As a first-generation student from Trinidad and Tobago, I carry the dreams of my family and the strength of my community with every step I take. My journey has not been easy. I’ve faced my share of obstacles, including poverty, cultural shock, and the lingering trauma of growing up in a household where my voice was often silenced. However, I’ve never let those hardships define me. Instead, I’ve transformed them into purpose. I am determined to create a legacy that empowers others to speak, literally and figuratively, especially those who have been misunderstood or overlooked. My long-term goal is to establish a community-based speech-language and literacy center that serves low-income and immigrant families. My business will provide affordable and inclusive services to individuals with communication disorders, with a special focus on neurogenic speech disorders such as apraxia, dysarthria, and aphasia. I have a deep personal connection to this field as my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Watching her struggle with speech and movement gave me a profound understanding of the emotional toll of communication loss. Through my future center, I will offer not only therapy, but also hope. I want my clients to feel seen, supported, and strengthened. Too often, children from linguistically diverse backgrounds are misdiagnosed because of accents or non-standard English. I’ve witnessed this during internships, and it drives me to advocate for language equity. My center will also provide culturally responsive evaluations and workshops to help parents and educators better understand communication development. In the long run, I plan to expand into a nonprofit that trains future clinicians in anti-bias, equity-driven care and champions linguistic diversity rather than punishing it. Entrepreneurship, to me, means building something that leaves a lasting impact. It means using my education not just for personal success, but to challenge systems of inequality. I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA and earned a spot on the Dean’s List for several semesters. At the same time, I’ve volunteered my time tutoring children in reading and supporting food and clothing drives, all while working and helping care for my family. I approach everything with intention, compassion, and a desire to uplift others. I shine my light through resilience, service, and an unshakable belief in the power of communication. When others told me I couldn’t succeed because of where I came from or how I spoke, I worked harder. When I saw children dismissed because of their dialects or disorders, I stepped in. Most importantly, when I felt like giving up, I reminded myself that someone out there needed the very voice I was still learning to protect. I don’t just want to start a business. I want to lead a movement, one that celebrates the beauty of every voice and ensures that no one is left out of the conversation because of their background, diagnosis, or income. This scholarship would not only support my education, it would help me amplify the voices of those who have been silenced for far too long. I am committed to making sure they are finally heard.

At 15, I dropped out of high school, shaped by the instability of an abusive, substance-affected home. Raised by a single mother who fought her own battles, I learned early that survival was the priority, not dreams. However, earning my GED shifted something in me; I realized that maybe dreams weren’t just for other people. Perhaps they were allowed for me, too. That piece of paper wasn’t just a credential; it was my quiet rebellion against generational trauma. In 2021, I enrolled in college full-time while working over 35 hours a week. I’ve kept a 4.0 GPA, made the Dean’s List every semester, and recently transferred to Brooklyn College, where I’m double majoring in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology. My goal is to become a Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP) who serves low-income and immigrant communities by supporting children and adults with genuine speech and language disabilities, while also advocating for those who are misdiagnosed due to cultural or linguistic differences. I’m actively working toward my goal through my coursework, community service, and continued advocacy for children from underserved backgrounds. I’ve tutored kids in reading, volunteered in food and clothing drives, and used my story to empower others who’ve been overlooked. No one should feel inadequate for how they speak, and everyone deserves support regardless of their background. Along the way, my mother, professors, and mentors have reminded me that this journey isn’t one I’ve had to walk entirely by myself. Today, I’m building a future that rewrites my past. Support from this scholarship would allow me to worry less about finances and give me the time and space to serve, research, and rise. One day, I’ll return the favor to others who need to be reminded of their worth, just as I once did.

