Growing up as a Pakistani girl who spent my early years in Dubai before moving to Carmel, Indiana, I have always felt connected to two very different worlds. I am grateful for the opportunities I have here, but I cannot ignore the realities my cousins face in Pakistan. They live with limited access to education, healthcare, and many basic resources that I often take for granted. This awareness has shaped who I am and inspired me to take responsibility for using my privilege to help others. It is this drive that motivates me every day to give back to my community and work toward a better future for those less fortunate. One of the most important ways I do this is through The Citizens Foundation, an organization dedicated to building schools in underserved areas of Pakistan, especially for girls. I have seen firsthand how education is often considered unimportant for girls in many villages. Many families prioritize early marriage or household responsibilities instead of schooling. Through TCF, I have worked to change this mindset. I founded a youth volunteer group within TCF’s Indiana chapter, encouraging other Pakistani youth to raise awareness and funds. Together, we raised over one hundred seventy-eight thousand dollars, enough to build an entire school. To me, this is not just fundraising. It is creating opportunities and hope for girls who deserve to learn and grow. I also volunteer for events supporting Shaukat Khanum Cancer Hospital in Pakistan. I have witnessed how inadequate healthcare can devastate families, and I want to help change that. Raising funds here in the United States connects me to my community back home and reminds me that we are all linked by our shared humanity. These experiences have taught me to tread lightly on my privilege and use it to make a difference. My commitment to service extends beyond the Pakistani community. At school, I lead the Muslim Student Affinity group, where I work to foster understanding and cooperation between Muslim and Jewish students. Growing up in a Muslim country, religious diversity was normal to me. However, I have seen how tension and misunderstanding can create division. I believe that open dialogue and empathy can build bridges, and I strive to create a welcoming and respectful environment for all students. My passion for justice grew stronger through my volunteer work interviewing formerly incarcerated individuals. Listening to their stories showed me the human side of the justice system and deepened my determination to pursue a career in criminal defense law. I want to fight for people who are often ignored or judged unfairly and advocate for a system that values rehabilitation and dignity. This scholarship would mean more than financial support to me. It would validate my dedication to serving others, bridging communities, and pursuing justice. It would help ease the financial burden of college, allowing me to focus on my education and leadership goals. Most importantly, it would empower me to continue working for a future where everyone has the opportunity to reach their full potential, regardless of their background. I am proud of my heritage and deeply aware of my privilege. I carry both with responsibility and hope. This scholarship would support me as I strive to create meaningful change for my community and beyond.

When I first sat down to interview a woman recently released from prison, she asked me a question that I have thought about ever since: “What does a felon look like to you?” At sixteen, I had embarked on an independent project to understand the realities faced by formerly incarcerated individuals. I had no idea then that this experience would shape not only my career goals but also my deep commitment to public service and justice reform. I am a South Asian girl growing up in a predominantly white community in Carmel, Indiana. From an early age, I understood what it means to be judged based on assumptions, appearances, or stereotypes. This personal experience of marginalization has fueled my passion to advocate for those whose voices are often ignored or silenced, especially within the criminal justice system. I aspire to become a criminal defense attorney who fights not just in court but also for systemic change that prioritizes rehabilitation over punishment. My journey toward public service has been driven by more than just personal ambition—it has been shaped by real-world experiences and meaningful community involvement. Over the past year, I have taken the initiative to interview multiple formerly incarcerated people, listening to their stories of struggle and resilience. I wrote and published articles under the project title “A Battle Beyond Bars,” which aimed to shed light on the invisible barriers they face—like repeated job rejections, difficulty finding housing, and lack of access to mental health support. These stories revealed a truth too often overlooked: the battle for freedom does not end at the prison gates. Alongside my independent research, I have been actively involved in leadership and volunteer opportunities that have prepared me for a career in public service. As an organizer and speaker at the AAPI leadership conference, I helped create a space for young Asian American voices to share their experiences and advocate for social justice. Volunteering at the Children’s Museum as a MAP leader has taught me patience, communication, and the importance of community engagement—skills vital for anyone hoping to serve the public effectively. One of the most difficult lessons I’ve learned is the importance of mental health, especially for marginalized and vulnerable populations. The formerly incarcerated individuals I spoke with often described feelings of isolation, anxiety, and depression after their release, compounded by society’s unwillingness to support them. This has strengthened my resolve to advocate not only for legal justice but also for accessible mental health services as part of comprehensive reentry programs. This scholarship would be invaluable to me as I prepare to take the next steps toward a career in criminal justice and public service. Financial support will allow me to focus on my studies and community work without the heavy burden of educational expenses. More importantly, receiving this scholarship would be an affirmation that my passion and efforts to challenge injustice are seen and valued. Public service is not an easy path. It demands discipline, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to others. But it is exactly this challenge that excites me—the chance to use my voice and skills to protect the rights of those who might otherwise be overlooked. I am ready to dedicate myself to this mission. I believe that through empathy, advocacy, and leadership, I can help build a justice system that truly serves all members of our community. By investing in me through this scholarship, you would be investing in someone committed to making a meaningful difference. I am not just pursuing a career; I am building a lifelong mission to ensure fairness, dignity, and second chances for all.

