Mental health is often viewed as separate from physical health, yet my journey has shown me that they are inextricably linked. I grew up in Ecuador and later moved to the United States during my teenage years, a period already full of change and uncertainty. The cultural transition, language barriers, and distance from my family network brought challenges that tested my emotional resilience. During this time, I saw how mental health struggles can quietly shape every part of a person’s life—sometimes even more than physical illness. My turning point came when a close friend in Ecuador was diagnosed with leukemia. I saw him endure aggressive treatment, but what struck me most was how his mental state determined the way he faced his illness. He was in pain, yet the moments when he felt hopeful, supported, and understood were when he fought the hardest. His experience—and my struggles adapting to new environments—taught me that healing is not just about treating the body; it’s also about supporting the mind. This realization shaped both my beliefs and my relationships. Empathy is essential as expertise in medicine. I’ve learned to be present for people not only when they are visibly unwell, but also when they silently carry emotional burdens. With friends, classmates, and family, I try to listen without judgment and create a safe space for honesty. I’ve seen firsthand how small acts of understanding—whether it’s remembering to check in or validating someone’s feelings—can be lifelines during difficult moments. Academically, I am pursuing a major in Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biophysics and Molecular Biology, and a minor in Nutrition Sciences at Montclair State University. My goal is to become an oncologist, but I want my practice to be different from those that focus solely on medical treatment. I plan to integrate mental health support into my future work, ensuring that my patients receive counseling and resources alongside physical treatment plans. In oncology, fear, anxiety, and depression are common, yet they are often under-addressed. I want to change that. I also plan to advocate for the normalization of mental health care in medical settings. Too often, patients are reluctant to speak about emotional distress, worried it might be dismissed or seen as weakness. By encouraging open dialogue, promoting collaboration with mental health professionals, and reducing stigma, I hope to make mental health care as routine as checking vital signs. Beyond clinical work, I envision collaborating with community organizations to make mental health resources more accessible—especially in underserved areas where stigma and lack of services keep people from seeking help. In immigrant communities like the one I grew up in, cultural and language barriers can make it even harder to address mental health. I want to develop outreach programs that respect cultural perspectives while providing effective care. My journey has shown me that science and compassion must go hand in hand. Medicine can save a life, but mental health care can give that life back its meaning. Through my career, I hope to treat not only the illness, but also the invisible wounds that come with it—helping patients find light in their darkest moments, just as others have done for me.

Being a caregiver is not something I chose—it’s something life chose for me. From the moment I returned to the United States in 2022 to live with my father, I became the primary person responsible for his well-being. My father, a resilient man who had spent years separated from his family due to immigration and economic hardship, was dealing with physical and emotional challenges that required constant support. As his only family member in the country, I quickly had to learn how to juggle not only the responsibilities of caregiving, but also my first year of college, part-time work, and a demanding pre-med track. My daily routine has been shaped by caregiving. I manage my father’s medications, accompany him to his doctor’s appointments, and handle our household finances, including translating paperwork, medical forms, and bills, as English is not his first language. I do the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. When he goes through bouts of depression or chronic pain, I’m the one who listens, encourages him, and reminds him he’s not alone. Though I’m only in my late teens, I’ve taken on responsibilities that most people don’t face until much later in life. My father sacrificed everything to give me the chance to succeed—and now I feel it’s my turn to support him. Caregiving has shaped who I am in profound ways. It has taught me patience and empathy. It has strengthened my problem-solving skills and forced me to grow up quickly. While other students may worry about exams and deadlines, I’ve learned to plan around medical visits and late-night emotional support sessions. This role has given me a deeper understanding of human fragility and resilience—something I carry with me into my studies as a molecular biology major with aspirations of becoming an oncologist. I didn’t always dream of becoming a doctor. My journey into medicine was ignited when a close friend of mine died from leukemia in high school. That pain was followed by seeing my grandfather in Ecuador battle cancer, and later, seeing how difficult it was for my father to navigate the U.S. healthcare system. These experiences planted a seed that grew into a strong desire to help others. Through caregiving, I’ve realized that being present for someone in their darkest moments is one of the most powerful forms of support we can offer—and I want to bring that same spirit of care into my future profession. But caregiving isn’t just a duty—it’s also a sacrifice. I’ve had to turn down social events, miss academic opportunities, and reduce my work hours because I had to be there for my father. As a commuter student and first-generation college student, I also face financial strain. Despite my academic achievements and medical certifications (I’m currently certified in phlebotomy, EKG, and medical assisting), the cost of tuition, transportation, food, and living expenses continues to weigh heavily on me. Scholarships like this one are not just financial relief—they are affirmations that someone sees what I’m doing, and believes in my future. This scholarship would allow me to focus more on my studies and clinical opportunities without the added stress of wondering how I will pay for textbooks, commuting, or meals during long campus days. It would give me the chance to reduce my work hours and devote more time to both my education and my father's care. Most importantly, it would represent a validation of the balance I’ve worked so hard to maintain—between being a son, a student, and a caregiver. Caregiving is hard. It is emotionally draining, physically exhausting, and often invisible to the outside world. But it is also one of the most meaningful roles I’ve ever taken on. It has shaped my identity, refined my goals, and deepened my capacity to care for others in ways that textbooks alone could never teach. One day, when I’m in a white coat, listening to the fears of a patient or comforting a struggling family, I will remember these years—not just as a challenge, but as the foundation for my strength. I don’t see caregiving as a burden. I see it as training—for life, for medicine, for empathy. And I’m proud of the person it’s helped me become.

When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly. They are like this because they cannot tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own—not of the same blood and birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. This passage, taken from Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, contains one of the clearest demonstrations of Stoic philosophy in practice. Though it may at first sound cynical, it is in fact a powerful reminder of moral resilience, self-awareness, and empathy. It does not teach the reader to hate or avoid others, but rather to expect human flaws while holding firm to one’s moral center. The underlying thesis of this paragraph is that self-mastery, rather than external control, is the only reliable defense against the chaos of the world—and that recognizing our shared human nature is essential for navigating it with grace. Marcus Aurelius begins by naming the worst traits one might encounter in others: arrogance, jealousy, and dishonesty. He does not sugarcoat reality. People will hurt us, betray our trust, and act selfishly. But rather than fall into despair or anger, Aurelius offers a shift in mindset: these people are not wicked by nature, but by ignorance. This is a foundational belief in Stoic thought—that wrongdoing stems from a lack of understanding, not from inherent evil. In other words, we should pity the wrongdoer rather than resent them, for they act from blindness, not malice. This principle has challenged the way I understand conflict. Like many, I’ve experienced betrayal, discrimination, and coldness from others. As a first-generation student and an immigrant, I’ve often been judged or misunderstood. There were moments I wanted to respond with the same coldness I received, or let resentment consume me. But when I began to engage more with Stoic writings, especially this passage, I understood that I do not have to reflect the negativity of others. Instead, I have a choice: to either let others mold my character—or to mold it myself. Aurelius takes this even further. He does not just ask the reader to tolerate the behavior of others—he asks us to see them as family. “The wrongdoer has a nature related to my own… possessing a share of the divine.” That phrase holds incredible weight. In a world where it’s easy to dehumanize those who hurt us, Aurelius reminds us of the spiritual kinship shared by all people. Even the jealous, even the rude, even the dishonest—they, too, are part of this human experience. And if we believe that we are capable of goodness, we must also believe they are capable of it, too. This is not naivety. It is compassion grounded in strength. To live by this view is not easy. It requires constant reflection, discipline, and humility. But the reward is peace. When we no longer expect the world to behave perfectly, we free ourselves from constant disappointment. When we choose to respond with steadiness rather than outrage, we gain control over our inner lives. And when we remember that others are not our enemies, but our reflections, we soften the edges of our bitterness. In my own life, these ideas have helped me move forward through difficult family circumstances, academic pressure, and cultural alienation. I’ve learned that people are complex, and even when they act out of ignorance or pain, I do not have to take it personally. Like Aurelius, I start my day by expecting the world to test me—and I commit to rising above it. The deeper lesson of this paragraph is that virtue is not reactive, but chosen. In the face of cruelty, injustice, or disrespect, we can either surrender our values or live them more fully. To be kind in a kind world is easy. But to remain good in a broken one—that is the true test of character.

I was born in Monza, Italy, but grew up in Ecuador, raised by a hardworking mother who always encouraged me to dream big. At age 11, I moved to the United States with my family, but just a year later, my mother decided to return to Ecuador with my younger siblings. I stayed behind with my father. That separation shaped me deeply—I was suddenly navigating a new country, culture, and language while missing the warmth of my mother’s presence. As an immigrant and first-generation college student, I have always felt the weight of representing more than just myself. I carry the hopes of my family and the sacrifices they made for me. But that weight has also fueled my determination. My passion for science was sparked by personal loss. I watched a close childhood friend suffer from leukemia, and years later, I lost my grandfather to cancer. Those experiences made me feel powerless, but also deeply curious. Why does cancer take so much from so many people? And more importantly, what can we do about it? That’s why I’m pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biophysics and a minor in Nutrition Sciences at Montclair State University. I want to become an oncologist—someone who doesn’t just treat patients, but gives them hope. I’m also on the pre-med track, part of the Honors Program, and a Summer Bridge Scholar. These opportunities have not come easily. I worked hard through language barriers, financial limitations, and cultural gaps to get where I am. I earned certifications as an EKG Technician, Clinical Medical Assistant, and Phlebotomy Technician—every step bringing me closer to my dream of practicing medicine. But science isn’t the only part of who I am. I’m also a volunteer. Whether it’s working in a campus kitchen to serve food or supporting the Oasis program by sorting donated clothing, I believe in giving back. Helping others grounds me. It reminds me that no matter how difficult my journey gets, I’m not alone—and I don’t want anyone else to feel like they are. If awarded this scholarship, I would use it to continue my education without adding more financial burden to my father, who has supported me through every twist in my journey. I know what it feels like to have to fight for your future. I also know what it means to hold onto kindness, resilience, and self-belief—just like Sloane Stephens’s grandparents did for her. My story isn’t defined by where I come from, but by where I’m going. I’m determined to help close the gap in cancer treatment, especially for underserved communities. I want to be the doctor who listens, who cares, and who fights alongside their patients—not just for them. That’s the legacy I want to leave.

Ever since I first watched Wicked, I’ve carried its story in my heart like a personal anthem. The vibrant world of Oz, the complex characters of Elphaba and Glinda, and the unforgettable music—all of it made me feel seen in a way few other stories have. I connected instantly with Elphaba. Her struggle to be accepted despite her differences mirrored my own experience as a first-generation immigrant, raised in a single-parent household. Like Elphaba, I’ve felt out of place, judged for things I couldn’t control—my accent, my background, even my dreams. But watching her refuse to conform, to "defy gravity" and embrace who she truly was, gave me the courage to do the same. I stopped trying to shrink myself to fit in and started standing taller for what I believe in. Wicked’s music made that transformation even more powerful. “Defying Gravity” isn’t just a song—it’s a battle cry. Every time I hear it, I’m reminded that I don’t have to follow anyone else’s path. I’m allowed to forge my own, no matter how impossible it might seem. “For Good” taught me that even painful relationships can leave us better than we were before, and that we carry the people we love with us, always. Another reason Wicked is so close to my heart is that I saw it with my younger sister. That experience turned the show into more than just a musical—it became a cherished memory between us. Watching the story unfold beside her, seeing her eyes light up with every song, made me feel like we were both being inspired together. It’s a bond we still talk about, and that night remains one of our favorite shared moments. The friendship between Glinda and Elphaba also resonated deeply. It breaks stereotypes. It shows that people from different worlds, even with opposing personalities and goals, can still deeply care for and influence one another. That’s a lesson I try to live out daily in my diverse university community, where I strive to foster connections across differences and advocate for underrepresented voices. Wicked also made me realize the importance of looking deeper—past surface judgments. The Wizard labeled Elphaba “wicked,” not because she was evil, but because she challenged the system. It made me more aware of how society often labels people unfairly, especially those who speak out or don’t fit the mold. As someone studying Molecular Biology with hopes of becoming an oncologist, I’ve made it a personal mission to use my voice and education to challenge healthcare disparities and advocate for those whose stories often go unheard. Now that Wicked is coming to the big screen with Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, I feel that same spark of excitement I did the first time I heard “The Wizard and I.” It’s a reminder that powerful stories evolve and reach new generations—and that stories like Elphaba’s will always be relevant. To me, Wicked isn’t just a musical. It’s a life philosophy: be unapologetically yourself, fight for justice even when the odds are against you, and believe that your story is worth telling—no matter how unconventional it is.