In my community, strength was shown through quiet perseverance, but I’ve come to learn that expression is just as powerful. Growing up in Trinidad and Tobago and later as an immigrant adjusting to life in New York City, I often found myself caught between two worlds, carrying the weight of cultural pride while learning to adapt to unfamiliar systems. For much of my early life, I struggled to feel heard in a society that often dismissed voices like mine. That’s why my education isn’t just about personal growth; it’s about reclaiming my voice and helping others find theirs. I’m currently a first-generation college student pursuing dual majors in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology with double minors in Neuroscience and Philosophy at Brooklyn College. My ultimate goal is to become a Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP) specializing in working with underrepresented populations. I want to support individuals whose language differences, such as dialects, accents, or multilingual backgrounds, are often mistaken for disorders, as well as those who are truly living with language impairments and need personalized, evidence-based intervention. I’ve met too many people, especially in underserved communities, who were either misdiagnosed or went without help due to a lack of cultural competence among professionals. I want to change that. To me, making a difference means addressing both the clinical and cultural gaps in my field. It means showing individuals that the way they speak, whether it’s with an accent or through a device, is valid and worthy of respect. It means providing high quality therapy to those who truly need it while also educating families about language development in ways that are clear, culturally sensitive, and empowering. It means standing in front of a classroom one day, teaching future clinicians to see the humanity behind the diagnosis. I also plan to bring my knowledge back into my community through outreach. I want to host language and literacy workshops in underserved neighborhoods, provide free screenings, and advocate for inclusive speech services in schools. One of my dreams is to start a community center that blends speech therapy, mentorship, and creative expression for children and adults. Pursuing higher education has been one of the hardest things I’ve done. I work 35 hours a week while taking a full course load, and I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA while doing so. I’ve faced cultural shock, financial hardship, and academic pressure. However, I’ve also found strength, purpose, and resilience. Every paper I write, and every exam I take brings me one step closer to helping my family and uplifting others who feel unseen. Receiving this scholarship would not only relieve a financial burden; it would be an investment in someone who plans to give back tenfold. I’m not just earning a degree; I’m building a bridge for others to cross. My community gave me wisdom, traditions, and strength. Now, I want to give them access, advocacy, and care in return. It’s how I hope to honor the place and people who made me who I am, who I’m becoming, and who I hope to be.

It was early evening, and the sky outside had turned gray as clouds gathered, hinting at a looming storm on the horizon. I would later think back to that sky outside our window and realize it was a precursor of some kind, a muted reflection of everything my mother was about to face. As she stood at that same window, she said calmly, almost offhandedly, “I can’t see out of my left eye.” At first, I thought she was joking, but when I turned and saw the uncertainty in her face, something inside me shifted. I rushed her to the emergency room without hesitation. She ended up staying in the hospital for almost a month. After weeks of tests and unanswered questions, we learned she had Multiple Sclerosis (MS), a chronic neurological disease with no cure and no clear cause. Before the specialists came, one doctor walked in with a slight smirk and asked my mother if she’d been drinking any “bush tea.” She hadn’t, but the way he said it made my heart sink. That one comment told me everything about how easily culture can be misunderstood, and how quickly assumptions are made about people. I was born in Trinidad and Tobago, where bush tea and herbal remedies passed down through generations are symbols of tradition and healing. However, at that moment, it was reduced to a stereotype. I didn’t have the words for it then, but I do now; I want to become a culturally responsive clinician, someone who listens, respects, and advocates for all patients with the dignity they deserve. That moment and everything that followed shaped my path. I became my mother’s voice in rooms where she was often unheard. I explained test results, asked questions, and translated the jargon that overwhelmed her. It was the first time I realized how much power language holds. It can either empower someone or render them invisible. That experience sparked my passion for Speech-Language Pathology, a field where communication and compassion intersect. My aspirations are rooted in that experience. I plan to become a Speech-Language Pathologist who serves immigrant, low-income, and culturally diverse communities. However, I also plan to go further by earning a Ph.D. and researching the relationship between neurological disorders and language, especially in underserved populations. As a future clinician and researcher, I want to help rewrite the systems that make people like my mother feel small or dismissed. Her diagnosis changed both of our lives, and I’ve spent every year since trying to honor the strength she showed me. Today, I’m a proud first-generation, full-time college student at Brooklyn College, holding a 4.0 GPA while working 35 hours a week. I dual major in Communication Sciences and Psychology, and double minor in Neuroscience and Philosophy. I’ve volunteered as a literacy tutor, teaching children to read, and also participated in food and clothing drives. I believe that education and essential resources should never be privileges reserved for a few; they are rights that should be extended to all. Receiving the Lena B. Davis Memorial Scholarship would help ease the financial burdens I carry, and allow me to continue pursuing my education with focus and purpose. I want to honor what my mother’s experience began in me, which is a commitment to healing, inclusion, and empowering those who are too often left behind. The day she stood at the window marked the beginning of our storm, but storms pass, and the sun always finds its way through. I’ve carried that belief with me ever since, and through this work, I hope to help others find their light too.

