At just five years old, my world shattered when my mother received the devastating news that my father had been in a horrific car accident. I still remember the barren hospital walls, the frigid air thick with tension as we anxiously awaited the news. A drunk driver, recently released from jail with two prior DUIs, had caused the crash. My father was left a quadriplegic with a traumatic brain injury. I sat in silence while family members erupted into tears, their sobs echoing through the sterile halls. I was too young to comprehend the full extent of what had happened, but one thing was clear: the reckless decision of one person had irrevocably changed everything. The questions consumed me: Why was this person able to continue hurting families? Where was the accountability for such reckless actions? At such a young age, I felt like the world had betrayed us, and I carried that growing sense of injustice with me for years. The toll on my father’s body was unbearable. Despite the best efforts of doctors, my father eventually passed away, leaving a hole in my heart that has never healed. When I was just 11 years old, another tragedy struck. My baby sister swallowed a button battery that fell from the TV remote. It seemed like another unimaginable nightmare. Another terrifying hospital trip. But this time, there was a glimmer of hope. My sister would survive. She was lucky. Most children who swallow these tiny batteries face a much darker fate. I couldn’t stop thinking about how close we came to losing her, and how this small, dangerous object was often overlooked by so many. In that moment, I realized that I could no longer be passive, waiting for someone else to help. I refused to be a victim of circumstance. I refused to remain angry. I poured myself into learning about button batteries. These small objects burn through tissue in less than an hour, posed a silent but deadly threat. And what’s worse is these batteries target the most vulnerable; children, pets, and the elderly. What I learned was infuriating. There were laws meant to protect us, but they were often ignored. Sellers bypassed safety standards, and companies, especially those based in countries like China, skirted regulations. The battery that nearly killed my sister came from a seller in China. The seller was never found. I knew that if anything was going to change, it had to start with the laws that allowed these unsafe products to be brought into our country. So I created a website and raised funds for a law which would mandate stricter safety standards for products with button batteries. Yet, even after the law passed in 2022, major retailers are finding loopholes to sell batteries with even fewer safeguards. I realized this fight wasn’t over. There is still so much work to do. I am not only continuing the battle for safer products but I made a vow to become a doctor and offer the same healing touch and humanity to families in pain, just like we had received. I am determined to dedicate my medical career to honoring the memories of my father and what my sister endured. In high school, I have volunteered as a paramedic and pharmacy technician. Empowerment and innovation can be born from unimaginable grief. Maybe that’s the silver lining of tragedy—it offers perspective. It strips away the illusions of control and safety, making you acutely aware of how fragile life is. My mission is clear: I will continue to be an advocate for those without a voice.

I was only five years old when my mother received the devastating call that my father had been in a horrific car accident. A drunk driver caused the crash, leaving my father a quadriplegic with a traumatic brain injury. I spent what seemed like endless days in hospitals and rehabilitation centers, watching doctors and therapists work. For years, I adjusted to my new “normal.” The physician’s skill and dedication were a constant inspiration. Thanks to the care he received, my father made remarkable progress through physical rehabilitation. Though he would never walk again, he did regain his independence and learned to operate an electric wheelchair. Most importantly, we were able to continue sharing priceless moments together. At the age of 10, my sister swallowed a button battery. This time the surgeons emerged with good news. My sister would recovery with only minor issues. She was lucky. More than half the children who swallow these batteries do not survive. Once again, I found myself in awe of the doctors. Their ability to act quickly and skillfully left a lasting impression on me. I was moved by their expertise and their ability to save a child’s life. What great act of service could a person offer? I began volunteering through TIRR, Cancer Research of America, and Mental Health America. I also worked to raise awareness of button batteries and raise money for the National Safety Council. Unfortunately the challenges didn’t end there. A little over a year ago, my father received a cancer diagnosis. Returning to the hospital felt like a shock all over again. I often felt lost, confused, and helpless. And if I’m being honest, there are times I still do. After everything we had already overcome, how could this happen? But that’s the thing about cancer. Cancer doesn’t care what you’ve been through or who you are. I think of my childhood friend who lost her leg to bone cancer, my grandfather who passed away from glioblastoma, and my aunt who is currently fighting lung cancer. Cancer spares no one. Yet, in the midst of it all, I found comfort in watching the doctors—so calm, so poised. They offered a bit of control and hope in a world filled with tears and heartbreak. They were inspiring not just because of their medical expertise, but because of their deep empathy and compassion for human life. One doctor bought me dinner and said he was praying for my dad. I made a vow to become the kind of doctor who could offer that same human touch to families who were feeling as broken and lost as I once had. My father spent four months in the hospital battling stomach cancer before it ultimately took his life. I hope to dedicate my medical career to his memory. Last year, I worked as a practicum paramedic technician in a hospital setting, and this year I’ve been gaining experience as a practicum pharmacy technician. I look forward to exploring cancer research and pediatric care in the future. Every day brings new opportunities, and I’m excited to see where my healthcare journey leads me. I truly believe the challenges I’ve faced have shaped me for greatness. I am still learning and remain deeply grateful for every opportunity to plant seeds of growth and resilience, knowing that these experiences empower me to lift up others along the way.

