Authentic. It’s something I’ve struggled with my whole life. I’ve always tried to be good, successful, or at least enough, yet I constantly felt stuck. Whether I’m at school or at home, there’s always been this invisible wall between who I am and who I’m trying to become. I start new things with excitement, but I somehow end up feeling stagnant, unsure of how to keep pushing. A lot of that comes from wanting to belong. I get wrapped up in peer pressure because being alone feels like failure. I keep myself busy because stillness forces me to face the things I’ve been avoiding. Over time, “survival mode” became my normal. I learned how to hide from life and smile while hurting. I’m surrounded by people who love me, yet I often feel unseen or like I’m never someone’s first choice. Words from my childhood; “You talk too much,” "You're too sensitive” still echo in my mind and shape the way I see myself. Growing up as the youngest, made me feel out of place. I was too young for the older kids and too old for the little ones. So I built my own world; a bubble where I only needed myself. I became my own best friend, my own protector. Even though my mom is there for me, I’ve never felt like I could unfold all my pain in front of her. From the outside, my life might look perfect. I have what I need, the latest Jordans, nice clothes but material things can’t save you from drowning mentally. Mental health rarely matters to people until it’s too late. I’ve learned that firsthand. People start paying attention only after the damage is visible. When I tried explaining my feelings, I was called "extra" or “difficult.” So I stopped explaining and started listening to myself instead. I began to find pieces of me that were worth keeping: my empathy, my big heart, my willingness to care even when it hurts. That’s what makes me who I am. My empathy is my edge. I care more than your average person would. I notice things others overlook such as why someone’s scribbling on their desk instead of what shoes they’re wearing. I ask the questions no one else asks. I’ve realized I don’t have to keep up with trends or roll with the biggest group to matter. My presence alone is enough to fill a room. Sometimes life feels like Monopoly. Everyone has their own piece whether it’s a tiny hat, a car, or a dog. Everyone is moving at their own pace. Some people roll high and buy a property; others get stuck paying rent over and over again. For a long time, I compared myself to everyone else’s game. I let myself be consumed by what other people had whether it was their popularity or possessions. But with time, I’ve turned that mindset into motivation. I’ve learned that everyone has their own path, and my self-worth shouldn't depend on how others see me. I’m just as capable as anyone else, and my belief in myself should be stronger than anyone else’s opinion. Authenticity comes from within. That’s my strategy now. I plan to take all my pain, my struggles, and my lessons and turn them into something beautiful. Something that helps others feel seen. I want to create environments where authenticity is accepted and celebrated. In college I want to major in Entrepreneurship with a minor in Psychology, so I can build spaces for people like me: those who feel unheard, unseen or misunderstood. I didn’t even know how to start this essay, but finishing it is something I’m doing for me. Not to prove anything to anyone else, but to make myself proud. Life gives everyone a chance to shine in their own light. Keeping that light on is the hard part, especially when the world dims it.

I was always told to "be kind," regardless of how others treated me—but I never fully understood what that meant. Even if someone was rude, I was expected to be kind? That idea didn't make sense to me at the time. But it wasn't until I experienced someone showing me kindness with nothing expected in return that I truly understood the meaning. At the start of my 10th-grade year, I still hadn't found my place. I couldn't seem to connect with my peers, even if we had the same classes or shared similar interests. I felt like an outcast. I lacked creativity, imagination, and a spark for anything or anyone. That changed when a new female teacher joined our school. Her name was Joanne, and though she was new to the school, I felt like I was too. I had only been there since 8th grade, and the school was divided between middle and high school, so in some ways I was starting fresh, too. From the moment she introduced herself, I felt a connection. There was something about the way she carried herself that resonated with me, even if I couldn't explain it at the time. She was my Algebra 2 teacher, and math was my worst subject. But I thought maybe if I liked the teacher, I'd finally have a chance at understanding it. I wasn't wrong. She helped me pass, even though I struggled. She never made me feel incapable. Instead, she saw me—and all of her students—not as products of our environment, but as people. What I admired most about her was the way she treated everyone with respect and dignity, regardless of how they acted. She made her classroom a safe space. We could come to her with anything, and she would listen. She showed up for her students not just academically, but emotionally. And she came into my life at a time when I was struggling to understand my own identity. She would sit with me, step by step, through the most difficult math problems, until I understood them. I remember a day when we were going over trigonometry(sine, cosine, tangent), and I sat by her the entire period. She didn't get frustrated. She didn't give up on me. That moment stuck with me because I was used to people giving up when they got frustrated. But not her. She showed me what real kindness looks like. She treated people based on how they treated others, not based on their background or mistakes. We need more people like her in this world; people who care without condition. People come into our lives for a reason, or maybe just for a season. But I believe she came into mine for a reason: to teach me that even when life is hard, and people aren't kind to you, it's still important to be kind. She modeled that lesson every day, and now I carry it with me everywhere I go. Thanks to Joanne, I no longer just say “be kind”—I live it.

