"These are only words. A father’s tricks. It slays your father, your faith in him. Because all I can think tonight is how deep the sea, and how vast, how indifferent. How powerless I am to protect you from it." Two years ago, at 3 AM, this very quote from Khaled Hosseini’s “Sea Prayer” made me shed a leaking faucet of tears. The heaviness of the narrator’s words could not be illustrated as his wishful letter to his son, a reflection of feeling helpless, yet hopeful, about their journey crossing the sea from Syria, are the only graphics on the page. The emptiness of the page almost feels as if the page had some secret ink to uncover how I, as the reader, could help the father protect him and his from the angry sea. I am neither a Syrian nor a son. Thus, after reading the book, I wondered why I, a Bengali daughter, felt as if my world shattered. I soon realized it was because I understood the pain of being misunderstood and misrepresented. My heritage is rich with stories of struggle and resilience, stories overshadowed by broader geopolitical narratives. In “Sea Prayer,” I see a reflection of my cultural history, how Bangladesh fought for its independence amongst the loss of our intellects and our families. I view “Sea Prayer” as a literature that reflects on the shared humanity that binds us all, irrespective of our backgrounds. Often, in the United States of America, the Middle East is depicted through a lens of conflict and chaos: mainstream media and political rhetoric often villainize the region. This portrayal is not only misleading but also dangerous, fostering prejudice and perpetuating cycles of fear and misunderstanding. Within its few pages, I saw how “Sea Prayer” encapsulated the profound despair and fragile hope of a father willing to risk everything for his son's future. His sentiments ultimately are universal: that at our core, we all seek safety, love, and a better tomorrow for us. “Sea Prayer” is truly a beacon of hope in troubled times. It challenges us to look beyond the superficial and see the inherent dignity in every human being. By reading this book, I hope future readers take a step towards a more compassionate and just world, one where every child, regardless of origin, can dream of a safer, brighter future.

6 months after my grandmother’s spinal cord surgery, she regained sensation in her legs: her doctors and physical therapists ensured my grandmother received the best recovery strategies. My awe of their medical attention to my grandmother ultimately became a goal of helping others medically, whether by becoming a researcher or doctor. Witnessing her medical journey sparked my fascination with the human body’s ability to heal and the intricate science behind it. My experience of watching her recovery fueled my ambition to become a neurologist, to help others navigate their health challenges and recoveries. However, my ambition lost its flame as I grew: I was not societally represented in medicine. I am a lower-middle-class, first-generation college student with no ties to the medical field. Although I am an overrepresented minority racially in the field of medicine, I still felt so lost as I did not see enough of myself (a Muslim, hijab-wearing woman) in the space and did not feel like I was “enough” to become a doctor. On top of my fears, I had multiple semesters where I was taking 18 credits of rigorous STEM courses and worked two jobs to support my family's financial burdens. Surrounded by classmates whose parents slipped the amount of money my parents gave me as my gift as their pocket money, I felt discouraged that I did not have enough to further my education in medicine. Nevertheless, my final semester in college showed that if anyone was going to become a doctor, it was going to be me. As president of two clubs, I taught students about women’s health anatomy in The Pow(h)er Collective and completed hundreds of hours of service through Alpha Phi Omega. Working multiple jobs while maintaining a heavy course load and holding down the presidency of two clubs has been challenging, but it has also reinforced my commitment to achieving my career goals. I realized that my presidency in these two specific clubs screamed an underlying message: I still wanted to see myself become a doctor! I wanted to still heal people by making the calls on how to proceed with a patient’s health and educate my communities on how to stay healthy. As someone with leadership positions, I saw that I had it in me to still embody that level of responsibility. My goal is to become a neurologist who fosters positive community changes through education and cultural understanding. I have seen many doctors and medical students who help their respective communities, whether by alleviating the price of medicine or educating how to get into the field of medicine. As a Muslim, I want to help the Muslim community by prescribing medicine that is religiously compliant to them. As a woman, I want to listen to my women patients and not use their bodies as an experimental playground of medicines. Finally, as a hijab-wearing woman, I want to show girls of my appearance that this career journey is available to them too! I have re-lit this journey by pursuing a biomedical sciences master's degree at Duke University, where I am excited to learn about the medical field. The program's cost is quite burdensome on my family, but it is why I am applying for this scholarship in the hopes of funding my master’s program. This scholarship, aimed at supporting an underrepresented student pursuing their higher education goals, would significantly alleviate my financial burdens as master's programs usually have no scholarships. Winning means I can focus more on my studies and volunteer work to facilitate me becoming the impactful physician I envision myself to be.