Being a first-generation college student means everything to me. It’s not just a title; it’s a responsibility, a promise, and a second chance at a dream that once felt out of reach. There was a time when I thought college wasn’t in the cards for me. I dropped out of high school during one of the lowest points in my life, but something inside me refused to settle. I got my GED, enrolled at LaGuardia Community College, and later graduated with honors. Currently, I’m pursuing dual bachelor’s degrees in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, and minoring in Neuroscience and Philosophy. My long-term goal is to become a Speech-Language Pathologist and eventually earn a Ph.D, but at the heart of it all is a mission to give back. Being first-generation has influenced my career goals in a powerful way. I want to use my education to support communities that, like mine, often get overlooked. Growing up, I saw how miscommunication and bias could lead to harmful assumptions. For example, accents, dialects, and multilingualism were sometimes mistaken for speech or language disorders. I believe it’s important to recognize that speaking more than one language does not mean a child is delayed. When a delay is present, whether in a monolingual or multilingual child, I want to be there to help. My goal is to work with children and adults who are misdiagnosed due to cultural or linguistic differences, and also with those who truly need support in developing their communication skills due to speech and language disorders. Additionally, I have a deep interest in neurological speech disorders, which affect language and speech due to brain injury, neurodevelopmental differences, or disease. I want to provide culturally responsive, evidence-based therapy and show every individual that their voice matters, however it sounds, in whatever language they speak. Every step I take is for the people who couldn’t, for my mother who worked herself to the bone, and for every kid who was told they wouldn’t make it. One of my biggest dreams is to retire my mom one day, to give her the peace and rest she’s always given to others. My journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s shaped me into someone who leads with empathy, fights for equity, and believes in lifting others as I climb. Being a first-generation college student means I’m starting a legacy, and I plan to make it count.

I was born in Trinidad and Tobago, where the streets were always alive with music, dialects, and a blend of cultures that taught me to embrace differences with curiosity rather than fear. Diwali was one of my favorite holidays, not because I’m Hindu, but because in Trinidad and Tobago, it didn’t matter. We celebrated each other’s cultures like they were our own. I grew up painting diyas (small clay lamps) with my friends, sharing sweets, and learning to say “Shubh Diwali” with the same sincerity I’d wish someone a Merry Christmas. That was my first education: people, languages, and connection. When I moved to Brooklyn in 2004, everything changed. I was still surrounded by culture, but this time I also had to learn to survive. From 2004 to 2016 I lived in Brownsville, one of Brooklyn’s most underserved neighborhoods. One night, a man broke into our apartment. I remember hearing gunfire in the hallway. My mother, siblings, and I locked ourselves in the bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t find us. That fear stayed with me, but so did something deeper: a growing awareness of how poverty, trauma, and lack of access to supportive programs can shape a person’s life. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I knew it wasn’t just about one night or one man. It was about systems. It was about wrong turns, voices going unheard, and communities being overlooked. That realization is what led me to where I am today. I’m currently a full-time undergraduate student at Brooklyn College, dual majoring in Psychology and Communication Sciences and Disorders, with double minors in Neuroscience and Philosophy. I’m a first-generation college student and GED recipient who went from being told I “wouldn’t make it past high school” to making the Dean’s List every semester while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. My goal is to become a Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP) and serve low-income and immigrant communities like the one I came from, places where children are misdiagnosed because their home language doesn’t fit academic or standardized “norms.” I’ve already begun this work through my internship, where I met several people who were labeled as having language impairments when in fact, they simply had strong dialectal variations or were English Language Learners. I also currently work at a daycare, where I witness firsthand how early intervention can change the trajectory of a child’s life. Outside of school, I’ve tutored children in reading, helped organize food and clothing drives, and served my community in any way I can. But student debt has been a constant shadow. Every semester, I’ve had to fight to keep going, finding ways to afford tuition and textbooks while still accepting unpaid internships for learning experiences. I’ve skipped meals, put off medical appointments, and worked jobs on weekends just to get by. Still I persist, not just for myself but for my mother, who sacrificed everything to give me this shot, and for the people I hope to help one day. If awarded the Charles Cheesman Student Debt Reduction Scholarship, I would use the money saved to continue funding my education without taking on additional loans. That means I could focus more on clinical work, graduate school preparation, and building foundations dedicated to affordable and culturally responsive care. It also means I could begin saving for long-term goals like helping my mom retire and eventually pursuing a Ph.D. This scholarship would not only reduce my debt, it would expand my possibilities. And with those possibilities, I plan to pour everything I’ve learned back into the communities that helped raised me.