Throughout my years in secondary education, I've always strived to go above and beyond—not just for myself, but for others as well. Whether I was assisting a classmate with schoolwork or being a listening ear for a friend, I naturally stepped into the role of someone others could count on. That support wasn't one-sided; helping others gave me a sense of purpose and helped me become the person I aspire to be. I carry the same mindset into my academic work, reviewing every assignment carefully and pushing myself to improve. These habits: compassion, discipline, and perseverance—are not just part of how I move through school; they’re the foundation of the future I’m building. I’m worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I don’t just envision success for myself—I pursue it in a way that uplifts others along the way. Being a support system for others inspired me to start a school club focused on the mental health of African American youth, especially those from single-parent households, low-income families, or who face obstacles that limit their potential. The club provides a safe, judgment-free space for teens ages 14–18 to express themselves and confront the silent battles they often face alone. Taking on this leadership role has not only deepened my understanding of how to support others but has also helped me grow personally and professionally. Through this experience, I’ve had the opportunity to connect with like-minded individuals and develop my professionalism at an early age. I plan to continue leading the club until I graduate, using it as a reflection of my long-term commitment to helping others and creating change in my community. My involvement with the club, combined with my experiences helping others, has reinforced my dream of becoming an entrepreneur—one who listens to the community's needs and goes above and beyond to meet them. I plan to channel this passion through the food industry. While I am determined to work for myself, my true goal is to make a meaningful impact. I envision running a nonprofit food truck that serves meals at no cost, dedicated solely to feeding those in need. This will not be an ordinary food truck—it will be a space where people can find comfort, dignity, and nourishment. I’m committed to utilizing every available resource to ensure that no one in my community goes hungry. This vision isn’t just a dream. It’s the natural next step in the work I’ve already started. I know I’m worthy of it because I’ve proven that I lead with both heart and action.

Growing up in an urban community as a young African-American girl who didn't quite fit in came with its challenges. I was often frowned upon for being outspoken, wearing my natural hair, and not liking the same things as other kids. It made me feel like I wasn't worthy or good enough. I spent hours crying, trying to change my appearance and personality just to be accepted. But no matter how hard I tried, it only made things worse. In my freshman year, my family moved to the suburbs, and I found myself in a more diverse school environment. But I still felt out of place. I was considered too "boujee" by the African-American students and too "ghetto" by the white students. Once again, I questioned whether I would ever truly belong. I tried various interests, such as rapping, drawing, and hairstyling, but none of them made me feel connected to who I really was. That changed the night my mom asked me to cook for the family. I still remember the meal: fried chicken, collard greens, and baked macaroni and cheese. As I prepared the food, a warm sense of peace came over me. For the first time, I felt whole, and I knew I had found my passion. Since then, I've pursued cooking with love and dedication. I enjoy every part of it, from prepping ingredients to washing dishes. I've earned my Food Handler Certification and my ServSafe certification, and I currently run a small baking business called "TreatsbyNahiyaa", a name that reflects both my identity and the growth I've experienced over the years. Culinary arts helped me find confidence and a sense of purpose, and now I want to use this knowledge to help others. My dream is to open a nonprofit food truck that serves people experiencing homelessness, with a particular focus on the African-American community. The truck will serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner daily. I am not driven by money, but rather by passion and a desire to uplift others through food. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my culinary education, but also bring me one step closer to fulfilling my dream of feeding and uplifting those who are often overlooked. Food gave me healing, purpose, and dignity, and now I want to give that same care to others like me. With your support, I can turn my passion into a lifelong mission of service.

Pain found me early in life, but I refuse to let it define me. People often say I grew up too fast, as if I rushed through my childhood. But that wasn’t a choice — the challenges I faced forced me to mature quickly. Still, I never let that pain control me. Instead, it became my fuel, my motivation to keep moving forward, no matter what. Growing up in a single-parent household showed me what real strength looks like. Watching my mom provide for my sister and me, often without treating herself, broke my heart. She gave us everything we needed and most of what we wanted, all while carrying the weight of being both parents. My father was part of my life until I was seven, but then he moved to Florida with my older sister and her mom, telling me only two weeks before he left. At the time, I didn’t understand how deeply that absence would affect me. Now, I realize I spent years trying to fill the hole his departure left behind. To escape the hurt, I kept myself busy by always being outside, meeting new people, and exploring new places, anything to distract myself from the pain. He went from bringing me lunch at school every day and spending weekends with me to being 20 hours away, barely speaking to me. Meanwhile, my mom took on the roles of both parents, working tirelessly, picking up extra jobs and late-night shifts, all while caring for my mentally ill grandmother. That’s a burden no one should bear alone, yet she never lost faith. She never gave up on us. Then my grandmother — the woman who practically raised me was diagnosed with lung cancer. That diagnosis shook our family to its core. But we didn’t let it break us. We rose to be the strength she needed. Watching my mom care for her through treatments, constant supervision, and emotional exhaustion has been both heartbreaking and inspiring. My grandmother no longer has a voice and communicates through a button. The last time I heard her speak, I didn’t know it would be the last. That memory stays with me, reminding me why I continue to push forward. These experiences have shaped my dreams and inspired my future. I am determined to major in entrepreneurship and business. I want to be my boss and achieve financial freedom, so my family will never have to want or need anything again. My dream is to start a tech-driven soul food truck that uses iPads for ordering and customer interaction, creating a unique, contactless experience. This dream is deeply personal because cooking with my grandmother was one of my most treasured memories. I want to honor that tradition and share the love and comfort we found in the kitchen with others. The hardships I’ve faced have humbled me and motivated me to create something meaningful, innovative, and heartfelt. Through it all, I continue to shine because of them. My story hasn’t broken me. Instead, it has given me purpose. I am driven to succeed not just for myself, but for the people who sacrificed everything to help me get here. With their love, my persistence, and the strength I’ve gained from my journey, I know I can fulfill any goal I set my heart on. I have a whole village behind me and we’re just getting started.