Living with someone affected by a chronic condition opens your eyes in ways textbooks never could. When I was younger, my grandfather—one of the people I admired most—began a long and painful journey battling a chronic illness. I watched the disease change his body, but what truly impacted me was how it affected his spirit, and how our family had to adapt to meet needs none of us were prepared for. His suffering introduced me to the world of healthcare, but more importantly, it instilled in me a sense of duty to understand, support, and one day help heal others facing similar battles. At first, I felt powerless. I didn't have the knowledge or tools to help him. But instead of retreating from the pain, I let it fuel me. I began learning everything I could about science and medicine. I sought out opportunities to grow—obtaining certifications as a Clinical Medical Assistant, Phlebotomy Technician, and EKG Technician—all before completing my first year as a Molecular Biology major. I am now on the Pre-Med track, working toward my dream of becoming an oncologist. What inspires me to keep going despite the emotional weight chronic illness brings is the memory of my grandfather’s resilience and the silent strength I’ve witnessed in others around me. My cousin Rosela, for instance, struggled with addiction after years of untreated trauma and mental health challenges tied to chronic health issues. While she didn’t survive, her story drives me to make sure others do. Even in the face of limitations—financial, emotional, or physical—I push forward. As a first-generation college student from a low-income immigrant family, I carry many burdens, but I also carry hope. The pursuit of knowledge, for me, isn’t just about self-improvement—it’s about service. I want to make healthcare more accessible, more compassionate, and more culturally competent for communities like mine. My long-term goal is to specialize in oncology and open free or low-cost clinics in underserved areas, especially those with high immigrant populations. I want to educate patients in their language, provide preventative care, and create systems that don’t let people fall through the cracks. I also hope to establish outreach programs that destigmatize chronic illness and provide mental health support for both patients and their families—because chronic conditions don’t just affect the diagnosed, they affect everyone who loves them. This scholarship would not only help me continue my education—it would lift a small piece of the burden my father and I carry alone. We’ve been through a lot together since I returned to the U.S. to live with him, and every dollar I receive is a step closer to giving back to the community that shaped me. I want others dealing with chronic illness—directly or indirectly—to know that their story doesn’t end with diagnosis. It can be the beginning of something meaningful. We can turn pain into purpose and loss into legacy. I’m building a future where I can be the doctor who sees not just the illness, but the person behind it. A future where people like my grandfather, like Rosela, don’t have to suffer in silence. And I’m just getting started.

Growing up in a single-parent, low-income household taught me resilience, independence, and the power of perseverance. My mother raised me alone in Ecuador before I moved back to the United States as a teenager to live with my father. Living apart from one parent, adapting to two very different cultures, and learning English as a second language were all challenges I had to overcome. But they also became the foundation for my growth. Instead of seeing hardship as a limitation, I’ve learned to turn it into fuel. I am now a Molecular Biology major at Montclair State University, on the Pre-Med track, with certifications as an EKG Technician, Clinical Medical Assistant, and Phlebotomist. Every step forward brings me closer to my dream of becoming an oncologist—a dream born from personal loss and inspired by a desire to make a difference in communities like mine, where access to care is limited. I’m actively working toward my goals through volunteer work, research, and academic excellence. I’ve joined honors programs and consistently maintain a 3.8 GPA. But more than personal success, I want to give back. I plan to one day open free health clinics and lead educational initiatives on disease prevention for underserved communities. My upbringing taught me that struggle doesn’t define your future—it shapes it. I believe that my story, like many others from marginalized backgrounds, has the power to create positive change. I want to be a voice for those navigating hardship in silence and a symbol of what’s possible when you never give up. This scholarship would help me continue my journey without the added stress of basic academic costs. With your support, I’ll continue breaking barriers—not just for myself, but for those who come after me.

Recovery, to me, is the process of rediscovering who I truly am. It’s not just about being clean from substances—it’s about rebuilding a life that I thought I had permanently lost. A life with meaning, structure, and connection. When I first began this journey, I believed recovery was simply the absence of use. But over time, I realized it’s much more than that. It’s learning to face emotions I used to numb, accepting help when my pride tells me not to, and showing up—for myself, my family, my community—even when it's hard. I’ve been clean for over a year now. In that time, I’ve gone from hiding in silence to speaking up about my struggles. I’ve rebuilt relationships I once shattered, and I’ve found peace in places I never thought to look—like early morning walks, long talks with my dad, or quiet moments of reflection in between classes. Recovery is also the reason I’m in college today. I want to become a doctor, not just to heal others physically, but to advocate for those who feel voiceless—like I once did. I hope to become a living example that your past does not define your future. Most importantly, recovery means hope. Every day I stay clean, I prove to myself—and others—that change is possible. That growth is real. That life after addiction can not only exist, but be beautiful.

I didn’t always love math. When I was younger, it frustrated me—especially during my freshman and sophomore years of high school. I had just returned to Ecuador after a year in the U.S., and I was struggling to adapt to a new education system during the pandemic. Trying to memorize formulas and valencies for chemistry and math while learning through a screen felt impossible. But one day, something clicked: I realized that math wasn’t just about numbers—it was about solving problems in life with logic and structure. That’s when I started falling in love with math. Math is like a universal truth. No matter where you’re from—Italy, Ecuador, the U.S.—the laws of math are the same. It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, fluent in English or not; if you solve the equation correctly, the result is always the same. That consistency gave me comfort when my life felt unstable. Now that I’m a molecular biology major with a minor in nutrition and on the pre-med track, math is my constant companion. From calculating dosages and interpreting lab data to studying reaction rates and physiological patterns, math allows me to understand how life works at the microscopic level. It’s not just about numbers—it’s about life, health, and hope. Math also shaped my confidence. I used to avoid participating in class because I was afraid of being wrong. But as I learned to solve complex problems step by step, I realized that every mistake was part of the journey. Math taught me patience and resilience—qualities I now apply to everything, including my dream of becoming an oncologist. Most of all, I love math because it gives people like me—an immigrant, a first-generation college student, a kid who once doubted his future—the tools to build a better one.

I wasn’t supposed to be the first. In my family, dreams were often put on hold to survive. Born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now living in New Jersey with my father, I carry the weight of two migrations, two languages, and one unshakable purpose: to become a doctor. I’m a first-generation college student, a Pell Grant recipient, and a low-income immigrant navigating a system that wasn’t designed with people like me in mind. I study Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biophysics and a minor in Nutrition Science at Montclair State University. I want to become an oncologist—not only because I’ve seen family members suffer, but because I want to be part of the science that brings healing and hope. But getting here wasn’t easy. My family was separated when I was young. I’ve struggled with loneliness, cultural dislocation, and mental health. I've worked as a bartender, volunteered at Oasis and my university’s food recovery program, and still find time to mentor my younger cousins, especially after one of them lost his sister to addiction this year. This scholarship would mean more than financial relief—it would be recognition. A way to breathe a little easier. To afford textbooks and a MetroCard. To spend more time shadowing doctors and less time worrying about groceries. I don’t want to be the “only” or the “first” forever. I want to make sure I open doors for others, especially young Latinos and immigrants who dream beyond survival. With this support, I’ll keep going—not just for me, but for the many who come next.

Mental health was never something we talked about in my family—especially not as men. I grew up between cultures: born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now living in the United States with my father. Amid constant moves between countries, languages, and family dynamics, I learned early on to suppress my emotions. I had to be strong, silent, and grateful. But deep inside, I often felt lost. When I was 11, I moved to the U.S. for the first time. Not long after, my mother decided to return to Ecuador with my siblings. I stayed with my dad. At that age, I didn’t understand the loneliness beginning to form inside me. I just knew I had to keep moving forward. I returned to Ecuador for a few years and eventually came back to the U.S. permanently during the pandemic. That time brought not only social isolation but also a silent inner battle—anxiety from starting over in a new place, in a new language, away from my mom and siblings, trying to fit in and prove that I could “make it.” Earlier this year, tragedy hit my family. My cousin Rosela, who had been struggling with drug addiction, passed away from an overdose. By late 2024, she was in rehab. She had a daughter. She had hope. But she relapsed. Her death left a deep wound—not only in her daughter’s life, but also in my cousin Domenico, who had moved to the U.S. to escape addiction. Since then, I’ve done everything I can to emotionally support my family—listening to them, trying to bring moments of peace into their day. This loss opened my eyes even more to how emotional pain doesn’t always show—but it hurts just the same. I’ve had dark moments, too. In high school, especially during remote learning, I often felt disconnected, like all my efforts were meaningless. The pressure to be the son who “makes it” weighed heavily on me. But eventually, I reached out to a mentor. I got involved in my community. Volunteering—especially at Oasis and the food recovery program at my university—showed me how many people are silently struggling. I learned to listen more and ask, “How are you?” with real intention. Today, I’m studying molecular biology to become an oncologist. But I also carry with me a deeper purpose: to be someone who understands that mental health and physical health are inseparable. I’ve experienced anxiety, grief, loss, and the cultural silence that stops us from asking for help. I’ve decided I want to be part of the change. I’m not perfect. I still have hard days. But every time I help my cousin talk about his sister, every time I open up about my own story to classmates who are struggling in silence, I know I’m healing—and helping. To anyone facing the same battles: You are not weak for feeling overwhelmed. You are not less for needing help. You are brave for still being here.