Alongside my thirst for acquiring scientific knowledge, I have always been a bookworm. When my dad brought home our first computer, I started reading my first major book series: Harry Potter. I enjoyed the stories of how Harry and his friends used magic to ease their lives, like using the invisibility cloak to hide from their teachers. I was so ambitious to find how I could disappear and appear like them, I tried wearing all the bedsheets in the house to come to the realization that none of my bedsheets were laced with magic. I continued to seek ways of pursuing this silly ambition because of Harry’s own challenges and his mentor, Professor Dumbledore, advising him that “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” When I saw that none of my current methods were working, Dumbledore’s advice sparked a light in me: to explore unexpected paths. My unexpected path led me to sit down on the chair that faced the brand-new computer. Clicking random buttons, I opened a window that reflected a video of all my actions. I was confused as to where the mirror in the computer was but continued to explore the camera app. A few more clicks, and I found my long-awaited solution in the filters provided by the camera app. The green screen, although it did not hide me, hid my room and took me places I have never been to. I was fascinated by how the computer took me from my home to Paris to Australia in seconds. I knew from then on that I had to pursue a career in engineering, so I, too, can create magic in the lives of others. In the matter of time, I learned basic functions on how to browse through the computer. Little did I know, however, how difficult it was for me to learn beyond these skills. Both of my parents had limited knowledge on a computer’s functionalities and there were barely any teaching resources for a child to learn. My heart was even more hurt to see that my pursuit for gaining experience in STEM, let alone education, was something the world argued about. Luckily, I began reading Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns, where I read about the resilience that Laila, a teenage woman, endured to get basic education. Even with the ongoing wars in Afghanistan and the misogynistic beliefs people in power had, Laila’s father reminded Laila that “a society has no chance of success if its women are uneducated.” I felt empowered that this was the powerful narrative that a male author projected. Like Laila’s parents, my parents showed me immense support in my education, particularly in the STEM field because of their educational backgrounds in math and finance. I grew more confident that my ability, as a woman, to seek and gain education was just as important as anyone else’s. Although books do not have an immediate association with STEM, I am glad to have taken an unexpected path to learn where my career aspirations fall. These books have inspired me to enter New York University and pursue a Bachelor of Science in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. With Harry Potter, I learned about my passion in engineering, and with A Thousand Splendid Suns, I learned that I will need to fight to pursue my passion. I plan to use book to elevate my education and experiences in STEM, so in the future, I can create biomedical technologies that can provide low-income communities with the same magic I found in my computer’s monitor.

“Pourbi, boro hobi, ar manush hobi, learn, grow up, and become human.” Whenever I discuss my assignments or future education goals with my parents, I can always expect them to say some variation of this quote. Their saying became more significant to me when I recognized that higher education was not just for me to specialize in a specific field but to challenge the social structures embedded within. Majoring in chemical and biomolecular engineering under the pre-med track, I use my higher education as a tool to critically reflect on how this education is influencing my learning and my impact. As a South-Asian, first-generation female student in the engineering field, I had a tough time finding resources to ease my studies and social circles to celebrate my social identities during my first semester of college. Luckily, I found my supportive space in my writing class, where I investigated how minorities and oppressed groups were negatively affected by discriminative health practices and clinical trials in America. My frustration in how our most vulnerable civilians were taken advantage of led me to my next goal: pursuing a P.hD/M.D degree to create health and scientific practices that would not put people in danger. In all, I seek my liberation from discriminative behaviors and systems in the pursuit of my achievement of higher education. While I hope to serve my community through my potential practice in medicine and bioengineering, I also hope for my intellectual value to shine along with what makes me me. Aside from academics, I still hoped for the things I long for in a college: affinity groups and building relationships. Participating in the Tandon Undergraduate Student Council as the first-year liaison, I got to do exactly that. My favorite event series was when first-years and sophomores connected with juniors, seniors, and professors to understand their industries more. I also rushed for being a brother of Alpha Phi Omega because of the fraternity’s emphasis on service work. I enjoy my time being part of this Greek life because it reminds me that one can serve their community while achieving their academic goal. It also reinforces my parent’s notion that one cannot truly grow in their education without a continuous reminder that one should be a kind human. Finally, I do social research in my vertically integrated project, College Students Studying College. With this year’s interviews on how financial packages from colleges impact student’s academic performances, I plan to propose to the university how to alleviate the financial burdens students face. For the future, I would like to participate in extracurricular activities that can help me specialize in what field of study I want to go into within the bioengineering and medicine realm. I am glad to be participating in these extracurricular activities since my first-year classes do not touch upon the topic I am passionate about. While I understand that a simple major change can fix the issue, I believe that understanding the social implications of a doctor’s, engineer’s, or legislature’s actions can impact the livelihoods of many is critical for students. Another way in which I hope to bring social change within these fields is through my hobby and passion of art. Participating in the 2018 OCA-NY Competition of how mental health is affected by hate crime, I saw the humongous effect art had to simplify, yet give power to, the voices of those impacted. Inspired by the art-works I saw that day, I, too, hope to use art as a political and social tool to uplift the voices within the healthcare and bioengineering fields.