Volunteering was ingrained in me from a young age, shaped by the challenges my family faced. When I was five years old, my father was paralyzed by a drunk driver. To support his rehabilitation at TIRR, a specialized center, my mom raised funds for his care. This experience taught me how to recognize a problem and work toward a solution. Throughout my life, I’ve faced many obstacles, but each one has presented an opportunity to give back to the community while building my resilience. In 2017, I began volunteering with Mental Health America - Houston after our home was flooded during Hurricane Harvey. In 2018, following a near tragedy when my baby sister swallowed a button battery, I worked with the National Safety Council to raise awareness about battery safety. For the past three years, I’ve also been a full-time volunteer with our community’s youth tennis program. By the time I graduate high school in May, I will have logged over 700 hours of community service. These experiences have fueled my passion for the medical field and giving back to the community. Every day brings new discoveries, and I’m excited to see where it leads.

There’s no denying that working in the medical field was my destiny. I was only 5 years old when my mother received the devastating call that my father had been in a horrific car accident. A drunk driver caused the crash, leaving my father a quadriplegic with a traumatic brain injury. I spent what seemed like endless days in hospitals and rehabilitation centers, watching doctors and therapists work. For years, I adjusted to my new “normal.” The physician’s skill and dedication were a constant inspiration. Thanks to the care he received, my father made remarkable progress through physical rehabilitation. Though he would never walk again, he did regain his independence and learned to operate an electric wheelchair. Most importantly, we were able to continue sharing priceless moments together. At the age of 10, my sister swallowed a button battery. This time the surgeons emerged with good news. My sister would recovery with only minor issues. She was lucky. More than half the children who swallow these batteries do not survive. Once again, I found myself in awe of the doctors. Their ability to act quickly and skillfully left a lasting impression on me. I was moved by their expertise and their ability to save a child’s life. What great act of service could a person offer? I began volunteering through TIRR, Cancer Research of America, and Mental Health America. I also worked to raise awareness of button batteries and raise money for the National Safety Council. Unfortunately the challenges didn’t end there. A little over a year ago, my father received a cancer diagnosis. Returning to the hospital felt like a shock all over again. I often felt lost, confused, and helpless. And if I’m being honest, there are times I still do. After everything we had already overcome, how could this happen? But that’s the thing about cancer. Cancer doesn’t care what you’ve been through or who you are. I think of my childhood friend who lost her leg to bone cancer, my grandfather who passed away from glioblastoma, and my aunt who is currently fighting lung cancer. Cancer spares no one. Yet, in the midst of it all, I found comfort in watching the doctors—so calm, so poised. They offered a bit of control and hope in a world filled with tears and heartbreak. They were inspiring not just because of their medical expertise, but because of their deep empathy and compassion for human life. One doctor bought me dinner and said he was praying for my dad. I made a vow to become the kind of doctor who could offer that same human touch to families who were feeling as broken and lost as I once had. My father spent four months in the hospital battling stomach cancer before it ultimately took his life. I hope to dedicate my medical career to his memory. Last year, I worked as a practicum paramedic technician in a hospital setting, and this year I’ve been gaining experience as a practicum pharmacy technician. I look forward to exploring cancer research and pediatric care in the future. Every day brings new opportunities, and I’m excited to see where my healthcare journey leads me. I truly believe the challenges I’ve faced have shaped me for greatness. I am still learning and remain deeply grateful for every opportunity to plant seeds of growth and resilience, knowing that these experiences empower me to lift up others along the way.

