I am an honor roll student. I have a 4.77 GPA. I am ranked 42 out of 546. I founded the psychology club at my school and lead one of the engineering clubs as vice-president. I have taken a myriad of Advanced Placement and honors courses. Nonetheless, what my achievements do not accentuate is the shadow of being Black at James Clemens High School, a predominantly white academy. The most immense disappointment of my years at James Clemens High School has been walking through many different thresholds yet still distinguishing scarcely any Black peers. The matter only worsened in my STEM classes. My freshman biology class had only 6 Black students. My Humans Body Structures and Functions class consisted of 4 Black students and my chemistry class had only 3 Black students. Now in my AP Biology class, I am one of 2 Black scholars. It is fair to say that I felt remote in these environments. Personally, being Black in STEM has, for the most part, been summed up as watching opportunities pass me by as I was overlooked despite my accomplishments. It was feeling isolated from my peers more and more as time elapsed. It was not having someone palpable to look up to or even learn from. It was feeling pressured to overcompensate out of the fear of failure and to prove myself of my intelligence. But the most distinguished element of my quest has been bridling these barriers. I joined the James Clemens chapter of the National Society of Black Engineers and became aware of the excellent Black scientists and engineers in my city, hosting them not only as guest speakers but also as role models. I helped anew the formerly inactive Black Student Union at my school and fostered an environment for Black scholars to feel a sense of community and intersected the club academically to provide support in class. I even gathered the courage to be my own role model with the aspiration of the gifted Black doctor I will someday be, dedicating this character to my little brothers. By such means, I discovered the duality of being Black in STEM: a quest of struggle and pride that draws an image of success. Being a Black scientist is demanding to utter the least but I draw pride in being the carpenter who, from the legs to the back rest, built a seat at the table.

As I stood in front of the photo of the first graduate class from the Morehouse School of Medicine, I was enraptured to see the beauty of Black skin in white coats and to see so many familiar faces flourishing in the field of medicine. I suddenly understood the challenges that these Black doctors faced in the abysmally racist society of the time. They were among the first Black doctors stepping into a field where Black people are seldom represented, at war with a system that ostracized them and procured remedies that only diminished the nuisances of Caucasian people. Seeing the photo that was more than 50 years old, I mistakenly thought that the number of Black people in the field of medicine would have surged tenfold. I was dispirited to discern that as of 2018, only 5.7% of physicians in the U.S. were Black. Moreover, beyond the numbers, I further learned that the quality of healthcare for Black people reflects the number of Black doctors. Historically, medical treatments and practices were developed to suit the needs of Caucasian people despite the distinctive concerns for Black people. The ramifications of the foundation of the healthcare system are evident when Black patients are dismissed because of ongoing racial bias and when the mortality rates of Black patients in areas with low representation are high. Representation in medicine is exceedingly salient, it is the matter of life and death for Black people. I percieve my future in medicine not only as a career, but as a mission. With my neuroscience degree and aspiration to be a neurosurgeon, I will do everything within reach to advance beyond the medical solutions that fall short at serving Black people. As a young Black man and the son of an admirable Black woman from Selma, AL, I dedicate my academic distinction to my mother for her resilience despite financial burdens and countless sacrifices has been the foundation of my accomplishments. She carried the weight of her three kids’ well-being on her shoulders, ensuring that we had access to the education and opportunities that she had to abandon. My mom never let the intervals of our struggles diminish her commitment to my future. For that reason, I am grateful to be considered for this scholarship, and should I be selected, I will use it to reciprocate the admiration I felt from my mother to my mother and represent Black people in medicine.

The Mayo Clinic classifies a congenital diaphragmatic hernia (CDH) as a condition where a baby's diaphragm fails to close, leaving a hole in the muscle called a hernia. This condition can cause problems throughout development since the abdominal organs can travel through the hernia -- leading to intestinal malrotation and possibly a cut off blood supply. Furthermore, per John Hopkins Medicine, the presence of these organs in the thoracic cavity limits the lungs ability to develop and mature, leading to complications in aspiration after birth. CDH occurs in about 1 in 3000 births. On October 18, 2011, my baby brother Jayce was born with this condition. In his case, his stomach had moved up into his chest through his hernia. He lived for 37 days, unfortunately passing away on November 25, 2011 -- the day after Thanksgiving. I am Nasir Muhammad, and everyday Jayce is my inspiration to make strides in the medical field. Whenever I lack motivation or ambition, Jayce is my inspiration to persevere as I think about the countless lives I could save in the future through networking with a team of doctors to cure conditions. Unfortunately for Jayce, my family, and I, 2011 was a time when many conditions occurred without any foresight and treatment options; however, it is comforting to know that within those 13 years many doctors have put in the work to find treatments for conditions in all fields of medicine, such as the neonatal field. Personally, my passion is in the neurology field. Learning about the mind and human behavior through AP Psychology and the anatomy and physiology of the brain in my Anatomy class captivated me from day one. This passion led me to start a research project in neuroscience in which I am currently investigating the brain's mesolimbic pathway and its relation to addiction. Furthermore, I am in the process of starting a psychology club at my school since I've learned I can create opportunities for my peers and I -- and make an impact in my community -- starting with an engaging club environment. I believe my interest in the medical field is innate. However, seeing my father grieve the life of his third son, Jayce, and reading the story of Norman C. Nelson IV continues my ambition to become a neurosurgeon and save lives. With this in mind, my current plan is to attend Georgia State University and earn my master's degree in neuroscience; furthermore, I will continue on to Emory School of Medicine and earn my doctorate degree. My ultimate goal is to become a neurosurgeon and with hard-work and dedication I know I will accomplish this. However, I know this path is expensive and as a child from a single-parent household this scholarship will help me fund my ambition. Altogether, Jayce and his potential is my greatest inspiration in life.