Mental health has never been an abstract idea to me—it’s been a daily reality, a hidden force shaping how I see myself, connect with others, and envision the future. I grew up in Ecuador, a country where mental health is often overlooked and misunderstood, especially among men. Emotions were considered weaknesses, and asking for help was a sign of failure. But after moving to the United States during the pandemic, I came face-to-face with my struggles and finally found the language and space to confront them. Adapting to a new life, a new language, and a new culture while being physically distant from my mother and extended family created a silent weight I carried everywhere. I was often overwhelmed by pressure—to succeed, to fit in, to prove that the sacrifices my father made for me were worth it. But I didn’t know how to talk about it. For a long time, I hid my anxiety behind academic ambition and a smile. Eventually, I realized that trying to carry everything alone only made the weight heavier. It was through my interest in science that I began to understand mental health as more than emotion—it’s biology, it’s chemistry, it’s structure and imbalance. As I studied molecular biology and psychology, I started to reflect on my own experiences not as weakness, but as a reaction to chronic stress and cultural change. That shift in perspective made all the difference. Mental health has reshaped my goals. I still aim to become an oncologist, but now I understand that being a good doctor means being emotionally aware, not just academically competent. I’ve learned how trauma, stress, and lack of access to care can worsen physical illnesses like cancer. As a future physician, I want to treat the whole person—not just the diagnosis. I want to offer patients dignity, patience, and space to talk about how their minds are coping with what their bodies are enduring. Mental health has also changed the way I build relationships. I’ve become more empathetic with my peers, my father, and myself. I’ve volunteered at Oasis and the MSU Food Recovery Network, where I work with underserved communities. Many people I meet there are facing food insecurity, homelessness, and social isolation. Before, I might not have noticed the emotional toll these challenges take. Now, I listen more. I don’t rush to give advice—I try to understand. I’ve realized that sometimes the best help isn’t a solution, but presence. Most of all, mental health awareness has changed how I see the world. I no longer divide people into “strong” or “weak.” I see that everyone is carrying something invisible. We live in a world where productivity is prioritized over wellness and where struggling mentally still carries shame. I want to help change that, especially in immigrant and BIPOC communities like mine. I’ve started by talking openly with my friends, encouraging them to seek counseling, and challenging the old idea that “real men don’t cry.” I believe that the more we normalize vulnerability, the more healing we’ll see. Mental health shaped me into someone who values growth over perfection and connection over performance. It has made me a better student, son, friend, and future doctor. And it’s a journey I will never stop honoring—for myself, for my family, and for every person who feels like they’re suffering in silence.

What I want to build is not something you can hold in your hands—but something that can transform lives. I want to build a career in oncology, grounded in compassion and science, that brings healing to individuals and hope to communities often overlooked in the medical system. My name is Mathias. I am a first-generation immigrant, born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now living in New Jersey. I am currently pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biophysics and a minor in Nutrition Sciences. My dream is to become an oncologist, not only to fight cancer at the molecular level but to build bridges of understanding, trust, and accessibility between medicine and marginalized populations. This dream is rooted in both personal experience and a deep sense of responsibility. When my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, I watched how this disease not only attacked his body but also strained the emotional and financial fabric of our family. It was then that I realized that healthcare is more than biology—it’s also humanity. His pain and the gaps in care he experienced made me want to become the kind of doctor who treats people, not just symptoms. To reach this goal, I’ve begun building the foundation now—both academically and through service. I volunteer with organizations like the MSU Food Recovery Network, rescuing food and delivering it to local shelters, because hunger and health are deeply connected. I’ve also earned certifications as a Clinical Medical Assistant, EKG Technician, and Phlebotomy Technician. These hands-on skills are just the beginning of the kind of care I want to deliver. But building a future in medicine also means investing in the mental and emotional well-being of the communities I hope to serve. I’ve witnessed how stigma and language barriers can prevent people—especially immigrants—from seeking help. That’s why I plan to one day open a multilingual community health clinic that offers free cancer screenings, nutritional counseling, and culturally competent education programs. I want people like my father, who worked long hours with no insurance, to feel empowered and seen when they walk into a doctor’s office. This scholarship would help me stay focused on that vision by supporting my education now. Every lab I take, every textbook I study, every hour I spend volunteering is another brick laid on the path toward my dream. I’m not just building a career—I’m building a legacy of service and science. In the end, I believe that education isn’t just a ladder out of poverty—it’s a blueprint for impact. With it, I will not only change my life but also improve the lives of those around me. And that’s something worth building.

Adversity has shaped my life more than comfort ever has. My name is Mathias, and I was born in Monza, Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now live in New Jersey. My journey to the United States was not a straight line—it was a path marked by separation, sacrifice, and resilience. Being a first-generation immigrant and a child of a split household has forced me to grow up faster, think deeper, and love harder. One of the greatest adversities I’ve faced was growing up with separated parents and constantly being caught between two worlds—Italy and Ecuador, Ecuador and the United States, my mother and my father. At just 11 years old, I came to the U.S. with my family, only to return to Ecuador a year later when my mother chose to go back. My father stayed behind. It wasn't until the pandemic hit that I finally received my U.S. residency through my dad and came back to live with him permanently. Today, it’s just the two of us. Adjusting to life in the U.S. again wasn’t easy. I had to learn the language better, catch up academically, and adapt to an entirely different culture. I missed my siblings, my mother, and the familiar smells and sounds of Ecuador. But I also saw an opportunity—a chance to build a better life through education and service. That’s what motivated me to pursue a degree in Molecular Biology, to become an oncologist. I want to heal not only bodies but also families—just like mine, which has seen its share of health struggles and heartbreak. This brings me to one of the most painful moments of my life: the loss of my cousin Rosela. She grew up in a town in Italy where drugs were unfortunately common. While her brother Domenico moved to the United States to escape that environment, Rosela stayed behind. By late 2024, she was in rehabilitation, and we all hoped she was on the path to recovery. But in early 2025, she escaped and tragically died from an overdose. Her death deeply affected our family—especially her daughter and brother. Since then, I’ve made it my responsibility to support my cousin Domenico and his niece. I help them emotionally, offer a listening ear, and make time to distract them from their grief. In doing so, I’ve learned that healing isn’t always about medicine; sometimes, it’s about showing up and being present. This adversity has taught me that loss doesn’t have to destroy us—it can push us to be better. It gave me a clearer purpose: to become a physician who treats the whole person, including their mental and emotional wounds. It also taught me that resilience isn’t just about bouncing back—it’s about carrying your pain and using it to lift others. To anyone going through something similar, I would say this: don’t let your hardships define your limits. Let them define your values. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to cry. But what’s not okay is giving up. Every moment of suffering can be the foundation for something powerful—empathy, strength, and impact. I am committed to serving others through healthcare, volunteering, and community support because I believe we rise by lifting others. Whether it’s helping recover food for those in need, comforting grieving family members, or excelling academically despite the odds, I know who I am and where I’m going. And I know that adversity didn’t break me—it built me.

I have seen firsthand how mental health can silently shape—and sometimes shatter—lives. As a student pursuing a career in medicine, mental health is not just an academic interest or a social cause. It is personal. It is urgent. And it is something I choose to advocate for every single day, not just in words, but in action. My passion for healthcare stems in part from the people I’ve loved and lost. At the end of 2024, my cousin Rosela—who had battled addiction for years—entered a rehabilitation center in Italy. Her daughter and our entire family hoped this would be the beginning of her healing. But in early 2025, she escaped rehab and relapsed. She died of an overdose. She was young. She was a mother. And she was struggling with deep-rooted mental health challenges that, for too long, went unspoken and untreated. That loss was devastating, not only to me, but especially to her daughter and her brother Domenico, who had already moved to the U.S. to escape the same cycle of addiction. Since her death, I have taken it upon myself to help them heal—supporting my younger cousin emotionally and spending time with my cousin Domenico, who still carries the pain of losing his sister. These experiences have shown me that mental health isn’t something that exists separately from physical health. It is healthy. Period. And as someone on the pre-medical track, currently studying Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition Sciences at Montclair State University, I know that understanding mental health is just as essential as understanding the human genome or disease pathology. I want to become an oncologist one day—a role that requires not just clinical precision, but deep emotional empathy for patients who are often battling depression, fear, and trauma alongside their physical illness. Mental health is important to me because I have seen its absence lead to isolation, addiction, and even death. But I’ve also seen what community, compassion, and conversation can do to support healing. That’s why I advocate for mental health awareness in my everyday life. As a first-generation college student and a resident assistant in my campus community, I’ve taken initiative in checking in on peers who show signs of burnout or emotional struggle. I volunteer with food recovery organizations, where many of the individuals we serve face not only hunger but also homelessness and untreated mental health conditions. I offer a listening ear, a kind word, and, when possible, connections to university counseling services or local mental health resources. I also advocate by being open about my own experiences with stress, grief, and the emotional toll of being a student, immigrant, and future healthcare provider. I believe that breaking the stigma starts with vulnerability. If I can show others that it's okay to talk about these things—that seeking help is not weakness but strength—then I’ve done something worthwhile. Looking forward, I hope to be part of a new generation of doctors who treat the whole person. I want to advocate for integrated care models where mental health services are embedded into primary and specialty care. I want to do research that examines how trauma and stress affect disease progression. And I want to empower others—especially students from immigrant and underserved backgrounds—to speak up about their mental health without shame. Mental health matters. It matters to my family, my community, my patients, and me. And I will continue to fight for awareness, compassion, and better access to care—because no one should have to struggle in silence.

I was raised in Ecuador by a strong, faith-rooted family that taught me the value of life through action, not just words. My Catholic upbringing, reinforced by weekly Mass with my grandfather, my baptism as an infant, and my First Communion, laid the foundation for my pro-life convictions. But it wasn't until I began studying medicine and volunteering in underserved communities that I truly understood the depth and urgency of defending the dignity of every human life—especially the unborn. As a molecular biology student on the pre-med track, I’ve learned that science and faith are not in conflict when it comes to life. From the moment of conception, a new human being—with a unique set of DNA—comes into existence. Every cell division, every heartbeat, every moment of development affirms this truth. Yet despite this, our society continues to devalue life in its most vulnerable stages, treating the unborn as optional rather than essential. My conviction is not based solely on religion or science, but also on personal experience. A few years ago, my cousin Rosela in Italy struggled with drug addiction. By the end of 2024, she was in rehabilitation, fighting for her life and her daughter. But in early 2025, she relapsed, escaped treatment, and tragically died of an overdose. Her young daughter now lives with the trauma of losing her mother. I have since taken on an active role in helping her and my cousin Domenico process their grief. This experience reminded me that every life is interconnected—when we lose one person, we lose a world of relationships, potential, and hope. I’ve taken my pro-life beliefs into action by volunteering with food recovery and women’s support organizations in New Jersey. Whether it's handing out meals to those in need or connecting struggling mothers to resources, I believe in preserving life not only in the womb but through every stage. To me, being pro-life means advocating for a culture where no mother feels abortion is her only option, where every child is welcomed, and where dignity is upheld from conception to natural death. In the future, I plan to become an oncologist—a field where life and death decisions are made every day. My goal is to serve underserved communities and offer care rooted in both science and compassion. I want to support not only physical healing but also the emotional and spiritual well-being of my patients. As a bilingual healthcare provider, I will be able to reach immigrant communities, where language and cultural barriers often lead to fear, isolation, and lack of access to prenatal or end-of-life care. Being pro-life isn’t just about opposing abortion; it’s about affirming the dignity of every person, regardless of age, background, ability, or circumstance. It's about fighting for the unborn, the addicted, the sick, and the elderly. I strive to live this conviction daily, and through my medical career, I hope to inspire others—especially fellow BIPOC and immigrant students—to stand boldly for life and build a world where every human being is valued, protected, and loved.

