Faith is what keeps me moving forward, even when everything else feels fragile. I grew up in an environment where stability was never guaranteed. Silence often felt safer than speaking up, and survival took priority over dreams. As a result, my education was interrupted, and I became a high school dropout. For a long time, I carried shame about that chapter of my life. I questioned my worth, my future, and whether I had already fallen too far behind to recover. What I did not yet understand was that God was still working, even when my life felt completely off course. During that period, my faith became a source of strength and endurance when answers felt out of reach. I prayed when I felt lost and asked God for direction when I could not see the path ahead. I leaned into the principle found in Matthew 6:33, choosing to seek God first even when my future felt uncertain, trusting that what I needed would be provided in time. I did not suddenly feel confident or fearless, but I felt held. Scripture reminded me that my past did not disqualify me from a future, and that God often works through detours to build purpose. Slowly, that belief gave me the courage to try again. I earned my GED and enrolled in community college, unsure if I truly belonged there. Balancing school, financial hardship, and personal healing was overwhelming at times. There were moments when quitting felt easier than continuing. In those moments, I deliberately leaned into my faith. I prayed before exams, during moments of self-doubt, and whenever fear told me I was not enough. Faith became the foundation that allowed me to persist when motivation faded. As my education continued, my faith deepened. I began to see how God was shaping my experiences into preparation, not setbacks. When my mother was later diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, my faith was tested again. Watching someone I love face uncertainty forced me to confront fear and helplessness in a new way. Prayer became a source of peace because it reminded me that I was not carrying everything on my own. Through that experience, my faith grew more mature, grounded in trust and reliance on God. Today, I am an undergraduate student at Brooklyn College pursuing dual degrees with the goal of entering a profession dedicated to serving vulnerable and underrepresented communities. I am also a first-generation college student, something I once believed would always place limits on what I could achieve. By God’s grace, I now maintain a 4.0 GPA and have been recognized on the Dean’s List multiple times, milestones I never imagined reaching when I was earning my GED. My ambition is inseparable from my faith. I believe God carried me through my lowest moments not only to restore me, but to equip me to support others with compassion and understanding. Financial need has been a constant challenge throughout my academic journey, but faith has taught me stewardship and perseverance, even when resources are limited. Relying on my faith has transformed my obstacles into purpose. It has taught me that success is not defined by a flawless path, but by obedience and service. Like Nabi Nicole, whose life reflected faith in action, I strive to use my education and experiences to uplift others. My testimony is proof that faith can sustain ambition and restore direction. God turned my adversity into my calling, reminding me that as long as I cling to Him, nothing in my journey was wasted, and my life is meant to glorify Him.

Service has always been less about formal titles for me and more about showing up where I am needed. My commitment to giving back began before I understood it as volunteering. Growing up in an immigrant household, I learned early that community survival often depends on mutual care. Watching each other’s children, sharing resources, and stepping in when systems fall short were part of everyday life. That mindset continues to shape how I give back today. Currently, I work in a daycare setting, where care goes far beyond supervision. Many of the children I work with come from diverse linguistic and cultural backgrounds, and I see firsthand how early environments shape confidence, communication, and identity. I make a conscious effort to affirm children’s voices rather than correct them unnecessarily, especially when their speech reflects dialectal or cultural variation. In small but meaningful ways, I aim to create a space where children feel safe expressing themselves without being made to feel wrong. Outside of work, I have volunteered for food and clothing drives and have tutored children in reading. These experiences have shown me how deeply access, or lack of access, affects opportunity. Tutoring has been especially impactful. I have worked with children who were labeled as behind when what they truly needed was patience, culturally responsive instruction, and encouragement. Watching a child gain confidence after being understood rather than judged reinforced my belief that service is not about fixing people, but about supporting them with dignity. My ambition is grounded in service. I am currently an undergraduate student pursuing dual degrees in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, with the goal of becoming a Speech-Language Pathologist. My academic path is driven by what I have witnessed in real life. Children and adults are often misdiagnosed or overlooked because of their accents, dialects, or multilingual backgrounds. I have met individuals whose speech differences were treated as deficits rather than differences, leading to unnecessary intervention and lasting harm. In the future, I plan to serve underrepresented and low-income communities as a culturally responsive Speech-Language Pathologist. I want to work at the intersection of clinical practice, education, and advocacy, ensuring that communication differences are not mistaken for disorders. Beyond clinical work, I hope to contribute to research and community education efforts that challenge linguistic bias and promote equitable assessment practices. Honoring Priscilla Shireen Luke’s legacy of service means committing to work that uplifts others even when it is not visible or celebrated. My drive comes from understanding how powerful it is to be seen, heard, and supported. Through my current service and my future career, I aim to help build systems that recognize humanity first and, in doing so, leave the world more compassionate than I found it.