What does a felon look like to you? That is the question one of the women I interviewed asked me as I sat across from her, listening to the story of what her life had become after prison. I was sixteen and had started an independent research project to explore what life is like for individuals after incarceration. On my own time, I arranged interviews with people who had been released and listened as they opened up about the barriers they faced. What I learned changed the way I saw the justice system forever. One woman told me how she was hired at a job, started working, and then weeks later was fired when her background check came through. She said it had happened more than once. Another told me she had trouble finding a place to live because landlords would not rent to her once they saw she had a record. She was trying to start over, trying to do everything right, but the world around her would not let her forget her past. As one of them put it, the sentence had ended, but the punishment had not. I remember her telling me that she sometimes wished she were back in prison because at least there, she had food and a bed. Outside, she felt like she was walking around with invisible chains. No one could see them, but she felt them every moment of her life. These conversations broke something open in me. I had always wanted to be a criminal defense lawyer, but now I understood exactly why. I do not just want to work in the justice system. I want to challenge it. I want to fight for people who society sees as disposable. I want to be the voice for people who are so often silenced because I know what it is like to come from a marginalized background and to carry labels that people use to define you before they even know you. I am a South Asian girl growing up in a predominantly white area. I have always been aware of how quickly people judge what they do not understand. That awareness is what drives me to tell the stories others overlook. The incarceration project I completed was not for school or recognition. It was something I felt pulled to do. I wrote emotional narrative pieces based on each interview and published them so their stories could be heard by people who might never think about what life after prison is truly like. I called it “A Battle Beyond Bars” because I realized that for so many of them, the real battle did not begin until after the bars closed behind them. Throughout that project, one theme kept coming up again and again. Mental health. Depression. Anxiety. Loneliness. A constant sense of rejection. No one seemed to care about how they were doing emotionally. No one asked how they were coping. They were released from prison, told they had their freedom, but then shut out from every system meant to support basic life needs. The mental health care system, if they could access it at all, was either too expensive, too far away, or too unwelcoming to people with their background. In my future career, I want to address this directly. I plan to become a criminal defense attorney who not only fights for clients in court but also advocates for a justice system that centers rehabilitation over punishment. I want to eventually create a nonprofit organization that supports reentry for formerly incarcerated individuals. I want to offer legal support, reentry planning, and mental health services all in one place. I want people to feel seen, heard, and supported when they walk into that space. I believe mental health care is not a luxury but a necessity, especially for those who have spent time behind bars. No one should be expected to rebuild their life while battling internal pain alone. If we truly want to reduce recidivism and build safer communities, then we must invest in the emotional healing of those who are returning to society. Acknowledging that incarceration does not end with release. I know I am young, but I also know I am capable of making a difference. I have already started by writing and publishing these stories by listening to people others ignore. This scholarship would help me continue on that path. I am not just trying to make a career. I am trying to make a change.