My name is Mathias Amico, and I am a first-generation BIPOC student majoring in Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition Sciences at Montclair State University. I’m on the pre-medical track, pursuing my dream of becoming an oncologist. I was born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and moved to New Jersey in 2022 to live with my father and begin my higher education journey in the U.S. Growing up, I witnessed how healthcare systems fail families without access or understanding. My grandfather's battle with cancer inspired my pursuit of medicine—not only because I wanted to understand the science behind his illness, but because I wanted to be the kind of doctor who would stand by patients like him and families like mine with empathy, clarity, and care. As a Hispanic and multiracial student, I belong to a demographic that represents just 6.9% of U.S. physicians according to the AAMC. That statistic isn’t just a number—it’s a reflection of centuries of structural inequities, financial barriers, and systemic underrepresentation in medicine. Each class I attend, each lab I complete, and each patient I hope to serve, I do so knowing that my presence challenges those odds and creates space for others to follow. Beyond academics, I make it a priority to serve my community. I volunteer with Oasis, a nonprofit in Paterson, NJ, supporting women and children in crisis. I’ve also worked with the Food Recovery Network to distribute meals to food-insecure students on campus. These experiences have shown me that health disparities are deeply tied to socioeconomic and racial inequalities—and that effective healthcare must go beyond the hospital walls. It must be grounded in cultural understanding and community trust. In my future career, I hope to open or contribute to health clinics in underserved areas, particularly for immigrant and BIPOC populations. I want to provide bilingual care, nutritional education, and cancer prevention resources—especially in communities where people are less likely to seek care due to fear, language barriers, or past negative experiences with the healthcare system. Representation in medicine doesn’t just inspire hope—it builds trust. And trust saves lives. To increase accessibility in the field of medicine, I also plan to mentor BIPOC students who, like me, may have once thought that becoming a doctor was out of reach. I’ll share my journey, my setbacks, and my strategies to succeed. I believe in lifting as I climb, because progress isn’t progress if I reach the finish line alone. We need more diverse voices in medicine to truly serve diverse communities. Being part of the 6.9% isn't enough. My goal is to contribute to a future where that percentage climbs—not just in statistics, but in lived experience, where young Black and Brown students walk into hospitals and see doctors who look like them, who understand them, and who inspire them to dream bigger. This scholarship would allow me to stay focused on this mission without the heavy burden of financial stress. It would be a reminder that people believe in students like me—students who carry not just ambition, but responsibility to our communities and the next generation. Medicine is my calling, but representation is my mission. And I am determined to make both count.

From a young age, faith has been the compass guiding my life. I was baptized when I was just one year old, and as a child in Ecuador, I spent most Sundays walking to Mass hand-in-hand with my grandfather. I still remember the quiet comfort of those church pews, the hymns echoing through the walls, and the peace I felt after my First Communion. Faith, for me, was never about rules—it was about relationship. A relationship with God, with family, and with the community He calls us to serve. That foundation continues to shape who I am today. As a college student pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology on the pre-med track, I constantly face academic and personal challenges. There are moments of exhaustion, fear of failure, and deep uncertainty. But my faith reminds me that I’m not walking this journey alone. Scripture like Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”—grounds me when I feel overwhelmed. My belief in God’s plan gives me the courage to lead, not with pride, but with purpose. One moment that solidified this was during my time volunteering with Oasis, a nonprofit in Paterson, New Jersey that serves women and children in need. As a bilingual volunteer, I was asked to help translate for a single mother from Ecuador who had recently immigrated to the U.S. and was struggling to find her footing. She spoke little English and was terrified of being judged for asking for help. I recognized myself in her—my own family had faced similar fears when we first arrived in the U.S. I spoke to her gently, not just translating her words, but assuring her that she was safe, seen, and valued. Afterward, one of the staff members told me, “You don’t just translate—you lead people with your heart.” That comment stayed with me because it reflected something I strive for in every area of life: leading through compassion, humility, and service—the same qualities Christ modeled for us. My faith doesn’t push me to the front of the room; it pushes me to serve those at the back. That’s the kind of leader I want to be—one who uplifts others, not for recognition, but because it’s the right thing to do. Whether it's organizing food recovery efforts on campus, supporting grieving family members after the loss of my cousin, or guiding friends through their challenges, I lead by listening, encouraging, and praying silently for strength and wisdom to do what is good. This faith-driven leadership also shapes my vision for the future. As a future physician, I don’t just want to treat illnesses—I want to heal people, in body and spirit. I hope to one day open a clinic that not only provides healthcare but also offers emotional and spiritual support, particularly for immigrant and underserved families. I want every patient to feel the same love and dignity I felt sitting next to my grandfather in church as a boy. The Build and Bless Leadership Scholarship would help me continue this path with less financial strain and more focus on becoming the kind of leader my faith calls me to be. My faith taught me to serve. It gave me the courage to lead. And with God’s help, I will continue to be a light for others—just as so many have been a light for me.

My name is Mathias, and while I’m not attending a traditional trade school, I’ve learned the value of working with my hands, heart, and mind from a young age. Growing up in Ecuador, I watched my father fix everything from broken radios to busted water pipes. He wasn't a licensed technician, but to our family, he was an engineer, an electrician, and a builder. His work ethic shaped me—and still does, now that I live with him in New Jersey as a first-generation college student. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition Sciences at Montclair State University, on the pre-medical track. My dream is to become an oncologist—a doctor who treats cancer with not only science but also compassion. Although my path is not a trade in the traditional sense, I’ve come to see medicine as its own form of craftsmanship: it demands precision, care, long hours, and—most importantly—a willingness to serve others with your skills. David Hinsdale’s legacy of hard work, generosity, and teaching others resonates with me deeply. Like him, I’ve always believed that if you know how to do something well, you should help others learn it too. That’s why I’ve dedicated my time outside of school to volunteering. I work with organizations like Oasis in Paterson, NJ, helping distribute food and clothes to underserved families. I also help with the Food Recovery Network, collecting surplus meals from our campus and making sure they reach students in need. These efforts aren’t about charity—they’re about community. They’re about taking action where you are, with what you have, and making life better for someone else. I also try to make a difference closer to home. My cousin Rosela tragically passed away earlier this year from a drug overdose. Since then, I’ve been emotionally supporting her daughter and my cousin Domenico as they heal from this immense loss. I’ve learned that sometimes the best way to help is simply to be present and patient. I don't have all the answers, but I offer time, energy, and understanding—just as David did for those around him. In the future, I hope to combine my medical career with hands-on service. I want to work in communities where healthcare is often inaccessible—especially immigrant and low-income populations—and build clinics that serve more than physical needs. I envision clinics that also teach: nutrition classes, preventative care workshops, and mental health education. I want to empower people with tools—not just treatments. What I admire most about David Hinsdale’s story is that he gave people a chance. He hired anyone willing to learn, regardless of their background. I see myself carrying on that spirit in medicine. I want to become a mentor to young students from immigrant families like mine—students who may not see themselves as future doctors, builders, or tradespeople, but who just need someone to believe in them. This scholarship would help me continue my education without putting additional financial strain on my father, who works hard to support me. More importantly, it would remind me that there are people—like the Hinsdale family—who believe in hard work, in teaching, and in building better communities from the ground up. Whether through science, service, or support, I plan to spend my life helping others rise—just like David did. And for that reason, I’m proud to apply for this scholarship that honors his legacy.

Some decisions in life are made with the head; others, with the heart. My decision to pursue a healthcare career came from both. I was raised in Ecuador and Italy, and in 2022, I moved to New Jersey to live with my father and pursue a better future. As a first-generation college student, I carry the dreams of my parents and the lessons of those I’ve lost. My journey to medicine began with my grandfather’s battle with cancer. I was too young to understand the science, but I understood the fear in my family’s eyes, the uncertainty in every doctor’s visit, and the finality of his passing. That was the moment something shifted in me. I didn’t just want to understand illness—I wanted to fight it. Now I’m a Molecular Biology major at Montclair State University, with a minor in Nutrition Sciences. I’m on the pre-medical track, and my goal is to become an oncologist. I chose oncology because I’ve seen the devastation cancer causes, but I’ve also seen the hope good doctors can provide. I want to be a light in someone else’s darkest moment. I want to be a doctor who listens, educates, and empowers—especially in communities like the one I come from, where many people face language barriers, limited access to care, or fear navigating medical systems. Pursuing healthcare is about more than academics; it’s about heart and service. That’s why I’ve committed myself to volunteering. I’ve worked with Oasis in Paterson, NJ, helping women and children in vulnerable situations gain access to basic needs like food and clothing. I also volunteer with the Food Recovery Network, rescuing meals from campus dining areas and distributing them to students facing food insecurity. These roles have shown me the direct connection between well-being, access, and education. They’ve also reminded me that true healthcare starts in the community—not just in hospitals. My experiences have taught me that healing isn’t only physical. Earlier this year, I lost my cousin Rosela to a drug overdose. She had been in rehabilitation but relapsed and passed away suddenly, leaving behind a daughter and many broken hearts. I’ve been helping my cousins cope with their grief while continuing my studies and volunteering. Her death reminded me that emotional and mental health are just as important as physical health. It reinforced my commitment to holistic healthcare—where doctors don’t just diagnose and prescribe, but truly see their patients as whole people. Despite the weight of my responsibilities, I’ve maintained a strong GPA and continue to take every opportunity to grow. As the son of a single-income household, I work hard and apply for scholarships to lessen the financial burden on my father. Higher education in healthcare is demanding—academically and financially—but I believe the investment will be worth it when I’m able to change lives for the better. This scholarship would help me cover the cost of my education so I can focus more on what matters most: preparing to serve others. It would also be a reminder that there are people who believe in the next generation of healthcare workers—those of us who are ready to make an impact through compassion, science, and service. I am not just pursuing a degree. I’m preparing to carry stories, offer hope, and be a source of light for those navigating the hardest parts of their lives. That’s why I chose healthcare—and that’s the kind of physician I’m working every day to become.

This year, I learned that healing isn’t just about science—it’s about patience, presence, and knowing when to slow down. As a pre-med student, I’m used to pushing myself: late nights studying, volunteering, commuting, and staying committed to my academic and career goals. But when I developed patellar tendinitis—also known as “jumper’s knee”—my body forced me to pause, listen, and reevaluate how I take care of myself. At first, I ignored the pain. I told myself it was just soreness from the gym or volleyball, activities I love and rely on to manage stress. But the discomfort turned into swelling, and the swelling turned into difficulty walking, climbing stairs, and even standing for long periods. For someone who’s always been active, it was frustrating and demoralizing. Still, I resisted treatment. I didn’t want to lose momentum or admit that I needed help. Eventually, the pain became impossible to ignore, and I began physical therapy. The first few sessions were tough—not just physically, but mentally. I wasn’t used to being “on the other side” of care. As someone preparing for a career in medicine, I usually see myself as the helper, not the one needing help. But that experience humbled me. It reminded me that everyone, even future doctors, needs support. Health isn’t a luxury or a reward—it’s a foundation. And prioritizing it isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. Through physical therapy, I’ve learned to slow down and rebuild—literally and figuratively. I’ve restructured my schedule to make space for rest and healing. I’ve learned proper mobility techniques and now prioritize warming up, stretching, and listening to my body. But more importantly, I’ve started applying those lessons to my mental and emotional health too. Before this injury, I saw rest as something optional—something you earn. Now, I see it as something essential. I’ve become more mindful about my stress levels, my sleep, and my boundaries. I take regular walks not just for exercise, but for clarity. I take breaks from social media to recharge mentally. I make time for friends, journaling, and moments of silence, even if it’s just five minutes in the morning. This shift has impacted not only my well-being, but my outlook on the future. As a student majoring in Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition Sciences, I’m on the pre-med track with the goal of becoming an oncologist. The path ahead is intense, but I now know that success isn’t just about endurance—it’s about sustainability. I want to be a doctor who understands pain, burnout, and resilience not just from textbooks, but from experience. I want to advocate for holistic health—physical, mental, and emotional—especially for patients who feel overlooked or pressured to “stay strong” at all costs. Making my health a priority has made me a better student, a better future healthcare provider, and, honestly, a better person. I’ve learned that self-care is not selfish—it’s strategic. It’s what allows us to keep going and keep giving, even in the face of adversity. If awarded this scholarship, I would use it not just to further my education, but to continue building a life that values balance, empathy, and growth. My injury slowed me down, but it also centered me. And now, more than ever, I’m committed to a future where wellness isn’t just something I strive for—but something I help others achieve, too.