I was taught that success looked like staying quiet, not questioning authority, and doing what I had to do to survive. I later learned that surviving does not always equate to thriving. I was raised in a household where I couldn’t speak up or speak for myself. However, I found my voice in education. I was born in Trinidad and Tobago, and everything changed when I migrated to the United States in 2004. I entered the seventh grade in an unfamiliar country, in a system that assumed I knew how to navigate it. I didn’t. Furthermore, no one in my family had ever gone to college. I became the interpreter, the paperwork filler, and eventually, the college applicant. I didn’t follow a straight path. I dropped out of high school when things got overwhelming at home, and was later diagnosed with depression. Still, I never gave up on learning. I received support through therapy, which helped me get back on track. Eventually, I earned my GED. After that, I enrolled in LaGuardia Community College and graduated with high honors. Today, I’m a proud 4.0 GPA student at Brooklyn College, dual majoring in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, with minors in Neuroscience and Philosophy. I’ve made the Dean’s List every semester since I started. Why did I choose higher education? I knew I wanted to create a different life, not just for myself but for the people around me. I want to become a Speech-Language Pathologist so I can work with adults and children in low-income and immigrant communities who, like me, have voices that are often misunderstood, silenced, or ignored. My mom’s diagnosis with Multiple Sclerosis also inspired me to keep pushing. I dream of one day pursuing a Ph.D. and working with people who have neurological speech disorders, helping them reconnect with their voices and their independence. More than anything, I want to build a life that helps people, and allows me to retire my mother, whose sacrifices made my journey possible. Sometimes, I fear she’ll run out of time before I’m finished. But maybe you’re never really finished. Maybe the journey itself is the point. How have I prepared? I’ve balanced multiple jobs, volunteered at food and clothing drives, and tutored kids in literacy. I was awarded an NSF-funded undergraduate research opportunity where I explored the intersection of linguistics, language, and culture, which is an experience that deepened my passion for Speech-Language Pathology and strengthened my academic foundation. I’ve shown up to class after sleepless nights and still raised my hand and participated. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, for others, and for the power of education. I’ve figured out how to fill out financial aid documents alone, applied for every scholarship I could find, and built a support system of professors and mentors from the ground up. Being a first-generation student means every step feels like a leap. It means figuring things out as I go, stumbling sometimes, but never standing still. I move forward for myself and because of my family’s sacrifices, with the hope that my journey will open doors not just for me, but for others who’ve been told that college wasn’t meant for them. To me, higher education is more than a degree. It’s my way of rewriting the story I was born into, and helping others realize they can do the same. My story as a first-generation student has taught me that it’s never too late for growth, for change, or for creating the life you’ve always dreamed of.

In the middle of some of the darkest moments of my life when everything felt uncertain, one woman stood firmly in the gap for me, my mother. She is my Phoebe. I am 32 years old and was born on the twin islands of Trinidad and Tobago. I grew up in a household where speaking up was discouraged, and survival often meant silence. My mother endured more than I will ever know, but what she modeled was resilience. Even in pain, she showed up for me, for my siblings, and for anyone who needed her. She never had the luxury of rest, yet always made space to remind me that I mattered. That I was more than the mistakes I had made. While tracing my family tree, I learned my mother had survived childhood abuse. This once hidden truth made her strength even more astonishing. The fact that she chose healing over bitterness and nurturing over neglect is the reason I’m here today. Her courage has shaped my own, and it’s why I’m committed to becoming a voice for those who’ve been overlooked, misjudged, or silenced, just like she once was. She’s also a praying woman. I believe her prayers have carried me to places I never imagined and protected me in moments I didn’t realize I needed saving. More than once, her faith in God reached me before I could reach for help. When I dropped out of high school, I felt like I had failed everyone, especially her. But my mother never gave up on me. Her belief that I could rebuild from scratch carried me through getting my GED, enrolling in community college during the pandemic, graduating with honors, and eventually transferring to Brooklyn College. Now, as a 4.0 GPA student double majoring in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, and minoring in Neuroscience and Philosophy, I finally see what she saw in me all along. My mother is not formally educated, but she’s the most brilliant woman I know. She taught me that intelligence isn’t only measured by degrees, but also