My name is Naaima Mahmood, and I plan to pursue a career in criminal defense law to serve as a voice for those silenced by a broken system. I come from a marginalized community myself, and that identity has shaped how I view justice, punishment, and humanity. I have always been drawn to the stories of people who have been failed by the institutions meant to protect them, and I want to be the person who helps shift that narrative. During my junior year of high school, I began working on a project focused on post-incarceration life. I interviewed formerly incarcerated individuals and wrote about their emotional and societal struggles. I listened to stories of people who had lost decades of their lives and were now navigating a world that seemed determined to keep them from moving forward. These conversations were never easy, but they opened my eyes to how much injustice exists after a prison sentence ends. These individuals are often denied housing, jobs, and even basic respect, making it nearly impossible for them to rebuild their lives. Through my writing, I tried to humanize them. I wanted people to understand that they were more than their records—they were parents, workers, neighbors, and people deserving of another chance. What drove me to this work was not just empathy, but lived experience. As a Pakistani American girl growing up in America, I have watched how race, culture, and class shape the way people are treated by the justice system. I remember visiting the Marion County Prosecutor's Office and speaking with Ryan Mears, who explained how the majority of marijuana-related prosecutions were targeted at people of color, even though marijuana use itself spanned every demographic. It was a clear and painful example of how biased the system can be. He eventually decided to stop prosecuting low-level marijuana offenses altogether. That moment confirmed what I had already started to feel deeply: the system is not always built to protect everyone equally. I want to become a criminal defense lawyer not just to defend clients in court, but to advocate for a shift in how we view punishment and rehabilitation. So often, people are dehumanized before their trial even begins. Their past, their appearance, or their economic background becomes the basis for judgment. I believe that people can change when they are offered compassion, resources, and real opportunities to grow. I want to help build a justice system that sees the full person behind the accusation—not just a case file or a criminal label. My goal is to provide accessible legal representation to those who cannot afford it. Many of the people most vulnerable to unfair treatment in court are also the ones with the fewest resources to fight back. By stepping into this role, I hope to create room for justice that is honest, empathetic, and truly fair. I believe in second chances, and I believe in systems that support healing over harm. Through my writing, my experiences, and my education, I am preparing to make a lifelong impact in this space. I am not just studying law—I am preparing to speak for the people no one listens to, because I know what it feels like when your voice is not heard.

When I watched the movie Matilda, I always admired Miss Honey. She was calm, soft-spoken, and the one person who saw Matilda for who she really was. If I had to name someone who made me feel like that in real life, it would be Mr. Fronnek from my freshman year business class. He wasn’t just a teacher. He was something in between a mentor and a parent. His classroom never felt like school. It felt like somewhere I was safe to mess up, ask questions, and grow. And he never made me feel like just a student. He made me feel like a person. We didn’t even know each other before that class. I just showed up on the first day, nervous and unsure of how I’d fit in, especially because I was one of the only freshmen in a class full of older students. But from the very beginning, he treated me like I belonged. He didn’t speak to us like we were kids. He always reminded us that we were capable of more than we thought. He would say things like, “You are in this class for a reason,” and that stuck with me. What I remember most is one day when I stayed after class because I had just completely blanked on a big assignment. I was embarrassed and honestly ready to cry, but instead of scolding me, Mr. Fronnek just pulled up a chair next to me and said, “What’s going on?” He didn’t mean the assignment. He meant me. And I ended up telling him that I had been feeling overwhelmed with school and personal stuff and I just felt like I was slipping. He sat with me for nearly thirty minutes. Not to talk about grades, but to talk about life. He told me about his own kids and how growing up is messy, but that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. I’ll never forget that conversation. It made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt before in school. He would always say he was proud of me, even on regular days when nothing big happened. And when I got an A on a project later that semester, he wrote a little note on it that said, “This is just the beginning.” I kept that paper. Still have it in my drawer at home. When I started doubting myself later in high school, I looked at that note again and it reminded me that someone believed in me from the start. Mr. Fronnek didn’t just teach business. He taught me how to carry myself with confidence. He reminded me that it is okay to fail sometimes and that strength comes from getting back up and continuing on anyway. He was the kind of teacher who changes you without even trying to. Just by being kind, and consistent, and truly present. He was my Miss Honey. And because of him, I believe in myself more than I ever have before.