My name is Mathias, and I am a first-generation college student majoring in Molecular Biology at Montclair State University, with a minor in Nutrition Sciences. I was born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now live in New Jersey with my father. This journey—across continents, cultures, and challenges—has instilled in me a deep appreciation for education and a powerful desire to give back to the communities that shaped me. My dream is to become a medical doctor specializing in oncology. This path was inspired by my grandfather’s battle with cancer, which opened my eyes to the emotional and physical suffering illness brings—not just to patients, but to entire families. I want to be the kind of doctor who goes beyond prescriptions and test results. I want to restore hope, offer compassion, and be present for families navigating the most difficult moments of their lives. But before I can heal others, I’ve committed myself to service in my own community. I volunteer with Oasis in Paterson, New Jersey, where I assist in distributing food, clothing, and educational resources to women and children in need. I also work with the Food Recovery Network, collecting surplus meals from campus to ensure that students facing food insecurity don’t go hungry. These experiences have taught me the power of small acts of service—how simply showing up, listening, or sharing a warm meal can make someone feel seen. I also support my cousins emotionally, especially after the tragic loss of my cousin Rosela, who passed away from a drug overdose earlier this year. I’ve helped them grieve, process, and begin to heal. It’s these deeply personal moments—more than anything I’ve learned in a textbook—that remind me why I chose this path. Health isn’t just about medicine; it’s about empathy, education, and connection. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned from volunteering is that knowledge means little if it isn’t shared. That’s why I plan to dedicate part of my future medical career to health education—particularly in underserved immigrant communities like the one I come from. Language barriers, stigma, and lack of access often prevent people from getting the care they need. I want to bridge those gaps by becoming a physician who not only treats but teaches, guides, and advocates. Education has transformed my life. It gave me the tools to rise above financial and personal challenges, and it showed me that no dream is too far when it’s fueled by purpose. I see every class, every lab, and every late-night study session as a step toward becoming someone who uplifts others—just as I’ve been uplifted by teachers, mentors, and programs like this scholarship. Receiving the Charlene K. Howard Chogo Scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing this path with less financial strain. It would help me stay focused on academics and service, and remind me that I’m not walking this journey alone. More importantly, it would connect me to the legacy of a woman who believed in education as a vehicle for positive change—something I, too, carry deeply in my heart. Through my career in medicine, I hope to create lasting impact: not only by treating patients, but by empowering communities with knowledge, dignity, and hope. That is how I will make a difference.

I was born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and now live in New Jersey—three very different places that taught me one powerful lesson: healthcare is a universal need, but access and empathy are not always guaranteed. As a first-generation college student majoring in Molecular Biology at Montclair State University, I am committed to a future in medicine where I can bring compassion, cultural sensitivity, and scientific skill to the communities that need it most. My desire to become a physician, specifically an oncologist, began as I watched my grandfather battle cancer. I was too young at the time to understand the medical details, but I could feel the emotional weight on my family—how helpless we all were. That experience lit a fire in me. I wanted to understand the human body, yes, but more than that, I wanted to help people heal not just physically, but emotionally. I wanted to be the person who could explain, support, and stand beside families in their most vulnerable moments. In 2022, I moved to the U.S. to live with my father after being granted permanent residency. We live in a modest home in New Jersey, and while he supports me with everything he has, finances are always tight. I work part-time and apply for scholarships like this one because I understand that higher education, especially in healthcare, is both a privilege and a responsibility. I take it seriously—not just for me, but for the people I will one day serve. Like Christina, I am passionate about making a difference in others' lives. While I’m not pursuing occupational therapy, I deeply admire the profession’s holistic approach to care. Occupational therapists don’t just treat symptoms—they empower patients to regain their independence and quality of life. That same principle is at the heart of my medical aspirations. I don’t want to be the kind of doctor who rushes through appointments. I want to build relationships, understand my patients' lives, and advocate for their needs beyond the exam room. Volunteering has played a key role in shaping my path. I’ve worked with organizations like Oasis in Paterson, NJ, where I helped distribute food and clothing to families in need. I’ve volunteered with the Food Recovery Network, coordinating leftover meals for students on campus. These roles may seem small, but they taught me how to lead with empathy, communicate across cultures, and stay grounded in service. I also support my cousins emotionally as they grieve the loss of their sister to a drug overdose—an experience that continues to remind me how critical mental health and community support are in the healing process. This scholarship would not only ease my financial burden, but also help me continue on a path of service and education. It would allow me to spend more time focusing on my studies and volunteer work, and less time worrying about how to afford textbooks or pay for lab fees. But more importantly, it would be a reminder that I’m not doing this alone—that others, like the Singh family, believe in the power of caring, driven healthcare professionals to change lives. Though Christina did not get the chance to fulfill her dreams, I hope to carry forward her legacy of compassion, ambition, and service in the medical field. Like her, I aim to leave behind a legacy of care that touches lives far beyond the clinic walls.

Mental health is not always visible, but its impact can shape generations. I have seen this firsthand—not only in myself, but in my family. Growing up between Ecuador and Italy before settling in New Jersey, I’ve experienced life through many cultural lenses, but one theme has remained constant: silence around mental health. I come from a single-parent household. My father works tirelessly to support me, but emotional support was often a quiet battle in our home. My mother, still in Ecuador, struggled with untreated anxiety and depression. I remember the phone calls—some filled with love, others heavy with sadness. As a child, I couldn’t understand why she would disappear emotionally, even while speaking to me. As I got older, I realized she was fighting her own war within. Mental health isn’t just personal—it ripples through every relationship. I lost my cousin Rosela earlier this year to a drug overdose after she fled rehabilitation. Her battle with addiction was rooted in unresolved trauma and depression, yet she received judgment more often than help. Her daughter, now left behind, has to grow up faster than she should. Watching Rosela’s decline was heartbreaking, but it also gave me clarity. If we don’t address mental health openly and holistically, we lose people we love—not just to disease, but to silence, stigma, and shame. These experiences have deeply shaped my beliefs. I no longer view mental health as a separate issue from physical health. The two are inseparable. I believe every person deserves access to care that treats the mind, not just the body. I’ve learned to approach people with more empathy, to listen without assumptions, and to prioritize kindness in every space I enter. As a first-generation college student majoring in Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition at Montclair State University, I am determined to become a doctor—not only to heal the body, but to advocate for a healthcare system that addresses mental wellness as a fundamental part of treatment. I am especially drawn to oncology, a field that requires not just clinical skill but emotional resilience and deep compassion. Cancer doesn’t just destroy cells; it breaks families, relationships, and hope. I want to be the kind of doctor who restores more than physical health—I want to help patients and families rebuild emotionally, too. Beyond academics, I’m actively involved in volunteering. I’ve worked with Oasis, a local organization helping women and children in need, and I assist with food recovery and community engagement on campus. These activities ground me. They remind me that impact isn’t measured by prestige—it’s measured by service. Mental health has also influenced how I care for myself. I used to believe asking for help was weakness. But through therapy and self-reflection, I’ve learned that vulnerability is strength. I now speak openly about my experiences to break cycles of silence, especially among other first-gen and immigrant students who carry invisible loads. This scholarship would allow me to focus more on school and service and less on the financial weight of tuition and books. But more than that, it would be a reminder that my story, my struggles, and my healing matter—and that they can be a source of strength for others. I can and I will become the kind of doctor I once wished my family had. I carry their pain, but also their hope. And with that, I move forward—one step closer to becoming a healer, an advocate, and a voice for those still learning to speak.

From Ecuador to Italy, and now New Jersey, my journey has been shaped by resilience, family, and the belief that education and service can change lives. As a first-generation college student majoring in Molecular Biology at Montclair State University, I am pursuing a career in medicine to serve others—particularly those who, like my family, have faced hardships that too often go unseen. I’ve always believed in giving my best effort, both in the classroom and in my community. I’ve maintained a GPA above 3.8 while balancing work, volunteering, and my responsibilities at home. I live with my father, who supports me wholeheartedly, but we face financial challenges that make each step toward medical school a little heavier. That’s why I apply for scholarships like this one—not just to relieve financial stress, but to continue growing as a student, volunteer, and future physician. Before college, I played volleyball competitively and took pride in my athletic discipline. Sports taught me teamwork, perseverance, and the importance of physical and mental health. Those lessons carry over into every part of my life today—from pushing through difficult classes to helping others when they feel defeated. I see that same spirit in the life of Kalia D. Davis, and it’s humbling. Her story resonates with me deeply—not only for her academic and athletic excellence, but for her dedication to uplifting others through kindness and ambition. In college, I’ve continued serving my community through volunteering. I’ve worked with Oasis in Paterson, NJ, supporting women and children facing poverty, and I’ve contributed to the Food Recovery Network, helping distribute food to those in need on campus. These experiences aren’t just résumé items—they reflect who I am. I believe in leading with compassion, being reliable, and helping others carry the weight when life gets hard. Like Kalia, I strive to make a difference. I’m on the pre-med track because I want to become an oncologist and support patients and families through some of life’s most difficult moments. My motivation stems from personal loss: my grandfather died from cancer, and several members of my extended family have battled addiction and mental illness. I’ve seen how illness—physical or emotional—can affect entire generations, and I want to be the kind of doctor who sees the whole person, not just the disease. This scholarship would give me more than just financial help—it would represent a vote of confidence in my journey and values. It would allow me to spend more time volunteering and researching, less time worrying about tuition and bills. But most importantly, it would connect me to Kalia’s legacy—one of living, loving, laughing, learning, and leaving a legacy. I carry those values with me every day as I pursue a future in healthcare, community leadership, and mentorship. If selected, I’ll honor this scholarship by continuing to show up fully—for my community, my education, and the patients I will one day serve. Like Kalia, I hope to be remembered as someone who made others feel seen, supported, and inspired to keep going. Thank you for considering my application, and for keeping Kalia’s incredible legacy alive through this opportunity.

When I close my eyes and think about the future, I see myself in a white coat—not just as a doctor, but as someone who gives others the same hope I’ve clung to through every challenge in my life. Education, for me, is more than a path to a career. It’s my way of honoring my family, giving back to my community, and becoming a leader in healthcare who uplifts those who feel unseen. I’m a freshman at Montclair State University, majoring in Molecular Biology with a minor in Nutrition Science. I'm on the pre-medical track, determined to become an oncologist. My goal is not only to treat cancer but also to care for the people and stories behind each diagnosis. What drives me isn’t just science—it’s the memory of my grandfather’s battle with cancer, the struggles my family faced in Ecuador and Italy, and the countless stories I’ve heard and lived of people falling through the cracks of healthcare systems. Through my education, I hope to become a doctor who is both scientifically skilled and deeply human. I was born in Italy, raised in Ecuador, and moved to New Jersey in 2022 to live with my father after receiving permanent residency. As a first-generation college student and child of immigrants, I’ve faced economic uncertainty, cultural transitions, and emotional strain. I live with my father, who works hard to support me, but finances are tight. I balance my academic responsibilities with work, scholarships, and volunteering because I know that each step forward is one my parents dreamed of for me. One of the most important goals I have through education is to break generational cycles. I want to build a future where I can support others—especially immigrants, low-income families, and those affected by addiction or illness. I want to open or contribute to clinics in underserved areas, provide nutritional education to prevent chronic disease, and advocate for public health policies that bring real change. Education is the key to making those goals possible. But I don’t want to stop at personal success. I’ve already begun giving back. At Montclair State, I’ve volunteered with organizations like Oasis and the Food Recovery Network. I’ve spoken to other first-gen students, helping them navigate academic life. I’ve supported friends and family through grief, addiction, and transition—not as a professional, but as someone who understands what it means to struggle and still keep going. My goal is to carry that same heart into medicine and to always remain connected to the people I serve. Frank and Nelcie Williams believed in education and in the power of community. I share that belief deeply. I’m not just studying for myself—I’m studying for the communities that raised me, the people I’ve lost, and the future I want to build. With your support, I’ll continue to move forward, one step closer to becoming the kind of doctor, leader, and person who uplifts others the way so many have uplifted me.

