix, so I had to leave it behind, just like the broken toys under my bed. I learned how to lose, and I learned how to give up. That was a valuable lesson. In Moscow, my courage slowly returned. I made friends, learned new things, and explored the world. I no longer played with rice grains but with cameras and computers. I loved learning, especially subjects that bored my peers, like biology or robotics. I had a fire in my soul, but for some reason, I could never achieve anything. People around me confidently told me I was simply not capable, not good enough. And I believed them. I knew I was a broken toy—like that Barbie with a broken head and half-erased face. I had fire but no fuel to succeed. I never won the Olympiads I participated in, never aced contests, and never passed exams to better schools. When I had almost forgotten the skills I once had, my family and I moved to the U.S. It was like moving to the moon. Suddenly, personal houses replaced apartment buildings, and giant schools, baseball, and football became a reality rather than something seen on TV. To be honest, I didn’t miss Russia much, and the move wasn’t too hard for me. Perhaps because I was used to moving, it felt manageable. Learning English and taking my first classes in a different language was challenging, exhausting, but possible. Then COVID hit, and I was thrown out of my comfort zone again. It was during this time that I found peace with myself, truly understood who I was, and decided what I wanted to do with my life. I craved a challenge. I wanted to see if, even in the Land of Freedom, I was still that broken toy. Maybe I am. Maybe a non-functioning wheel glued to the side doesn’t fix a car. Maybe learning the most unrelated and scattered topics and hobbies didn’t make me a "fixed" person. After all, I still follow a degree in engineering and prioritize financial stability over passion, but is that really wrong? All of it is part of me—three cultures, three continents, broken friendships, and the loneliness of a mute. I’ve learned to accept it all no matter how many times I’m thrown out again.