I am an undergraduate student pursuing dual degrees in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, with the goal of becoming a Speech-Language Pathologist serving individuals with special needs in underresourced and linguistically diverse communities. My commitment to this work is grounded in lived experience, academic preparation, and a clear understanding of how inaccessible systems continue to fail people with disabilities and their families. I immigrated to the United States from Trinidad and Tobago as a child and grew up navigating cultural displacement, financial hardship, and limited access to support. As a first-generation college student, I learned early that systems are not built equally for everyone. Over time, I saw how these same inequities are magnified for individuals with disabilities, particularly those from low-income, immigrant, and multilingual households. My interest in special needs advocacy became personal when my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Witnessing how a neurological condition affected her communication and independence showed me how quickly access, dignity, and autonomy can be compromised. It also revealed how critical knowledgeable, compassionate professionals are in helping individuals and families access care, education, and daily resources. That experience solidified my decision to pursue a career centered on communication access and functional independence. Through my academic training, clinical observations, and work in childcare, I have seen how individuals with special needs are often misunderstood, underestimated, or misdiagnosed, especially when language differences, accents, or non-speaking communication styles are involved. I am particularly interested in supporting individuals who rely on alternative and augmentative communication, as well as those whose speech differences are mistaken for cognitive or behavioral deficits. Communication is not limited to spoken language, and advocacy means ensuring every individual has access to being understood in the way that works best for them. My long-term goal is to work as a Speech-Language Pathologist in a non-profit setting that serves children and families with limited access to specialized services. I plan to advocate for culturally responsive assessment practices, collaborate with families and educators, and help reduce barriers to early identification and intervention. Beyond direct clinical work, I want to contribute to outreach efforts that educate families about their rights, available services, and the importance of communication access across settings. Advocacy, to me, extends beyond individual therapy sessions. It means challenging systems that overlook non-speaking individuals, pushing for equitable resource distribution, and ensuring families are not excluded due to language or socioeconomic status. By combining my academic training, cultural awareness, and commitment to service, I aim to help create environments where individuals with special needs are supported, respected, and included. I work and attend school full-time to pursue these goals, and I remain committed to this path despite financial and structural challenges. This scholarship would support my continued education and strengthen my ability to serve individuals with disabilities with competence and compassion. I am driven by the belief that access to communication is a fundamental right. Through my career as a Speech-Language Pathologist, I intend to make a lasting social impact by helping individuals with diverse communication needs communicate and thrive in a world that too often overlooks them.

In my dream, my mother does not wake up before sunrise anymore. There is no rush, no weight pressing into her shoulders, no quiet worry about what comes next. Her hands rest on the kitchen counter instead of pushing through nerve pain and the financial worries she has learned to live with. She moves through her morning slowly, unburdened. I tell her she does not have to work anymore. At first, she laughs, like it is impossible. Then she understands. That is the moment it settles in. I built a life that finally gives her rest. I try to hold onto that moment, the way you pause before closing a door you are not ready to shut. Then reality returns. I am still an undergraduate student. I am still building my future as a first-generation Caribbean immigrant woman. That future, one where I retire my mother and serve communities like my own as a culturally responsive Speech-Language Pathologist, still feels out of reach. That is my “Pie in the Sky.” What makes this dream feel distant is not the work itself, but the circumstances surrounding it. I grew up in an environment where survival came before long-term planning. As a woman who experienced abuse, financial instability, and early educational disruption, dreaming boldly was never encouraged. Stability was uncertain and higher education was something I had to discover on my own, without generational guidance or a safety net. For a long time, my goal was not success. It was simply getting through the next day. The spark for my dream came from lived experience. As an immigrant, I became immensely aware of how language, accent, and culture shape how individuals are judged. In academic and clinical spaces, I have seen people from minority backgrounds misunderstood and misdiagnosed. This is not because something is wrong, but because systems were not designed with us in mind. Through those encounters, I recognized parts of myself. I knew what it felt like to be evaluated through a narrow lens rather than understood fully. My dream is personal and driven by impact. I want to become a Speech-Language Pathologist serving immigrant and historically underserved communities, advocating for culturally and linguistically responsive care. I also want to retire my mother. For some, that may sound like an eventual milestone. For me, it represents repair. It means rest after years of sacrifice, stability after survival, and the chance to give back to the woman who carried me before I understood the weight of her labor. I am already taking steps toward this future. I am pursuing dual undergraduate degrees in Communication Sciences and Disorders and Psychology, with minors in Neuroscience and Philosophy. I’ve earned a 4.0 GPA and remained on the Dean’s List. Although the path has not been easy, I am committed to building something lasting. Each class, research paper, and clinical exposure brings my dream closer to fruition. Community has sustained my courage. I have learned that big dreams do not grow in isolation. Mentors, peers, and shared stories with other underrepresented women have reminded me that ambition is not arrogance, and that naming your goals out loud is an act of courage. As a woman, learning to claim space for my dreams has been transformative. My “Pie in the Sky” dream has not arrived yet. However, it is no longer hidden or quiet. It lives in my discipline, my choices, and my belief that growth is possible even when the odds are not in my favor. One day, I will wake up inside that dream again, and this time, it will be my reality.