2020, the year the world turned side-ways. I began the year off with accomplishments, like ice-skating for the first time, declaiming in front of my whole high school, and getting into my dream college. I also began the year off with friends discussing how we could complete our bucket lists before high school finished. However, before I had the chance to get my driver's license or go to The Museum of Sex once I turned 18, COVID-19 punched me in the face. Just like the school bus that ran into Regina George. Fun. My school closed down in response to the pandemic. So, that meant crazy long nights of virtual karaoke with friends and cooking macaroni and cheese while I was in class. I was excited about doing what kids in my movies could do, but I gradually became exhausted. Hearing the daily increase of COVID-19 deaths in NYC, I was also anxious about potentially losing loved ones from the irresponsibility of others. Unfortunately, my English teacher, Ms. Nguyen, died from the harsh virus. My anxiety got even worse, to the point where minor inconveniences were a mental battle. Life was tiring. I wanted to find healing. I sought it everywhere. Funnily, I found healing in one of my biology lessons: adapting -- the process of adjusting to your setting. I was fortunate to be in my house 24/7 and be surrounded by my family. But again, the minor inconveniences of having the same setting irked me. I spent my time painting on canvases to hang them up on the wall, printing the graphic designs I created to place in photo frames, and setting the curtains in various styles. Immediately, there was a shift in my mood: I began eating my normal three meals again, catching up with friends, and sleeping without worrying about the “What ifs…” I was happier. The lessons of healing and adapting further benefited my mental well-being. I noticed, however, that these lessons were not benefiting just me. I saw people using these lessons when they were protesting against the racial injustice Black people faced globally to people mourning Chadwick Boseman’s death together on the Internet. Healing and adapting also came in the form of setting virtual prayers with family members around the world. Even when Christians could not physically attend their sermons in Church or Muslims could not pray together on Friday prayers, they still found ways they could connect through their faiths. Though my initial steps of healing were to physically change my environment, I engaged in more activities that contributed toward my healing. Playing ludo, a Bengali game, with my grandparents while chewing on homemade cardboard pizza was a memorable experience. I usually was not able to hang out with them during the academic year because of the rigor of my school. Having mini pillow fights at 3 AM with my sister was crazy, but it re-established my relationship with her. Later into 2020, I surprisingly healed through entering college. Creating new friendships is typically a terrifying experience for me; however, upon being admitted into college, I was excited to be part of new organizations. Oddly enough, I would consider myself to have healed from doing the same work as I had before the pandemic because suddenly, I felt like my life was going back to the way it was before the pandemic. It is because I am indeed somewhat heading back to the same life, where I am excited to visit new places and achieve more accomplishments. I say “somewhat” because I know that 2021 “normal” will look different from 2019 normal. The lessons I learned in 2020 served as a heavy reminder that I am a human, not a robot. I already see this theme echo through 2021 as I make mistakes in my classes and/or how I even write essays like this one. 2019 me would cry and unhealthily dwell over a single mistake for weeks. But with 2020’s lessons of resilience, healing, and adaptability, I now know how to cope with uncomfortable situations and proceed with them. For 2022, I want to take on more challenges. 2020’s accomplishments and fallbacks are a huge foundation for why I want to be more active in my life. I want to keep on going, improving myself through the process, and enjoying what life throws at me. 2020, thank you, (but) next. 2021, progress, a journey. 2022, ready or not, here I come.