Squirrels are known for their intelligence and resilience. Their instincts drive them to gather food, ensuring their survival. While most of the nuts they stash away are eventually eaten, a few will sprout into trees, perpetuating their existence. These forest dwellers also have a remarkable ability to predict where your car will be in about twenty feet and they’ll run directly into that spot to give your vehicle a high five! This seemingly reckless behavior became a lens through which I understood how one fateful decision can change the course of life forever. I was just five years old when my mom received the devastating call: my father was in a horrific car accident. We rushed to the hospital, hearts heavy with dread, awaiting for surgeons to emerge with news. My father’s spinal cord was severely damaged. He was a quadriplegic with a traumatic brain injury. Family members erupted into tears, their sobs echoing through the sterile hospital halls. I was too young to understand the full gravity of what happened. “Mom, what is a drunk driver?” I asked. In an attempt to shield me from the noise, my mother draped a blanket over our heads. She looked into my eyes and, with a calm voice, reminded me of the indecisive squirrel in the road. “You know how we say squirrels have a ‘squirrel brain’?” she said. “Humans are like those squirrels. Some choose the safe path, while others leap right into danger for the thrill of it.” For years, I adjusted to my new “normal.” Watching my father battle through physical rehabilitation was inspiring. He recovered from the brain injury, and though he never walked again, he learned to navigate an electric wheelchair. More importantly, we shared priceless moments together, and I found hope in his resilience. Over a year ago, my father was diagnosed with cancer. It felt like an injustice. After everything he endured, how could this happen? But cancer is indifferent. It doesn’t care about your family or what you’ve been through. It doesn’t care about my friend in kindergarten who lost her leg to bone cancer, my grandfather who recently passed from glioblastoma, or my aunt who is currently losing her battle with lung cancer. Cancer doesn’t discriminate. Returning to the hospital was a shock. It felt like stepping into a world of confusion, sadness, and fragility. Yet, amid the sorrow, I found solace in the doctors. Their calm composure, unwavering hope, and empathy provided a light in the darkness. One doctor even took the time to buy me dinner and said he was praying for my dad. I always felt a calling to work in healthcare but it was that moment, I vowed to become the kind of doctor who offered families the same compassion and support I received. A doctor who was there, not just to treat the body, but to comfort the soul. My father spent four months in the hospital, fighting stomach cancer, before it ultimately took his life. In the year since his passing, I’ve continued to follow a path which honors his strength and resilience. Last year, I worked as a practicum paramedic technician in a hospital. This year, I am working as a practicum pharmacy technician. My intended major in Biomedical Engineering, allowing me to explore the intersection of science and medicine. As a Christian, I strive to make decisions that align with my values, knowing that each choice plants seeds for the future. One reckless decision can alter everything, but so can a single act of kindness or compassion

Racket ready? Check. Eye contact? Check. I serve the tennis ball to my little sister, the newest addition to the tennis class. She returns it with such force that it nearly hits my eye. Welcome to my life. Sometimes, I’m the tennis coach. Sometimes, I’m the target. I often wonder if tennis will shape her future the way it has shaped mine. Ten years ago, I was her age. In my second tennis class, I stood near the same spot, jumping to return a volley when I tripped on my untied shoelaces and sprained my ankle. I lay there, embarrassed, betrayed by my own apparel. I remember wanting to give up in that moment. Little did I know how much tennis would ultimately change the course of my life. At just five years old, my father’s life was tragically altered by a drunk driver, leaving him paralyzed and eventually claiming his life. In the aftermath, my mom enrolled me in tennis classes. There, I met my coach, who nurtured my potential in a positive, encouraging environment. Tennis quickly became my lifeline—a sport and a source of strength and distraction that helped me navigate grief and loss. I’m not sure if my love for tennis came from the sport itself or from my coach, who taught me not just how to serve or hit a forehand, but how to cope with pain, focus on what I could control, and stay calm when life—or a tennis match—felt overwhelming. It didn’t take long for me to catch the tennis bug. My tennis journey continues to shape my goals and my future. I’m currently a varsity tennis player in high school and will continue to play in college. While the game remains the same, the expectations have only grown. In a world where winning is everything, it’s easy to get caught up in the rush of success and the emotions tied to both victories and defeats. But I carry with me a secret: the supernatural gift of calm. The trauma I endured in my youth has given me resilience. Maybe that’s the silver lining of tragedy—it offers perspective. Many of my teammates think losing a match is the worst thing that could happen. But when the worst has already happened, the threat of “the worst” no longer holds power. Here we are, ten years later. I’ve been a volunteer coach for three years, working alongside the same coach who mentored me in my youth. As I continue to play in college, I aim to pass on not just tennis skills, but the lessons of resilience, focus, and calm that have carried me through my darkest times. Coaching isn’t just about teaching the game—it’s about guiding others through life’s challenges, both on and off the court. Life, like tennis, is a series of matches—some won, some lost—but always offering opportunities to learn and grow. Tennis continued to teach me discipline, resilience, and how to find peace amidst chaos. In the end, it’s love—love for the game, for the people who’ve supported me, and for the life I’ve been given—that makes this incredible journey worthwhile.