Sustainability is about more than just protecting the planet. It is about building systems that actually take care of people in the long run. It is about making sure that communities are not just surviving but healing and growing and living with dignity. That is why I believe sustainability should be a priority in every field, including the one I want to go into—criminal justice. I want to be a criminal defense lawyer, and eventually work on policy reform. For me, justice is not about punishment. It is about second chances. It is about recognizing people for more than the worst mistake they ever made. I started to understand this in my own community. I noticed that when a young person messed up or went against what the community expects, they would be pushed away. Almost like they no longer belonged. And if that happens in my own community, I know it is happening everywhere. That is what first got me interested in the stories of incarcerated individuals. I realized that society treats them like they are disposable, like they cannot ever be part of the world again. That is not just heartbreaking. It is unsustainable. When people are shut out from housing, education, health care, and basic respect, they cannot rebuild. And when we do not give people the chance to rebuild, we are breaking down entire communities. During my sophomore and junior year, I started interviewing formerly incarcerated individuals and writing their stories. I learned about their hopes, their guilt, their growth, and how badly they want to be seen as human again. I learned that if we do not build a world where people get to come back from their mistakes, we are wasting their potential. We are harming their children, their families, and their communities. That kind of harm spreads. And it never really heals unless we actively choose to change things. In the future, I want to help build systems that make it possible for people to come home and live fully. That means pushing for restorative justice, reentry programs, clean and safe housing, and job opportunities that uplift instead of judge. And I see sustainability and justice working hand in hand. When people have the resources and the peace of mind to care for themselves, they can also care for the world around them. Communities that are supported are more likely to support green spaces, clean energy, and sustainable living. But it starts with people. It starts with giving them a chance. This is the kind of sustainability I want to fight for. Not just recycling and clean air, but a world where no one is left behind. Where healing and growth are not luxuries, but rights. Where we treat each other and the earth like we are worth saving.

Wicked has always felt like more than just a musical to me. Its story of Elphaba and Glinda, two very different girls trying to find their place in a confusing world, really connects with my own journey. Growing up between Pakistan, Dubai, Saudi Arabia, and now the United States, I have often felt caught between different cultures and expectations. Like Elphaba, I’ve had to learn to accept myself and be proud of my unique identity, even when it felt easier to hide parts of who I am. Elphaba’s courage to stand up for what she believes in and her fight against judgment reminds me of my own passion for giving a voice to people who are often misunderstood or ignored. For example, I’ve spent time interviewing formerly incarcerated individuals to better understand their struggles and challenge the labels society puts on them. Just like Elphaba, they deserve a chance to be seen for who they are and to rise above their past. Glinda’s growth from focusing on popularity to valuing true friendship and kindness also inspires me. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized how important it is to support others and build real connections, especially in my community and through volunteer work. The song “For Good” speaks to me because it shows how the people we meet shape us and help us become better versions of ourselves. Wicked’s themes of identity, courage, and friendship have shaped who I am and how I want to live. This musical has inspired me to embrace my voice, pursue justice, and help others do the same. I’m excited for the movie because it reminds me that we all have the power to defy expectations and soar.

During my sophomore year, I was juggling a lot of responsibilities that I cared about deeply. I was part of the Inspyred Youth Leadership program which met every Saturday, played varsity basketball with long and intense practices, and also served as a MAP leader for the Children’s Museum which met once a month on Saturdays. At first, I was excited to be involved in all these activities because they meant a lot to me. They were chances to grow, lead, and connect with others. But over time, the constant schedule and pressure started to weigh heavily on me. The combination of basketball practices, weekend commitments, and schoolwork became overwhelming and I noticed that my mental and emotional health was beginning to suffer. I was exhausted, stressed, and felt like I couldn’t keep up with everything. I realized that I needed to make my mental health a priority and that meant setting boundaries for myself which was not an easy decision. One of the hardest things I did was deciding to quit basketball for my junior year. Basketball had been such a big part of my life and identity so walking away felt like losing a piece of myself. But I knew I had to listen to what my body and mind were telling me. The day I told my coach I remember meeting her in the hallway. I gave her a big hug and we had a really deep and honest conversation. She was so understanding and kind. She told me she was proud of me for recognizing what I needed and for putting my education and well-being first. She even said she would love to see me back on the team during my senior year if I was ready. That moment meant everything to me because it reminded me that it was okay to step back and take care of myself without feeling guilty or like I was letting anyone down. It was a moment of real support and understanding that I will always carry with me. I didn’t stop there. I also talked with my basketball coach and my MAP program advisor to explain how I was feeling and why I needed to pause some of my commitments. Both were incredibly supportive and encouraged me to focus on my health and education. Even with that support it was hard. I missed basketball and the sense of belonging it gave me. It was tough to let go of things I loved but I realized that I could only give my best if I was taking care of myself first. This whole experience taught me so much about the importance of mental health, self-awareness, and setting boundaries. I learned that putting yourself first is not selfish it is necessary. I also learned how to communicate openly and honestly with the people in my life which made a huge difference in how supported I felt. This has shaped how I prepare for my future in school, work, and life by reminding me to check in with myself, listen to my needs, and prioritize my well-being. I’m more mindful now about how much I take on and how I balance my goals with self-care. It has given me the strength and clarity to handle challenges without burning out. Taking this step back was one of the most important decisions I have made so far. It showed me the power of self-respect and resilience. I’m confident that with these lessons I’ll be able to navigate the demands of college and beyond while staying true to myself and my health.