Access to education has never been guaranteed for me. I grew up in circumstances shaped by instability at home and limited financial resources, where getting through each day often mattered more than planning for the future. Eventually, those conditions pulled me out of school altogether. I became a high school dropout not because I lacked ability or motivation, but because I lacked safety and support. Choosing to return to education forced me to confront shame and self-doubt. Earning my GED became a personal turning point in my life. It taught me resilience in a way no classroom lesson could. I learned that progress does not follow a single timeline and that setbacks do not erase potential. When I returned to school, I approached learning with intention, knowing firsthand how fragile access to education can be. As I continued my academic path, I became involved in non-profit and volunteer work, including tutoring children in reading and participating in food and clothing drives. These experiences reinforced what my own story had already shown me. Talent exists everywhere, but access does not. Many of the children and families I worked with were bright and eager to learn, yet faced barriers that had nothing to do with effort or intelligence. Adversity shaped how I view education and my responsibility to others. I do not see learning as an entitlement, but as something worth protecting and extending. This perspective has guided my commitment to service and equity and continues to inform my goal of working in healthcare and education with underserved communities. I understand what it means to need opportunity before you can prove yourself. For someone facing the same circumstances, my advice is to stop measuring your progress against timelines that were never built for you. There will be moments when asking for help feels uncomfortable. Keep asking. There will be moments when slow progress feels discouraging. Keep pushing forward. These moments are not indicators of failure. Focus on consistency rather than speed and keep choosing education, even when the path feels uncertain. Your path does not need to resemble anyone else’s to be valid. What matters most is continuing to show up and refusing to give up on your goals. Today, I carry my experiences with intention. They remind me why access matters and why support changes outcomes. To me, this scholarship represents belief in students like me, whose potential was present despite limited opportunity. That belief carries responsibility, and I take it seriously. If awarded the Simon Strong Scholarship, I will continue to honor that responsibility through service and advocacy for underserved communities that are often overlooked. Education changed the direction of my life, and I am committed to using it to help others change theirs.

When my mother took part in my undergraduate research experience, I had no idea the results would foreshadow her future. I was examining cross-varietal speech patterns among Caribbean English speakers, and her speech rate was notably slower than the average participant’s. At the time, I interpreted it as natural variation within the dataset, perhaps an individual difference or a limitation of my study. Months later, she woke up blind in one eye, and shortly after was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Looking back, I realized that the earliest signs of neurological change had been present in her speech all along. That moment changed everything I thought I knew about communication. I began to think about how communication connects us and what it means when it begins to slip away. Not long after, my father survived a stroke that left him struggling to get words out. Watching both of my parents fight to regain what most of us take for granted showed me that communication is more than I ever presumed it to be. It is the means through which people exercise agency and sustain autonomy. It helps shape identity and creates a sense of belonging. A professor later encouraged me to apply to the National Science Foundation’s Research Experience for Undergraduates (NSF-REU) in 2021–2022. I was accepted, and that experience exposed me to the vastness of the field. Through the NSF-REU, I met researchers and clinicians whose passion for the field was contagious. They spoke about the urgent need for greater diversity and representation within the field. I became fascinated by how therapeutic intervention can help individuals rebuild their ability to communicate in all its forms. That experience also helped me find direction within the field. I became passionate about communication across contexts, especially in multilingual communities. My current interests include cross-cultural learning, code-switching, style-shifting, language acquisition, accent bias, pitch perception, and attitudes toward bilingualism. I’m also interested in neurogenic speech disorders and the emotional and cognitive dimensions of communication. Every form of communication, whether spoken, signed, written, or supported through alternative modalities, carries meaning and deserves to be respected. Living and studying in New York City has made this understanding even more meaningful. Children here grow up speaking multiple languages and dialects, often switching between them throughout the day. I have seen how these differences can be misunderstood or even pathologized in educational settings. I want to help change that. My goal is to become a Speech Language Pathologist who provides therapy that respects cultural and linguistic diversity, ensuring that every client’s way of communicating is seen as a strength, not a deficit. After earning my degree, I plan to pursue a master’s in Speech Language Pathology and eventually open a community-based clinic that offers affordable and culturally responsive therapy. I want to work with individuals and families who have limited access to speech and language services. I hope to contribute to research on neurogenic speech and language disorders and improve early identification of communication changes associated with conditions like Multiple Sclerosis. As a first-generation college student, I have learned persistence through challenge. Balancing work, research, and a 4.0 GPA has taught me that progress requires patience and purpose. This scholarship would ease financial strain and allow me to continue preparing for a career centered on helping individuals communicate in whatever way is most authentic to them. What interests me most about Communication Sciences and Disorders is that communication is never solely about speech and language. It is about the unique opportunity to support communication in ways that preserve a person’s agency and, more importantly, their connection, independence, and dignity.