My interest in history is rooted in a desire to understand the forces that shape people’s lives, especially pain, resilience, and inequality—and to use that understanding to serve others in a meaningful way. For me, history is not just about the past; it is a tool for making sense of the present and improving the future. This perspective became personal after a serious injury I suffered during an ice hockey game in December 2023. The long recovery process introduced me to daily physical pain, emotional strain, and uncertainty. For the first time, I began to understand what it means to live with constant discomfort. That experience gave me a deeper awareness of my brother’s life. He has spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy and is nonverbal, and he faces challenges every day that I had never fully grasped before. Despite this, he continues to find joy. Watching his resilience while navigating my own recovery reshaped the way I think about struggle—not as something to avoid, but as something that can be understood, contextualized, and ultimately used to help others. History allows me to do exactly that on a broader scale. American history, in particular, provides a lens through which I can examine how systems of inequality and trauma have developed over time and how they continue to affect individuals and communities today. I am especially interested in how historical experiences—such as slavery, segregation, and systemic discrimination—have contributed to intergenerational trauma and disparities in mental health. These are not abstract ideas to me; they are lived realities that I have observed in the world around me. My passion for history directly informs my future career goals. I plan to pursue a career in psychiatry, with a focus on working with men. To do this effectively, I believe it is essential to understand the historical context that shapes their experiences. History will allow me to see my future patients as more than individuals with symptoms; it will help me understand the broader forces that have influenced their mental health, including cultural stigma, systemic barriers to care, and inherited trauma. By grounding my medical practice in historical awareness, I will be better equipped to provide compassionate, informed, and culturally competent care. In addition, my experiences within my own family have shown me the importance of empathy and perseverance. My mother’s sacrifices as a single parent caring for both my brother and me have reinforced my sense of responsibility and purpose. These lessons, combined with my passion for history, drive me to pursue an education that is not only academically rigorous but also deeply meaningful. Ultimately, my interest in history comes from a desire to understand people, their struggles, their resilience, and the systems that shape their lives. I plan to use this passion in my future career by integrating historical insight into my approach to mental health care, allowing me to better serve my patients and address the root causes of the challenges they face.

One of the most influential educators in my life is Mr. Sipp, my middle school history teacher and principal. While many teachers shape how students think about academics, Mr. Sipp changed how I approach people, challenges, and responsibility in my everyday life. When I first met him, I expected to learn about historical events, dates, and figures. I did—but what stayed with me had little to do with a textbook. Mr. Sipp paid close attention to his students, not just as learners, but as individuals. He noticed when something felt off, even if nothing was said aloud. That awareness became especially meaningful to me because of what I was navigating outside of school. My brother has severe medical needs. He has cerebral palsy, is nonverbal and nonambulatory, and lives with epilepsy. There have been many times when he has been hospitalized for weeks at a time or taken to the hospital suddenly by ambulance while I was at school. Those moments are overwhelming sitting in class while knowing something serious is happening at home can make it difficult to focus or feel grounded. Mr. Sipp never ignored that reality. He made sure I was okay, often in simple but powerful ways. He would check in quietly, without drawing attention, and give me space when I needed it. He understood that sometimes just knowing someone cared made all the difference. He did not treat me differently in terms of expectations, but he balanced that with compassion and awareness. Through his actions, Mr. Sipp taught me what empathy truly looks like. It is not just feeling sorry for someone, its paying attention, noticing when something might be wrong, and taking the time to care. He showed me that small gestures, asking a question, offering patience, or simply being present can have a lasting impact. Because of him, I have changed how I interact with others. I try to be more aware of what people might be going through, even if they do not say it directly. I have learned to check in on friends, to listen more carefully, and to approach situations with compassion instead of judgment. His influence has shaped how I manage challenges as well. Watching him remain steady, understanding, and thoughtful taught me the importance of showing up for others, even in difficult moments. Mr. Sipp did not just teach history, he modeled humanity. He showed me that being a good person is not about grand gestures, but about consistent care and attention to others. His impact has stayed with me far beyond middle school, guiding how I move through my life and how I hope to support the people around me.

