In my family, strength looks like my grandmother—a midwife and nurse who delivered babies in war zones and refugee camps across South Asia. She never had the luxury of higher education, but she dedicated her life to helping other women survive childbirth and care for their families with dignity. Her stories always stayed with me. They weren’t just memories of sacrifice—they were a reminder that women like her walk so others can run. I’ve always felt it’s my turn to carry that legacy forward. As a Muslim girl growing up in Florida, I’ve learned to balance a lot—faith, family expectations, health struggles, and the pressure to succeed. When I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis in high school, everything felt uncertain. I missed weeks of school at a time, sitting in doctor’s offices while my friends were in class or at football games. It took a toll on my grades, but more than that, it affected how I saw myself. I didn’t feel strong. I didn’t feel capable. But somewhere between flare-ups and falling behind, I found something that brought me back—purpose. I joined FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) and quickly realized I didn’t just love business—I loved leading. I ran for state office and started creating resources and internship opportunities for students across Florida, especially for those in low-income or under-resourced schools. I also launched a financial literacy camp for middle schoolers and built an AI-powered platform called Stylify to help make online shopping smarter and more sustainable. But the experience that changed me the most was my summer in Mombasa, Kenya. I led a research project focused on clean water access and taught Taekwondo to students at a school for children with disabilities. At first, I thought I was there to help them—but they gave me more than I could’ve imagined. Watching them show up every day with joy, even when their circumstances were tough, reminded me of what really matters: showing up for each other. Now, as I begin college, I’m hoping to study actuarial science and business so I can make systems—whether in healthcare, education, or community development—more fair and accessible. I want to build something of my own, and eventually, I dream of starting a scholarship for first-generation Muslim girls like me, who sometimes feel caught between tradition and ambition. Reading about Ismat Tariq felt like reading about so many women I love. Women who gave everything so their daughters and granddaughters could have a chance. I see this scholarship not just as support, but as a symbol of that sacrifice—and a promise to pay it forward. I may not have it all figured out yet, but I know this: I’ll never stop showing up. And I’ll never stop trying to make the women before me proud.