My name is Naaima and I am a rising high school senior a Pakistani American and an aspiring criminal defense attorney I moved from Dubai to Indiana right before the pandemic and everything about my world changed As I adjusted to a new country culture and school I faced bullying and isolation and for a while I struggled to find my place But I did not let that stop me Instead I used what I went through to fuel my passion for helping others and creating change I became deeply involved in my community mentoring younger students organizing fundraisers and speaking out about things that mattered to me I want to make sure no one feels like they are defined by their worst moment or left behind because of where they come from That is one of the biggest reasons I want to be a criminal defense lawyer to fight for people who do not always get the chance to be heard and to help them feel seen I have volunteered with several organizations including The Citizens Foundation and Shaukat Khanum where I helped raise money for education and healthcare in Pakistan I have also interned with the Immigrant Welcome Center helping create language resource kits for non English speaking families These experiences were personal to me and reminded me of where I come from and why giving back is so important I was also a student athlete in middle school running track taught me about discipline resilience and how to keep going even when things get hard That same mindset carries into my academics I currently have above a 3.9 GPA and I challenge myself with AP and honors classes because I know that education is the path to achieving my goals Financially things have not been easy Only my father works and since we moved to the United States unexpectedly we never had the opportunity to create a college fund My family has been focused on getting by and adjusting to our new lives I am applying for scholarships like this because I know that education is not just for me it is for my entire family and for the communities I hope to serve in the future Reading about Kalia’s story deeply inspired me Her ambition her kindness her leadership and her drive remind me of the kind of person I want to be I want to live with purpose to love learn laugh and lead in ways that uplift the people around me and create lasting change This scholarship would help bring me closer to that vision and allow me to carry Kalia’s legacy forward in everything I do

My family and I moved to the United States from the Middle East in January 2020, just before the COVID-19 pandemic changed everything. Before that, we lived in Dubai, which was only a two-hour flight from my family in Pakistan. That closeness was really important because my grandfather was very sick with multiple myeloma, a type of cancer, and when his health got worse, we could quickly be there for him. But because of my father’s job, we had to move to the US, which meant being much farther away a 16-hour flight from Pakistan. This distance was hard to accept, especially knowing my grandfather’s condition was serious. Not long after we arrived, travel restrictions and visa bans because of the pandemic made it impossible for us to leave the country. During that time, my grandfather passed away from cancer. We could only watch his funeral on Zoom. It was heartbreaking to be so far away and not able to help or say goodbye in person. On top of that, COVID was everywhere and everything felt so uncertain and scary. The whole world was shut down, and my family was dealing with so much sickness and loss at the same time. Watching my grandfather suffer from cancer and my father’s pain during that time had a huge emotional toll on me. I was only twelve years old, but I remember seeing how much pain my dad was in. He was always tired, stressed, and worried. I was scared for him. At one point, I even asked him if he would get cancer too. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I knew it was serious and frightening. Seeing someone I love struggle made me feel helpless and scared, and I didn’t know how to process all those feelings. I had to keep going to school and trying to do my best in classes even though I felt overwhelmed and sad. This time made me realize how fragile life really is and how important it is to have support and justice when facing hard times, whether it is from illness, distance, or other struggles like financial challenges. Moving to a new country brought new difficulties too. Adjusting to a different culture and managing economic challenges was tough for my family and me. We had to learn how to live with less and find new ways to support each other. These experiences helped me develop resilience and empathy for people going through hardships. All of this has inspired me to pursue a career as a criminal defense lawyer. I want to stand up for people who feel powerless and overlooked because of things beyond their control, like illness, immigration issues, or financial struggles. I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with fairness and dignity. My goal is to give people a voice in a system that often ignores or judges them unfairly. I want to fight for justice and make sure people are seen for who they truly are, not judged by their circumstances or mistakes. The pain and loss I experienced as a child during this time will always stay with me, but they have also given me a deeper understanding of suffering and the strength needed to overcome it. I want to use my experiences to help others who are struggling and to work toward a more just and compassionate world.