I was raised with a sense of being deprived. Life in the projects consisted of all the frustrations of shattered lobby windows, shared access to the one elevator for everyone in the building, and the frigid winters of having only some heat some of the time. Even at home, basic Wi-Fi was not always a certainty, which added an additional layer of difficulty to an education. Those experiences provided me with much discipline and much resourcefulness, but they also provided great clarity into how money, or the lack thereof, can permeate every aspect of life. I am the first in my family to attend college and quite frankly, that is a scary undertaking. My mom worked very hard to keep our family afloat in a financial place but there was only so much she could do to provide. At times, her traditional beliefs about gender roles resulted in me bearing significant responsibility in the home while also keeping on top of my studies. Regardless of all that I faced I was able to come out on top. An award like this could begin to take some of the pressure off, allowing me to not expend much energy worrying, but instead focus on my education. In spite of barriers that could block me from operating at my full capacity I did attempt to push myself to re-engage with the community. I volunteered in the community supporting food and book initiatives and participated in a toy drive. I also worked closely with Senator Cordell Cleare in the renovation process for the area on 110th street to be named Malcolm X Avenue, coordinating the town hall meeting in the community. I worked with the Met Teen Research cohort, I worked on several projects, especially related to Black history and organizations. In all of these experiences I learned that being a leader does not always mean being the loudest voice in the room but instead being the voice that listens, that serves, that cares, and that seeks to grow a community.

Sgt. Owen James Lennon made the ultimate sacrifice for the United States Marine Corps by laying down his life to save and support others. His legacy encourages us - to find a way to do this ourselves and to make the world a better place for the people around us. Though I do not wear a uniform, I plan on devoting my life to service through architecture—which will be through designing a building or a new landscape that gives safety, dignity, and a sense of belonging to those who have long been forgotten. My vision of architecture has always been about more than just a building. As an adolescent, I lived in New York public housing, where broken windows, temperatures below freezing with no heat, and a system with one working elevator were part of my experience of urban living. At the same age, I spent part of my early childhood in Mali, with my grandparents, which included more culture and even fewer resources. This confluence of experiences has instilled in me, as I believe it should, that housing is never "shelter"; it is health, opportunity, and worth. For me, architecture is about restoring worth. Service has always held an important place in my life. For instance, when I was a high school student, I volunteered with food distribution, book distribution, toy distribution for holiday drives, and worked with Senator Cordell Cleare of Harlem on some successful campaigns to rename the 110th Street Plaza as Malcolm X Plaza. I also participated in The Met’s teen research cohort, where I stewarded a series of projects that examined Black history and community memory, including doing research on the history of Seneca Village, a prosperous and thriving Black community that was destroyed without much care. Each of these experiences amplified my commitment to being a person for other people: I learned that no matter if I was giving out meals or challenging for recognizing equity, or supporting preserving cultural legacies, service had a sustainable impact beyond a moment in time. That is the kind of impact I hope to engage, as an architect. Inspired by Zaha Hadid’s work, I want to design spaces that balance beauty and function, and recognize our people and our environment. I picture housing that is affordable, yet dignified, and which allows children to grow up without shame about their living situations. I want to create community centers that allow neighbors to feel some sense of connection, not isolation. A scholarship in Sgt. Lennon’s name would facilitate me in achieving those goals. As a low-income student, I can relate to how the burden of financial stress can interrupt educational aspirations. This scholarship would help defray essential costs reading materials, books, and supplies related to my college success. Additionally, it would ease my worries about educational goals, assignment deadlines, skills-building, and opportunity-seeking, as I would have a way to focus on all of those without thinking about how to pay for them. Most importantly, the work that I do as an architect will also hold into consideration Sgt. Lennon’s legacy through carrying forth the spirit of service. He sacrificed his life to ensure others were given a chance to be free to live theirs in safety. I want to honor Sgt. Lennon’s sacrifice by doing my part to enable more people to live in environments that give them a sense of agency, security, comfort, and belonging.

In my childhood, I learned that resilience is typically a byproduct of hardship. I was a little girl growing up in Mali, with my grandparents. They fostered both resilience and hope. When I returned to America at the age of six years old, I did not know how to speak english. I was cutting myself off, but painting was my language. I worked with colored pencils by myself, and in so doing discovered a line of communication, of expression with others, and of gaining the self-confidence that would carry me through every following test. Home was not pleasant. I live in a public high-rise housing with shattered windows, uneven heating, and one functioning elevator out of the available ones as part of daily life. Even occasionally, consistent Wi-Fi was something present in abundance and made school work impossible. Household responsibilities and homework were complemented by getting things accomplished around the house as well, many times staying up late at night after work had ended. Instead of being discouraged by them, I was being urged to work harder. I realized early on how to work within deadlines, convert the library into my office space and learn valuable time management skills. These obstacles developed a resilience and discipline that cannot be taught within the confines of a classroom. At the same time, I also committed to giving back to the community. I donated giveaways of books and food, participated in toy drives, and assisted Senator Cordell Cleare in rechristening the 110th Street Plaza as Malcolm X Plaza for him to achieve successfully. I was also part of The Met's teen research group, where I collaborated with other teens on research that varied from fashion to Black history to ignored communities like Seneca Village. I learned from them that service and creativity are my ticket to the future. I also learned the lesson of oneness through art, but the lesson of change through architecture. Who inspired me was Zaha Hadid: she compares architecture with nature to make buildings empower human beings. Buildings are not architecture to me; it's dignity. I envision constructing safer, more lovely houses for individuals such as my family and my village in Mali, where I first witnessed individuals living less. My AP Art portfolio was about togetherness, keys of varying shapes performing the same function, and mine, as an architect, I would hope to do the same: opening doors to possibility for all. Scholarships such as this are not funds alone; they are investments in promise. To me, it would be access to money, promise, and education that otherwise lie beyond my reach. Above all, it would enable me to specialize in writing a career that I can transform adversity into hope, both for myself, and the people whom I aim to serve. Despite such adversity, I am committed to my schooling and to my life. I believe that with proper guidance and support, I can persevere through adversity and utilize architecture in the building of spaces that will have individuals made aware that they are seen, that they are valued, and that they are worthy of potential.