by wisdom, strength, and compassion. When I was lost in the muddy waters of fear, doubt, and cultural disorientation after migrating to the U.S., she anchored me with love and courage. She reminded me that starting over doesn’t mean you’ve failed, it means you’re brave enough to try again. As I pursue my dream of becoming a Speech-Language Pathologist, I want to be a Phoebe for others, especially for people from low-income, multilingual, and immigrant families. I’ve seen firsthand how accents are misjudged as speech disorders, and how people are overlooked because they don’t sound like the majority. I want to use my education to advocate for these voices while also supporting individuals with true speech and language disorders who deserve to be heard just as clearly. Receiving this scholarship would do more than ease financial burdens. It would allow me to fully show up in my studies and clinical work, and to keep pouring into others without pouring from an empty cup. It would affirm that my mother’s sacrifice matters. One day, I hope to retire her so she can finally rest after a lifetime of putting others first. This scholarship would help pave the way to making that dream a reality. My Phoebe didn’t come with fancy titles or accolades. But she came at the right time, with the kind of love that transforms lives. I’m here today because she saw me before I saw myself, and because of her, I know the empowering act of showing up for someone else.

The smell of sea salt on beaches, cool breezes, palm trees, and curry—these are the things I mull over when life in the city consumes me. It reminds me that I am still, and forever will be, an island girl. I was born in the Land of the Hummingbird, better known as Trinidad and Tobago. Migrating from a small island to a big city in the United States made me feel hopeful, giddy, uncertain, and insignificant. Like many immigrants, my mother came to America for a better life, sending money home to support our family. At the time, my household was unsafe with adults battling addiction, which led to years of abuse. My brother and I made wishes on chicken wishbones, silently hoping our mom would take us away. In 2004, our wishes came true. I still remember my mom looking at the phone card she used to call and confront my Dad. I remember the beeping sounds as she dialed his number. I remember looking at my older brother and seeing the panic on his face. We did not worry about our belongings or the friends we’d left behind. We would finally be with our mom. The wishbone worked; Brooklyn was my new home. Except, it didn't feel like home, at least not at first. The cultural shock was overwhelming. My classmates mocked my accent, so I tried to change it. My clothes weren’t name-brand, another reason I stood out. No matter how hard I tried, I never quite fit in. My grades slipped, and I eventually dropped out of school, feeling lost and detached from everything America had to offer. Counseling helped me find my way back. It gave me the tools to overcome my emotions and how I reacted to situations. I took my GED exam and passed on the first try. That small victory reignited something in me. I wrote down a list of everything I wanted to achieve, and at the top of that list was going to college. Today, I am proud of what I have accomplished. I graduated with high honors from LaGuardia Community College in December 2022, earning an associate’s degree in Education. I’ve been on the Dean’s List multiple times and currently maintain a 4.0 GPA. Now, I attend Brooklyn College, dual majoring in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, with double minors in Neuroscience and Philosophy. During one of my internships at college, I met people who had been misdiagnosed with speech disorders simply because of their accents. Their experiences reinforced why I refuse to let linguistic bias go unchallenged. No one should ever feel like they have to erase a part of themselves just to be understood. I want to advocate for voices that have been overlooked for too long. I plan to become a Speech-Language Pathologist, working with people in low-income communities to ensure language differences aren’t mistaken for deficits. At the same time, I want to help those with actual language disorders get the support they need. Eventually, I’d like to earn a Ph.D. and contribute to the field of Immunology. My mother’s Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis is what initially made me curious about neurological disorders and how they affect communication. I want to research ways to improve the lives of people facing these conditions. I also plan to continue fighting for language inclusivity. Language carries history, culture, and identity, and no one should feel like they have to change the way they speak to be respected. I hope to create programs that help people embrace their linguistic roots while also equipping educators and clinicians with the tools to better serve diverse communities. I want to be a source of inspiration for others who feel marginalized or unheard. The girl whose voice was once mocked is now using it to amplify the voices of others. My experience has taught me a lesson in resilience—no matter the circumstances, my past does not define my future. My greatest achievement is not just overcoming my past, it’s realizing that I have the power to create change, and I will dedicate my future to doing just that.