My dream of becoming a medical doctor was born from pain, love, and the desire to bring healing where it’s often absent. Growing up between Ecuador and Italy, I saw firsthand how poverty, lack of healthcare access, and addiction can devastate families. But I also saw how one act of care—a listening ear, a diagnosis, a gesture of compassion—can make a lasting difference. My journey has not been easy. My mother raised me and my siblings in Ecuador with limited resources while my father worked in the United States to support us. In 2022, after receiving my residency, I moved to New Jersey to live with him and pursue higher education. Even now, as a full-time pre-med student majoring in Molecular Biology, I live modestly. We are a one-income household, and while my father supports me, the cost of college and preparing for medical school is a constant burden. I work whenever possible and apply to every scholarship I can because I know that financial barriers shouldn’t decide who gets to become a doctor. Beyond financial hardship, my greatest challenge—and motivation—has been witnessing the toll of addiction on my family. In Italy, my cousins Rosela and Domenico lived in a small town where drug use was widespread. Domenico managed to escape that life by moving to the U.S., but Rosela remained. At the end of 2024, she entered rehabilitation, and for a moment, we had hope. But in early 2025, she relapsed. Rosela died from an overdose, leaving behind a young daughter and a grieving brother. Since then, I’ve helped my cousins cope, not as a professional, but as family. Supporting them in their healing process made me realize that my purpose is to serve others through medicine—not just with knowledge, but with compassion and lived understanding. These experiences have shaped the kind of doctor I want to be. I don’t just want to treat diseases—I want to listen to patients whose stories are often ignored. I want to work with underserved communities where addiction, mental health, and chronic illness intersect. I want to become the doctor my uncle in Ecuador never had—the one who could have seen beyond the symptoms and helped him recover. I want to be the physician who recognizes that financial hardship, language barriers, and trauma often prevent people from accessing the care they deserve. Being a first-generation college student, an immigrant, and someone who has felt the weight of both personal loss and economic struggle, I believe I bring something important to medicine: empathy rooted in experience. These challenges haven’t stopped me—they’ve defined me. They remind me every day why I’m on this path, even when it’s hard. This scholarship wouldn’t just ease my financial burden—it would affirm that stories like mine matter, and that students like me belong in medicine. I carry the memory of those I’ve lost, the strength of my father’s sacrifices, and the hope that, someday, I’ll offer healing not just with my hands, but with my heart.

Addiction is a silent force that can tear through the fabric of families, leaving behind pain, confusion, and loss. My family has felt this deeply — not just once, but repeatedly. I grew up between Ecuador and Italy, and it was in Italy where I first witnessed the grip of addiction on my relatives. In the small town where my cousins Rosela and Domenico lived, drug use was sadly common. My cousin Domenico, recognizing the threat to his life, made the difficult decision to leave everything behind and move to the United States in search of freedom from addiction. His courage saved his life. But my cousin Rosela wasn’t as fortunate. By the end of 2024, Rosela was in a rehabilitation center. We were all hopeful, especially for her young daughter. However, at the start of this year, Rosela escaped treatment and fell back into addiction. She died shortly after from an overdose. Her death devastated our family, especially her daughter and her brother Domenico. Since then, I’ve done everything I can to help them cope — whether that means simply being present, offering emotional support, or helping them stay distracted through small acts of care. Their pain has become part of my motivation to work toward a future where fewer families suffer this kind of loss. This wasn’t my first experience with addiction. Years earlier, I lost my uncle in Ecuador after years of struggling with substance abuse. His journey — full of relapses and attempted recoveries — left a lasting mark on my understanding of what addiction truly is. It isn’t just a personal failure. It’s a disease, one that affects the brain, the body, and entire family systems. It’s often misunderstood, and too many people face it without proper support. Now, as a molecular biology major at Montclair State University with a concentration in biochemistry and a minor in nutrition, I’m committed to a career in medicine — specifically, one that doesn’t just treat illness, but also uplifts those suffering from addiction. I want to work with underserved communities, educating families and integrating both physical and mental health approaches into care. My long-term goal is to become a physician who provides holistic, compassionate treatment, especially to those struggling in silence. This scholarship means more to me than financial help. It’s a tribute to people like Rosela, Domenico, and my uncle — people who fought to survive, and those still fighting. It’s a way for me to carry their stories forward and to honor the memory of Jason David Anderson by turning tragedy into purpose. True healing comes not just from medicine, but from understanding. And that’s exactly what I hope to bring into my future as a healthcare professional.

Since I began my academic journey in Molecular Biology, my passion for science has always been intertwined with my commitment to helping others reach their full potential. Whether through volunteering, mentorship, or community outreach, I have developed my skills with the goal of making a lasting impact in the lives of others. One of the most transformative experiences in my journey was earning my Medical Assistant, EKG Technician, and Phlebotomy Technician certifications. Through hands-on learning, I not only strengthened my technical skills but also realized the profound importance of patient education and advocacy. Many individuals, especially those from underprivileged backgrounds, often lack access to basic healthcare knowledge and preventive care resources. Seeing this gap firsthand inspired me to take action beyond the classroom. I began volunteering at community health fairs and clinics, assisting in free medical screenings and public health education initiatives. By engaging with individuals who lacked healthcare access, I learned how to explain complex medical concepts in simple terms, empowering them to take charge of their health. My mission has always been to bridge the gap between scientific knowledge and real-world impact, ensuring that individuals—regardless of their socioeconomic background—have the resources they need to lead healthier lives. Beyond healthcare, I have made it my purpose to support and mentor students pursuing STEM careers. Many aspiring scientists, particularly first-generation college students like myself, often struggle with self-doubt, financial barriers, and lack of guidance. Recognizing this, I have dedicated time to tutoring and mentoring high school and college students, helping them navigate coursework, research opportunities, and career pathways in STEM. In every mentoring session, I emphasize resilience, curiosity, and the power of asking questions. I have learned that a single conversation can change someone’s trajectory, just as mentorship has guided me in my own academic journey. Seeing students I’ve mentored succeed—whether by excelling in coursework, securing internships, or gaining confidence in their abilities—fuels my passion for empowering the next generation of changemakers. My ultimate goal is to use science and entrepreneurship to create lasting change. I envision founding a biotechnology startup focused on cancer diagnostics and personalized medicine, ensuring that early detection and treatment innovations are accessible to all. Many families, especially in low-income communities, face financial and systemic barriers to quality healthcare. By combining my scientific expertise, leadership skills, and commitment to service, I hope to develop solutions that make healthcare more equitable. Beyond research and innovation, I want to continue advocating for health education initiatives and mentorship programs, ensuring that students and underserved communities are equipped with the knowledge and resources to thrive. True change happens when science is made accessible, opportunities are shared, and knowledge is passed forward. My journey has been shaped by education, service, and the unwavering belief that knowledge should be used to uplift others. The TEAM ROX Scholarship represents more than just financial support; it is an opportunity to continue my mission of making science meaningful, accessible, and transformative for individuals and communities alike. Through volunteering, mentorship, and healthcare advocacy, I am committed to helping others unlock their potential, overcome obstacles, and achieve their goals. By supporting my journey, this scholarship will not only invest in my education but in the countless lives I aim to impact through my work in science and service.

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by the intersection of science, technology, and human health. My journey in the medical field began with hands-on learning, where I earned my Medical Assistant, EKG Technician, and Phlebotomy Technician certifications. This experience ignited my passion for innovation in healthcare, particularly in areas where technology can enhance patient outcomes. As I continue my education in Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biochemistry, my ultimate goal is to build a business that revolutionizes cancer diagnostics and treatment accessibility, ensuring that cutting-edge medical solutions reach underserved communities. The business I envision is a biotechnology startup focused on early cancer detection and personalized treatment plans. Inspired by my interest in oncology, I want to develop a company that specializes in: AI-driven diagnostic tools that analyze biomarkers in blood samples for early cancer detection. Personalized medicine solutions, using molecular data to create targeted treatment options. Affordable testing services, ensure that low-income patients have access to life-saving screenings. Cancer remains one of the most challenging health crises worldwide, and early detection is often the key to survival. However, many people in low-income and rural communities do not have access to timely screening and treatment options. By leveraging advancements in molecular biology, artificial intelligence, and biotechnology, my company will work to bridge the gap between scientific research and practical healthcare applications. Beyond technology, I want to create a network of mobile diagnostic clinics that bring early detection tools directly to communities in need. These clinics would provide affordable screenings, medical consultations, and educational resources, ensuring that people from all backgrounds have a fighting chance against cancer. Through this initiative, I hope to empower individuals with knowledge about their health while fostering a culture of proactive disease prevention. My commitment to shining my light extends beyond my academic and entrepreneurial pursuits. Throughout my education, I have actively engaged in community health initiatives, offering free medical screenings and health education workshops. These experiences have shown me firsthand the disparities in healthcare access, reinforcing my desire to develop solutions that make a tangible difference. Additionally, I believe that mentorship is a crucial part of creating a lasting legacy. As someone who has overcome academic and financial challenges, I strive to mentor and support students interested in STEM and medicine. Whether through tutoring, guiding students through certification programs, or offering career advice, I am committed to helping others navigate their paths in science and healthcare. Education is a powerful tool, and I believe that sharing knowledge is just as important as discovering it. By empowering others through science, innovation, and healthcare access, I am building a legacy of impact that will extend far beyond my own career. Becoming an entrepreneur is not just about starting a business—it’s about creating meaningful change. The Let Your Light Shine Scholarship would help me continue my journey in STEM, develop the skills needed to launch my startup, and turn my vision into reality. My legacy will be one of innovation, accessibility, and empowerment, ensuring that scientific advancements benefit all, not just the privileged few. Through perseverance, education, and service, I am determined to shine my light in a way that transforms lives, uplifts communities, and leaves a lasting impact on the world. With the right resources and determination, I believe that healthcare can become more equitable, technology can drive life-saving solutions, and every individual—regardless of background—can have access to quality medical care.

Challenges have been a constant in my academic journey, shaping not only my resilience but also my passion for science. One of the biggest obstacles I faced was my struggle with chemistry during my early high school years, especially while learning online during the pandemic in Ecuador. The subject initially felt like an insurmountable wall of equations and abstract theories, making me question whether I truly had a future in science. However, instead of giving up, I chose to go beyond expectations—to turn my difficulties into an opportunity for growth. Facing this challenge led me to actively seek solutions. I asked my teacher for help, changed my study approach, and most importantly, I enrolled in Fit4Basic, an in-person course where I not only strengthened my foundational knowledge in health sciences but also obtained my certifications as a Medical Assistant, EKG Technician, and Phlebotomy Technician. This hands-on training not only improved my understanding of chemistry but also sparked my interest in biomedical research and medical sciences. The most valuable lesson I learned from this experience is that failures are not the end of the road but detours leading to growth. Today, I see every challenge as an opportunity to sharpen my problem-solving skills—an essential trait for any scientist or medical professional. This mindset has strengthened my determination to pursue a career in oncology, aiming to contribute to medical research and improve healthcare accessibility in underserved communities. The Importance of Mentorship and the Impact of the Eleven Scholarship Beyond academic success, I strongly believe in the power of mentorship and knowledge-sharing as tools for empowerment. If given the opportunity to participate in the Inspire11 mentorship program, I would make the most of the guidance from experts in technology, data science, and applied medical sciences. This mentorship would allow me to expand my technical skills, explore AI applications in biomedical research, and develop innovative strategies to address public health challenges. Being selected for the Eleven Scholarship and becoming part of this community would not only provide me with the financial and academic support needed to continue excelling in STEM but also give me the chance to take my aspirations to the next level. My goal is to keep exploring how the intersection of molecular biology, technology, and medicine can revolutionize cancer treatment and make scientific advancements accessible to all. The challenge I faced did not just teach me how to overcome difficulties—it prepared me for a future where I can use scientific knowledge as a catalyst for innovation and equity in healthcare. I am ready to keep "turning it up to 11", and this scholarship would bring me one step closer to making that vision a reality.