My compassion, empathy, and leading with humanity skills that are essential in life were developed by being a caregiver to my younger brother, Tatum. Caring for him is the most important thing in my life. Tatum has spastic quadriplegia cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and Behcet’s disease. He is unable to walk, move his limbs meaningfully, or talk. He requires total care. As his brother and caregiver, I learned to connect with Tatum by familiarizing myself with his nonverbal cues, expressions, and behaviors. This has made me not only a more effective communicator but also a patient and observant one. It has taught me how to truly listen, not just to what someone says, but also to their body language and physical communication to understand their intentions. I learned that Tatum’s almost imperceptible nod of the head could mean “yes,” that the tightening and rigidity in his body might signal discomfort or excitement, and that his squealing means joy, not pain. I have also learned responsibility from participating in Tatum’s care. I understand the importance of his positioning since I assist with transfers, the need for routine, the importance of ensuring that he gets his medication in a timely fashion, and what he needs to be physically safe. This has made me more responsible in my own life. Caring for Tatum informs every aspect of my life and is the foundation of my character. It taught me that leadership is more than being in charge and telling others what to do; it is about understanding that every voice needs to be heard, even when it is not the loudest or the most obvious. Those lessons have guided me in every setting where I have been called to lead, including on the ice as a hockey player, or as the President and founder of the Riverdale Rubik’s Cube Coalition. It has also taught me to relate to children from all walks of life, including serving as a counselor at a fishing camp, teaching kids to solve Rubik’s Cubes at a camp I created in Ghana, and coaching underprivileged children at Harlem Hockey. Most importantly, these lessons have helped me understand myself. I have learned how to navigate my own frustrations and challenges. I have learned patience that extends to everyone, including myself. I have learned resiliency after watching Tatum navigate his various conditions. I have become an advocate because I am Tatum's voice. I have learned empathy, and that as much as we are different, we are the same. Everyone’s voice matters, and we all deserve humanity and compassion. I have far more practical medical knowledge than most of my peers. Lastly, caring for Tatum, who is medically fragile, has inspired me to go to medical school. My career goal is to become a psychiatrist specializing in the mental health of men of color. The support that I have received from mental health professionals while navigating Tatum’s mortality has been instrumental in my decision to become a psychiatrist.

Growing up with a single mother has made me into an empathetic, compassionate, and caring young adult. My mother has shaped my understanding of what it means to work hard, persevere, and provide for others. Being a single mother is difficult—many responsibilities that are meant to be shared by two parents fall on one. My mother has had to carry the emotional, financial, and parenting burdens of raising two boys entirely on her own. What makes her strength even more remarkable is that my younger brother, Tatum, has cerebral palsy, spastic quadriplegia, epilepsy, and an extremely rare autoimmune disorder called Behcet’s Disease. He is nonverbal and non-ambulatory, and he requires total care. My mother has always been by my brother’s side through many hospitalizations, therapy sessions, and countless doctors’ appointments. She makes complex medical decisions, oversees the nurses who care for him, and is responsible for his emotional well-being. Watching her manage all of this with grace and determination has been an inspiration. During the COVID-19 pandemic, she encouraged me to become involved in his care. I am grateful because this created a sense of closeness between my brother and me. Also, helping to feed, communicate with, and support him has given me both strength and perspective. It has prepared me for the future, when I will one day take on the role of his primary caregiver. During my sophomore year of high school, I sustained a head and neck injury while playing hockey that changed the course of my academics and daily life for nearly two years. What began as severe headaches developed into a condition called “visual snow,” which caused static-like distortions in my vision and sensitivity to light. My vestibular system was also affected, making it difficult to focus and process information. I often felt dizzy, irritable, and in constant pain, as if my head were about to explode. The experience was both physically and emotionally draining. Through that period, my mother’s strength became my foundation. Even as she managed my brother’s complex medical needs, she made time to care for me by driving me to appointments, advocating for academic accommodations, and reminding me not to lose faith in my recovery. Watching her juggle everything without complaint taught me that perseverance is not about never struggling; it’s about showing up even when life feels impossible. My mother’s example has set a lasting standard of excellence for me. She embodies resilience and unconditional love, and she has shown me that being a provider is not just about meeting material needs; it’s about emotional presence, sacrifice, and commitment. While I have learned to help with my brother’s physical care, I recognize that the emotional labor my mother carries is immeasurable. Her selflessness motivates me to work hard in all areas of my life and to pursue a career where I can help others with the same compassion she has shown us. Growing up with a single mother has not been easy, but it has been deeply meaningful. It has taught me to appreciate strength in its quietest forms and to measure success not by what we have, but by how much we give. My mother’s love and resilience have shaped me into the person I am today and the person I aspire to become.

