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.

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.

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.