Education has always been more than just a pursuit of knowledge for me—it has been my pathway to breaking cycles, uplifting communities, and shaping a future where barriers do not define potential. My journey has not been a straight path, but rather one filled with challenges that have tested my resilience and shaped my vision. Having been affected by incarceration within my family, I understand the weight of systemic obstacles and the profound impact they can have on one’s ability to achieve their goals. However, I refuse to let these challenges dictate my future. Instead, I am committed to using my education to create opportunities for those who, like me, have faced adversity. Growing up, I watched as the consequences of incarceration rippled through my family, impacting relationships, financial stability, and emotional well-being. It was an experience that, at times, made me feel powerless, but it also instilled in me a deep sense of purpose. Seeing how these challenges affected access to healthcare, stability, and opportunities made me determined to enter the medical field. I aspire to become an oncologist, not only to contribute to scientific advancements but also to serve as a bridge for underrepresented communities that often lack access to quality healthcare. My goal is to ensure that those facing hardship—whether due to incarceration, financial instability, or systemic inequities—receive the compassionate and comprehensive care they deserve. Pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology with a concentration in Biochemistry, Biophysics, and Molecular Biology at Montclair State University is my first step toward this vision. However, the journey has not been easy. Balancing academic excellence with the financial and emotional burdens that come with my background has been a test of endurance. Despite this, I have maintained a 3.8 GPA, engaged in volunteer work, and earned multiple medical certifications to enhance my skill set. I am also a first-generation college student and a commuter, managing my responsibilities while striving for excellence. Beyond personal achievement, my goal is to give back to communities disproportionately affected by incarceration and healthcare disparities. Many families, particularly in minority and underserved communities, face limited access to preventative healthcare, mental health resources, and financial support. I plan to advocate for policies that bridge the gap between medicine and social justice, ensuring that those affected by systemic barriers receive the care and opportunities they need. Winning the Francis E. Moore Prime Time Ministries Scholarship would provide me with the resources to further my education while also allowing me to expand my efforts in community outreach and medical advocacy. Education is my tool for change—not just for myself, but for those who need a voice, a mentor, and an advocate in their corner. Through perseverance, empathy, and a relentless commitment to my goals, I intend to turn adversity into an opportunity to heal, uplift, and inspire.

Jalal al-Din Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic, is known for his profound reflections on human suffering, love, and spiritual enlightenment. The quote, "The wound is the place where the Light enters you," encapsulates his philosophy that pain is not merely an affliction but a gateway to growth and transformation. Unlike a simple message of endurance, this statement suggests a deeper metaphysical truth: suffering serves as a conduit for divine wisdom and personal revelation. This essay will explore the layered meanings of this passage, emphasizing its implications on self-discovery, resilience, and the interplay between human fragility and transcendence. At a surface level, Rumi’s quote acknowledges the universal experience of suffering. To be wounded—physically, emotionally, or spiritually—is to experience a rupture in one’s being. Yet, rather than viewing this as solely negative, Rumi presents suffering as a portal for enlightenment. The imagery of a wound as an opening aligns with mystical traditions across cultures that regard crisis as a moment of transformation. In Buddhist philosophy, suffering (dukkha) is not just an affliction to be avoided but an essential aspect of the journey toward enlightenment. Similarly, Christian theology views suffering as a means to deepen faith, as seen in biblical passages like, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted" (Matthew 5:4). In all these perspectives, pain is not an obstacle but a necessary force that breaks the ego and allows wisdom to seep in. Rumi’s choice of the word "Light" is particularly significant. In Islamic mysticism (Sufism), light often represents divine wisdom, truth, and enlightenment. The Qur'an refers to Allah as An-Nur ("The Light"), and in many spiritual traditions, light is symbolic of understanding and clarity. The idea that light enters through wounds suggests that moments of hardship create openings for divine insight, stripping away illusions of invulnerability and self-sufficiency. Additionally, this phrase aligns with the concept of spiritual purification—suffering, when approached with reflection, dissolves arrogance, fosters humility, and deepens compassion. In psychological terms, trauma often leads individuals to profound realizations, reshaping their perspectives and values. Many who undergo hardship report increased empathy, a clearer sense of purpose, and a greater appreciation for life’s fleeting beauty. This aligns with the notion that pain does not just break us—it remakes us. One of the most compelling aspects of Rumi’s quote is its paradoxical nature. A wound is often seen as a weakness, yet Rumi asserts that it is precisely through this weakness that strength (Light) enters. This challenges conventional ideas of resilience. Modern discourse often equates strength with resistance—"toughing it out" or "powering through" difficulties. However, Rumi suggests an alternative perspective: true strength lies in vulnerability, in allowing oneself to be transformed by pain rather than merely enduring it. This idea resonates with the Japanese philosophy of kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold, emphasizing that imperfections and scars add beauty and value rather than diminishing it. Likewise, individuals who embrace their wounds—rather than hide them—often develop a deeper sense of authenticity and connection with others. The wound, in this sense, becomes not just a site of pain but a badge of wisdom. Rumi’s words serve as both comfort and challenge. They remind us that suffering is not meaningless, nor is it simply to be endured—it is to be engaged with, learned from, and ultimately transmuted into a source of wisdom. The wound is not the end of the story; it is the beginning of a deeper understanding. In a world that often seeks to numb pain or avoid discomfort, Rumi’s insight calls us to embrace suffering as a teacher, one that reveals the light of truth, resilience, and spiritual growth.

Growing up, I was always fascinated by science, but it wasn’t until I read The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee that I truly understood the power of medicine, research, and storytelling combined. The book opened my eyes to the complexity of cancer—not just as a disease, but as a historical and scientific challenge that has shaped the world of medicine for centuries. What struck me most was how cancer was not just a set of cells dividing uncontrollably—it was a battle of human resilience, scientific breakthroughs, and medical ethics. I was captivated by the relentless efforts of researchers and physicians working to extend lives, find treatments, and provide hope to millions. That book wasn’t just a story; it was a call to action, a realization that I wanted to dedicate my life to oncology, research, and patient advocacy. As a first-generation college student from a low-income background, the road to medicine is not an easy one. There have been challenges—balancing work, academics, and financial struggles—but every obstacle has only reinforced my commitment to this path. Beyond academics, I have actively sought out experiences that align with my passion, from volunteering at local food recovery programs to engaging in conversations about healthcare disparities and the need for medical accessibility. Reading has remained a constant source of knowledge and inspiration, shaping not just my academic path but also my perspective on the world and my role in it. With each book I read on medicine, biology, or ethics, I deepen my understanding of the field I hope to contribute to. This scholarship would help ease the financial burden of purchasing textbooks and academic resources, allowing me to continue my journey toward becoming an oncologist. I hope to one day write a book that inspires the next generation of doctors and researchers, just as The Emperor of All Maladies inspired me. Medicine is more than science—it’s a story of persistence, humanity, and the pursuit of knowledge. Thanks to reading, I found my purpose. Now, I want to dedicate my life to helping others find hope, healing, and a future beyond disease.

When I was 12 years old, my dad took me on a wild boar hunting trip in Ecuador with some of his friends and a group of experienced guides. We were fully equipped—we had weapons, food, water, and, most importantly, my ultimate survival tool: my dad’s cellphone. At first, everything felt like an exciting adventure. I don’t remember exactly how we got to the mountain, but I do remember the moment when my cellphone battery died. In my 12-year-old logic, this was a catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions. Without hesitation, I turned to my dad and said, "We should go home now. I'm bored." The plan was for us to wait at a designated spot while the guides explored the area, looking for any signs of wild boars. They told us to stay put for about two hours. Well, two hours passed, and the guides never came back. To make matters worse, when we decided to leave, we realized we had no idea which way to go. There were two paths ahead: left or right. Like any well-prepared group of adults, no one remembered which path we had taken earlier. After a brief but confident discussion—based on absolutely zero evidence—we chose the left path. At first, everything seemed fine. The trail was clear, we were walking with purpose, and it felt like we were making progress. But then, the vegetation became denser, the grass was taller than us, and we had to hack our way through with a machete. That’s when it hit us: we were completely lost. My friend Davide, who was my age, immediately panicked. He started crying, convinced we were going to live in the jungle forever. I, on the other hand, felt like an explorer on a great adventure—you know, the kind where you might not make it out, but at least you get a cool story. As we kept moving, we encountered massive tarantulas and all sorts of creepy-looking insects. Every time Davide saw a spider, he cried harder. I tried to reassure him, but deep down, I was thrilled by the chaos. After what felt like an eternity—probably three to five hours of walking aimlessly—we finally heard distant howling sounds. It was the guides calling for us! We screamed back at the top of our lungs, "Here! We’re here!" and soon, they found us—exhausted, dehydrated, and slightly traumatized. The first thing they did was hand us five giant three-liter bottles of water, which we drank like we had been stranded in the desert for weeks. Then came the best part: Davide and I got to ride back on donkeys while everyone else had to walk. When we finally made it back to the camp, Davide was so relieved that he stripped down to his underwear and jumped straight into the river. At first, I thought, "What is this guy doing?" But then I realized—I was bored. So I did the same. That day, we didn’t catch any wild boars, but we got lost in the jungle, fought through tarantulas, almost had an emotional breakdown, and ended up in our underwear swimming in a river. Easily the best hunting trip of my life.