I discovered that resilience would come through adversity as a child. I was raised in Mali, living with my grandparents and learning to persevere and have hope. When I returned to America at age six, I did not know the language. I was isolated, but art was a language that I knew. With the colored pencils themselves, I discovered a means of expression, a connection to humans, and the self-assurance that would sustain me through all the misery to come. Home life wasn't a breeze. I resided in public housing with broken windows, finicky heat, and one functional elevator as a normal occurrence. Even reliable Wi-Fi was at times a luxury, so it was hard to get schoolwork done. Family life also involved segregating schooling from family chores, sometimes grueling late nights after finishing household work. But instead of deterring me from these challenges, they motivated me to work even harder. I was taught how to do tasks in advance, at the library for it would serve as my office, and recalling how I should handle time. All these challenges made me tougher and disciplined, something one could not learn in school. At the same time, I committed to service. I helped give out food and books at giveaways, supported toy drives, and collaborated with Senator Cordell Cleare to get the 110th Street Plaza named in Malcolm X's honor. I also joined The Met's teen research team and collaborated with others on fashion, Black history, and underrepresented populations like Seneca Village. And it occurred to me that my path has to be about service and creativity. Art taught me about oneness, yet architecture taught me about change. I was inspired by Zaha Hadid's work, where she unites design and nature to create spaces to dignify human beings. Architecture is not buildings to me; it is dignity. I want to build safer, more beautiful homes for families like mine and my grandparents' village in Mali, where I first had the privilege of living under limited means. My AP Art portfolio was unity, keys of different shapes but the same purpose, and hopefully my future architecture performs the same purpose: opening doors for all people in the world. These kinds of scholarships are not merely money; they're an investment in potential. To me, it would be a question of access to resources, opportunities, and experiences that previously weren't open to me. Above all, it would allow me to be free to pursue a career in which I can transform adversity into hope, not for me, but for those whom I seek to assist. Irrespective of the adversity I have faced, I am committed to further education and the future. My personal philosophy is that by refusing to give up and asking for help, I can transcend setback and harness architecture to build spaces which remind people they are seen, heard, and worthy of possibility.

My grandparents. Born in America, I lived in Africa from the ages of 1 to 5, with my amazingly religiously devoted grandparents raising me all throughout. I came to America at the age of 6 and discovered colored pencils for the first time. Not knowing how to speak English in this new Continent discouraged me but Art allowed me to express myself while still bringing me joy. My passion for art grew into something that would take over my career. Throughout my years as an artist, the one lesson I've learned is that practice and skill improve the quality, not an expensive watercolor brush. Also I have brought back henna, given to me by my African aunts during vacation in Mali practicing my culture in america. Overall Henna has helped me with patience, communication, and creativity. Starting my freshman year of college, I've enjoyed getting into helping others through volunteering. Handing out gift cards, children's books, and foods such as vegetables, fruits, and plates of warm foods; toy drives for the children (by Cordell Cleare); and petitioning with New York Senator Cordell Cleare in naming 110th St. Plaza after Malcolm X (successfully renamed). Once revisiting my grandparents for vacation at the age of 16, I've been stuck on the idea of giving them the place they really deserved. Through architecture, I can make this difference in many underdeveloped locations. I have taken AP 2D Art and Design, spending 9 months on my topic revolving around expressing the concept of Unity through art. My favorite piece is young girls from all around the world coming together to take a simple picture. My most meaningful piece consists of keys, this is meant to demonstrate how everyone can be different appearance wise, however we all have the same purpose which is opening up new doors for ourselves. Everyone deserves a chance no matter what they look like, and helping someone get their foot through that door is what I strive to do. Additionally, just like architecture, gardening and nature bring me much joy. I have cared for, collected, and planted seeds and plants at the riverbank in my recent high school years. In the same way I would like to help the underprivileged, I'll love and take pride in doing so for the environment as well. I myself live in the projects; I've experienced what it's like to have your place get defenestrated, with smashed lobby windows, a singular working elevator for all residents, and inconsistent heat during the winter season. I've dreamed of the idea of improving living environments from an early age, starting small through volunteering; however, my next year is when true action is taken, and this starts with college. This scholarship would help aid in making sure I'm prepared with the materials I need as well as possibly working on a project that can be considered the real deal. I am determined to study architecture and make life-changing decisions for me and people who truly deserve it.