Selflessness is not just a trait; it is a way of living that puts the needs of others before your own. Despite having to navigate the typical life of a high school student, I choose to consistently act in service of others through my dedication to the care of my brother, my community, and the world at large by showing selflessness. My most powerful act of selflessness is caring for my younger brother. He has cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and Behcet’s Disease. He is nonverbal and completely immobile. I assist in his daily care and will always choose to spend time with him over my own interests. Caring for my brother requires daily patience, understanding, and putting his comfort and emotional well-being ahead of my own. One of the ways I care for Tatum is by understanding that his crying and tantrums are not out of frustration but from his inability to effectively communicate. Since I know him best, I can understand what he wants. Seeing the relief in his face when we finally understand what he means is one of my greatest joys. My bond with my brother has taught me unconditional love, empathy, resilience, and what it means to support someone through every high and low. My compassion extends beyond my family. One of my most ambitious and meaningful contributions came thousands of miles away in Nkenkaasau, Ghana, where I planned and executed a unique Rubik's Cube camp for the children in the village. This trip required me to fundraise. I raised $10,0000 to make this trip happen. I also donated three hundred Rubik’s Cubes for the camp. Additionally, I created the curriculum for the camp and led the camp. The planning of the camp required foresight, cultural sensitivity, taking language classes, and a deep desire to give something valuable to a community. Teaching kids how to solve a Rubik’s Cube may seem like a small thing, but for many of these children, it opened a door to using algorithms, logic, perseverance, self-confidence, and overall improved emotional and cognitive health. As a fishing enthusiast, I wanted others to experience the benefits of fishing. I volunteered at the very environmental camp that sparked my interest when I spent my summers in Florida. I saw it as an opportunity to help younger campers feel included, safe, and excited about nature. I guided the children to try something new, often for the first time. Whether baiting hooks, encouraging shy campers, or quietly cleaning up after a long day, I placed others’ needs ahead of my own. I have been passionate about ice hockey since I was six years old, and I took my first learn-to-skate class. This summer, I worked as an assistant coach for underprivileged children. In addition to assisting the children with their hockey equipment and helping them on the ice, I also took on the role of mentor and motivator. I was not just helping the kids improve their slapshots; I was teaching them sportsmanship, teamwork, and how to manage disappointment with grace. In all my endeavors, I strive to improve the lives of others through selflessness. Whether through the emotional labor of caregiving, the thoughtful planning of an educational project abroad, or the patient guidance of young minds in camps and on the ice, I am trying to live a life of quiet leadership and service.

In my sophomore year of high school, I sustained a head and neck injury that changed my life forever. Before the injury, I was a typical teenager, healthy and active. Afterward, I was a shadow of my former self. I had to miss two months of school at the end of my sophomore year, and a significant portion of my junior year as well. When I did attend school, it was difficult for me to focus. Each day, my headache would intensify as the day wore on. It was almost unbearable by the time I returned home. The pain during those months is something I can't fully put into words. The physical agony, the mental turmoil, and the constant worry about my future consumed me. I was no longer myself. My appetite disappeared, I couldn't fall asleep, and I spent most of my days in a dark room. I stopped seeing my friends, couldn’t play ice hockey, and car rides made me nauseous. I was in constant pain and, on top of that, I sank into a depression. I saw countless doctors, but none of them could offer me relief. During this time, I turned to my greatest companion, my brother. He has spent his entire life in pain as a spastic quadriplegic due to cerebral palsy. Spending time with him helped me heal, starting with my mind and eventually, my body. His calmness and understanding of my struggle gave me the strength to push through the pain that had taken over my life. I realized that every day, he battled through his own suffering and still found ways to experience joy. He never gave up. With his help, I became someone who could face struggle and pain head-on. I learned to push through battles I once thought were impossible. I finished my junior year without needing to take any classes over the summer, and I continued to work with healthcare professionals to find solutions to my pain. I trained tirelessly to return to the ice hockey rink. I didn’t give up. I attended all of my therapy sessions, strengthening my body, just as my brother has done throughout his life. Now, as I face the challenges of college, I know that I am more prepared than ever. With my past experiences and the pain I’ve endured, I’ve learned that when times get tough, I need to look to those closest to me for support. I’ve been through hard times before, and I know I am resilient. I will persevere through whatever comes next.