From a young age, I was captivated by the intricate ways the human body functions. Still, it was a deeply personal experience with cancer in my family that solidified my passion for medicine and research. Witnessing a loved one battle cancer without access to timely and effective treatments ignited a desire within me to bridge the gap between scientific discovery and patient care. I chose to pursue Molecular Biology on the Pre-Med track to become an oncologist and researcher, dedicated to developing affordable, innovative cancer treatments that are accessible to underserved communities. My career aspirations extend beyond treating individual patients—I want to be at the forefront of medical research and healthcare reform, ensuring that scientific advancements reach all communities, regardless of socioeconomic status. My mission is to make it a reality by working at the intersection of medicine, research, and public health advocacy. I aim to: Advance cancer research – Conduct clinical and laboratory research to develop cost-effective treatments and improve early detection methods. Expand healthcare accessibility – Advocate for policies and programs that reduce disparities in cancer care, particularly for minority and low-income patients. Mentor and educate future medical professionals – Inspire and support underrepresented students in STEM and medicine, helping them navigate the challenges of pursuing careers in healthcare. Pursuing a STEM degree as a first-generation, low-income minority student has come with significant challenges. The lack of mentorship and financial constraints made it difficult to access academic resources, research opportunities, and networking connections that many of my peers take for granted. There were moments when I questioned whether I truly belonged in medicine and research, but instead of allowing these doubts to define me, I used them as fuel to work harder, seek guidance, and push forward. I have taken proactive steps to build my experience and contribute to my community, including: Volunteering with the MSU Food Recovery Network, helping to address food insecurity and promote community health. Engaging in scientific research and coursework, preparing myself for future contributions to oncology and medical innovation. These experiences have reinforced my resilience, adaptability, and commitment to creating change. Pursuing a career in medicine and oncology requires years of dedication, research, and financial investment. As a low-income, first-generation college student, I am determined to achieve my goals despite financial challenges. This scholarship would ease my burden, allowing me to focus on academics, medical research, and community outreach rather than worrying about tuition costs and educational expenses. Beyond financial support, this scholarship represents a validation of my potential and dedication to STEM. It is an opportunity to continue breaking barriers in medicine, contribute to meaningful cancer research, and advocate for healthcare accessibility. With this support, I will be one step closer to becoming an oncologist who not only treats cancer but also transforms how healthcare is delivered to marginalized communities. STEM is more than just a field of study—it is a platform for innovation, advocacy, and societal impact. My journey in medicine and oncology is driven by a personal mission to improve patient outcomes and eliminate healthcare disparities. Through research, clinical practice, and mentorship, I plan to use my education to reshape cancer treatment and accessibility, ensuring that medical advancements serve all populations, not just those who can afford them. Receiving the Emerging Leaders in STEM Scholarship would empower me to continue this journey with confidence, knowing that my work in medicine and healthcare equity is recognized and supported. I am determined to use STEM as a tool for change, leading the next generation of physicians, researchers, and advocates toward a future where science and medicine truly serve everyone.

From an early age, I was fascinated by the inner workings of the human body and the complexity of biological systems. My curiosity deepened when my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, a life-altering event that fueled my determination to understand the molecular mechanisms of disease and contribute to medical advancements. This passion led me to pursue a degree in Molecular Biology at Montclair State University. My goal is to bridge the gap between scientific research and medical applications, ultimately improving the accessibility and effectiveness of cancer treatments for underserved communities. In the short term, I am focused on excelling in my coursework, gaining hands-on research experience, and engaging in STEM-related extracurricular activities. As a Pre-Med student, I aim to participate in laboratory research focused on oncology, pharmacology, and molecular medicine. I also plan to seek internships and mentorship opportunities that will prepare me for medical school. My long-term goal is to become an oncologist and a researcher, dedicated to developing innovative cancer treatments that are both effective and accessible. I hope to inspire and mentor other underrepresented students in STEM, demonstrating that with perseverance, we can break barriers and lead advancements in science and medicine. Being an underrepresented minority in STEM presents unique challenges. Lack of representation, limited access to mentorship, and financial constraints make it difficult for many students like me to advance in this field. I have often found myself in classrooms where few students share my background, making it harder to find role models who understand my experiences and aspirations. Despite these challenges, I have used my background as a source of strength and motivation. I actively seek mentorship from professors, professionals, and fellow students who can guide me on my path. By pursuing a career in oncology and medical research, I aim to bring a diverse perspective to the field, ensuring that scientific breakthroughs address the needs of all communities, particularly those historically underserved. Pursuing a STEM degree comes with significant financial challenges, especially for first-generation, low-income students like myself. Between tuition, textbooks, lab fees, and research-related expenses, the financial burden can be overwhelming. Receiving the SigaLa Education Scholarship would provide me with the financial support needed to continue my education without the stress of excessive student loans. It would allow me to focus on academic excellence, research opportunities, and community involvement rather than worrying about financial limitations. Additionally, it would help cover the costs of technological tools, lab equipment, and standardized test preparation for medical school applications, all of which are essential for achieving my long-term goals. Beyond financial support, this scholarship represents a vote of confidence in my potential to succeed and make a meaningful impact in the field of STEM. With this opportunity, I will continue to push forward, breaking barriers and ensuring that scientific advancements benefit all communities, regardless of socioeconomic background. Choosing Molecular Biology and Oncology as my field of study was not just a career decision—it was a personal mission to address health disparities and contribute to groundbreaking cancer research. As an underrepresented minority in STEM, I have faced challenges, but they have only strengthened my commitment to excellence, advocacy, and mentorship. With the support of the SigaLa Education Scholarship, I will take one step closer to my dream of becoming an oncologist, leading research in cancer treatment, and mentoring future STEM leaders. I am determined to turn adversity into opportunity, proving that diversity in STEM is not just necessary—it is transformative.

Growing up in a low-income, single-parent household, I learned early on the value of resilience, perseverance, and self-discipline—qualities that have shaped both my academic and athletic journeys. My mother, a woman of incredible strength, worked tirelessly to provide for my siblings and me. Despite our financial hardships, she instilled in us the importance of education, hard work, and commitment, lessons that I have carried into every aspect of my life. From a young age, I developed a passion for sports, particularly volleyball and weightlifting. Sports became more than just a pastime—they were an outlet, a motivation, and a means of self-improvement. Balancing academics with athletics was never easy, especially while working part-time jobs to help support my family. However, I quickly learned that discipline and time management were my greatest assets. Waking up early for training, attending classes, studying late at night, and working on weekends became my routine. The challenges of financial struggles and academic pressures only pushed me to work harder, knowing that success would not come without sacrifice. In high school, my passion for volleyball deepened as I competed in club-level tournaments, refining my skills and fostering a strong sense of teamwork and leadership. Volleyball taught me the importance of communication, adaptability, and perseverance—skills that extend far beyond the court. It also gave me a sense of belonging and purpose, reinforcing my belief that sports have the power to transform lives and build strong communities. Understanding the barriers faced by underserved communities, I have actively engaged in community service. As a volunteer with the MSU Food Recovery Network, I assist in collecting and distributing food to local shelters, ensuring that no one goes hungry. Additionally, my involvement with Oasis, a nonprofit organization providing clothing and essential resources to low-income families, has deepened my understanding of the struggles many people face daily. These experiences have fueled my commitment to giving back and making a meaningful impact on those around me. As a Molecular Biology major on the Pre-Med track, I am determined to combine my scientific background with my dedication to service. My ultimate goal is to become an oncologist, specializing in providing affordable and accessible cancer treatment to underserved communities. Growing up in a household where healthcare was often a financial burden, I witnessed firsthand how economic barriers prevent families from receiving the care they need. My mission is to bridge this gap by advocating for equitable healthcare access and conducting research to develop cost-effective treatments. Receiving the Stephan L. Wolley Memorial Scholarship would provide crucial financial support in my journey, allowing me to focus on my studies, continue my community outreach, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician dedicated to serving the underserved. Just as Stephan valued family, faith, and competition, I strive to embody these principles in my own life—pushing myself to excel, uplift others, and make a lasting impact. My journey as a student-athlete, first-generation college student, and aspiring physician has been shaped by perseverance, discipline, and a deep-rooted commitment to giving back. Every challenge I have faced has only strengthened my resolve to turn adversity into opportunity and use my experiences to help others. This scholarship would not only ease my financial burden but also empower me to continue making a difference in my community and beyond. I am honored to apply for the Stephan L. Wolley Memorial Scholarship and to uphold Stephan’s legacy of ambition, dedication, and impact. Through my academic, athletic, and professional aspirations, I will continue to push boundaries, break barriers, and inspire those around me—just as sports, education, and service have inspired me.

Growing up in a low-income, single-parent household, I learned the value of perseverance at an early age. My mother, who worked tirelessly to provide for our family, instilled in me the belief that education was the key to breaking the cycle of financial hardship. However, our struggles were undeniable—there were times when even basic necessities felt like luxuries. Despite these obstacles, I refused to let my circumstances define my future. Balancing academics with part-time jobs to support my family taught me discipline, resilience, and adaptability. While many of my peers could focus solely on their studies, I had to juggle responsibilities beyond the classroom. Yet, these challenges only strengthened my determination to pursue higher education and give back to others facing similar struggles. Understanding the barriers that underserved communities face, I have dedicated myself to community service and outreach. As a volunteer with the MSU Food Recovery Network, I assist in collecting and distributing food to local shelters, ensuring that no one goes hungry. Additionally, my work with Oasis, an organization that provides clothing to low-income individuals, has deepened my understanding of the struggles families endure daily. These experiences have fueled my commitment to equity, access, and service. As a Pre-Med student passionate about oncology, I plan to use my background to advocate for affordable healthcare and conduct medical research to make cancer treatment more accessible. My goal is to bridge the gap between scientific advancements and marginalized communities, ensuring that no one is denied care due to financial constraints. Receiving the Lotus Scholarship would ease my financial burden and allow me to continue working toward my dreams. With this support, I can empower others, uplift my community, and turn my hardships into meaningful change.

My name is Mathias Amico, and I am a first-generation, low-income college student pursuing a degree in Molecular Biology at Montclair State University. Growing up in a financially struggling household, I quickly understood the weight of economic hardship—not just as a limitation but as a motivation to break barriers and create a better future. My experiences with adversity have shaped my beliefs, relationships, and aspirations, fueling my drive to make a meaningful impact in the lives of others who, like me, face systemic obstacles. Being raised in a low-income household meant facing financial instability, but it also meant learning resilience at an early age. My parents worked tirelessly to provide for my siblings and me, but even with their sacrifices, affording necessities and educational resources was a constant struggle. I vividly remember times when I had to prioritize helping my family financially over academic opportunities, working part-time jobs while balancing my coursework. Understanding the barriers faced by underserved communities, I have actively engaged in community service. Through my volunteer work with the MSU Food Recovery Network, I assist in collecting and distributing surplus food from dining facilities to local shelters, ensuring that no food goes to waste while helping those in need. Additionally, I have volunteered with Oasis, an organization that provides clothing and essential resources to underprivileged individuals. Sorting and distributing donations allowed me to directly witness the struggles faced by low-income families, further strengthening my determination to advocate for equitable access to resources. My experiences have shown me that small actions can create profound impacts. Whether through food recovery, clothing donations, or offering a listening ear to those in need, I have learned that outreach is not just about providing material support—it is about restoring dignity, hope, and opportunities for a better future. As a Pre-Med student passionate about oncology, I aim to combine my scientific background with my commitment to social justice. Cancer treatment is often inaccessible to low-income individuals, disproportionately affecting underserved communities. My goal is to become a physician and researcher who bridges the gap between cutting-edge medical advancements and equitable healthcare access. I plan to address socioeconomic adversity by: - Advocate for affordable healthcare solutions that ensure every patient receives the medical attention they deserve regardless of their financial status. - Pursuing medical research focused on making cancer treatments more accessible and cost-effective. - Developing community outreach programs to educate families on preventive healthcare, early cancer detection, and available resources. - Beyond healthcare, I envision establishing scholarships and mentorship programs for first-generation, low-income students pursuing careers in medicine and science. I want to remove financial barriers for future generations, ensuring that no student has to choose between economic survival and their dreams. Experiencing socioeconomic adversity has profoundly shaped my beliefs and ambitions. It has instilled in me a deep sense of empathy, and a relentless drive to uplift others. Through community outreach, advocacy, and my future career in medicine, I will continue to combat socioeconomic inequalities, ensuring that everyone (regardless of background) has a fair chance at success and a healthier future. Receiving the Cheryl Twilley Outreach Memorial Scholarship would allow me to continue my education without financial burden, further expand my outreach efforts, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician dedicated to serving the underserved. Just as Cheryl Twilley believed in helping those facing socioeconomic adversity, I am determined to carry forward her legacy through my actions, career, and impact on my community.