Through my experiences growing up as a Black woman in the Bronx, I quickly realized at a young age that I wanted to pursue pediatrics. Growing up, I had many experiences in and out of the hospital. Having asthma forced me to see life through a new lens, devoid of the carefree nature of childhood. Instead of the fresh breeze from running on the playground at recess, I became accustomed to the familiar scent of albuterol through my nebulizer machine. However, these frequent visits to the hospital helped me grow closer to not only my doctor, but the overall concept of healthcare. As I grew older, I recognized an awful pattern: none of the doctors around me looked like me. I felt a strong disconnection between my own identity and the medical field, making me question my chances of becoming a medical professional myself. Soon, I felt a deep sense of insecurity with my skin complexion. Skin-lightening products were also deeply ingrained in my Ghanaian culture, adding to my skewed perception of self-worth. Last November, I began working at a daycare. Through this experience, I realized that my purpose extends far beyond myself. In guiding young minds and fostering their development, the immense joy from bonding with each child was enough to solidify my journey toward becoming a pediatrician. As an avid lover of learning, being presented with new challenges each day allows me to expand my worldview and get creative with solutions. Most importantly, it gives me the confidence to embrace my role as a catalyst for growth and change. With the opportunity to pediatric shadow, I aim to deepen my understanding of the medical side of child care and development. As mentioned before, one major experience that has heavily influenced my love for pediatrics is my childhood battle with asthma. Having grappled with this challenge for the majority of my life and now confronted with the alarmingly high rates of childhood asthma in Bronx, I am inspired to delve into research aimed at addressing the needs of my community. On the same note, I hope to use this scholarship to further my education and understand how to educate my community on harmful products and substances. It is no secret that one’s adolescent years are the most important to their development, and it is during this critical time that the importance of pediatricians becomes everpresent. Above all, through this experience, I aspire to embody the compassion, resilience, and influential demeanor demonstrated by doctors in their dedication to a child’s wellbeing. In envisioning my future career path, I am drawn to the integration of clinical practice, research, and community. After working in a hospital for some time, I intend to open my own clinic to specialize in respiratory conditions, particularly asthma, aimed to give back to the community that has long struggled with respiratory health disparities. In the end, I want to give a child the confidence that they too, no matter their skin color or background, can make a beneficial difference in the world.

Through my experiences growing up as a Black woman in the Bronx, I quickly realized at a young age that I wanted to pursue pediatrics. Growing up, I had many experiences in and out of the hospital. Having asthma forced me to see life through a new lens, devoid of the carefree nature of childhood. Instead of the fresh breeze from running on the playground at recess, I became accustomed to the familiar scent of albuterol through my nebulizer machine. However, these frequent visits to the hospital helped me grow closer to not only my doctor, but the overall concept of healthcare. As I grew older, I recognized an awful pattern: none of the doctors around me looked like me. I felt a strong disconnection between my own identity and the medical field, making me question my chances of becoming a medical professional myself. Soon, I felt a deep sense of insecurity with my skin complexion. Skin-lightening products were also deeply ingrained in my Ghanaian culture, adding to my skewed perception of self-worth. Last November, I began working at a daycare. Through this experience, I realized that my purpose extends far beyond myself. In guiding young minds and fostering their development, the immense joy that would come from bonding with each child was enough to solidify my journey toward becoming a pediatrician. As an avid lover of learning, being presented with new challenges each day allows me to expand my worldview and get creative with solutions. Most importantly, it gives me the confidence to embrace my role as a catalyst for growth and change, especially as I interact with children of all backgrounds. With the opportunity to study Health Science at Stony Brook University, I aim to deepen my understanding of the medical side of child care and development. As mentioned before, one major experience that has heavily influenced my love for pediatrics is my childhood battle with asthma. Having grappled with this challenge for the majority of my life and now confronted with the alarmingly high rates of childhood asthma in the Bronx, I am inspired to delve into research aimed at addressing the needs of my community. On the same note, I hope to utilize my pre-medical track to understand how to educate my community on harmful products and substances. It is no secret that one’s adolescent years are the most important to their development, and it is during this critical time that the importance of pediatricians becomes ever-present. Above all, through this journey, I aspire to embody the compassion, resilience, and influential demeanor doctors demonstrate in their dedication to a child’s wellbeing. In envisioning my future career path, I am drawn to the integration of clinical practice, research, and community. After working in a hospital for some time, I intend to open my clinic to specialize in respiratory conditions, particularly asthma, to give back to the community that has long struggled with respiratory health disparities. Ultimately, I want to give a child the confidence that they too, no matter their skin color or background, can make a beneficial difference in the world.

If you asked me what I wanted to be when I was younger, I’d probably say a PowerPuff Girl. I grew up loving comic books and television shows, especially ones with crime fighters. Yet, amidst the media’s vast landscape, I rarely came across black girls like me saving the day. As I grew older, these superheroes took the form of doctors as I became fascinated by the complexes behind science and biology. However, the lack of representation became ever-present as I grew older and learned more about the connections between race and the healthcare industry. Instead of saving the day, black women like Henrietta Lacks were being unknowingly manipulated for their cells, and black men in the Tuskegee experiment were being injected with syphilis and denied treatment. Learning about this scared me, unveiling a terrifying reality of how individuals of color are mistreated within the medical field. Last summer, I began drafting a children’s book. I wanted to shed light on the different medical professions and encourage children to embrace their passions, despite the negative stereotypes surrounding their community or background. It’s something I faced growing up, and recently, working at a local daycare has reminded me of the profound impact positive role models have on young, aspiring minds. Whether it was through reading them books about diversity or encouraging them to treat everyone with respect no matter their differences, I always felt a sense of fulfillment and purpose each day I went to the daycare. My experiences growing up have encouraged me to create a platform for myself through my art and passion for social justice, advocating for much-needed reforms in our current healthcare system. In many of my art pieces, I depict real-life black experiences that many like myself have experienced, from immigration and the struggles of having to start anew, to the many challenges faced by children of low-income households. Art has become an outlet for me, not just for my own personal expression and healing, but also as a powerful medium to convey stories and experiences that often go unheard. By shedding light on marginalized communities, I aim to inspire children, showing them that their stories matter and that they too can use their creativity to incite change. Though, many children from my community aren’t equipped with the resources to fight for change. As a society, it becomes our responsibility to be the superheroes they need–-breaking down stereotypes and encouraging them to dream big.

Sitting beside my mother, she slices honeydew and puts it on a plate for me. The flavor is tender, each bite bursting with a subtle sweetness. Together, my mother and I eat in silence, the only noise coming from our chewing and the hum of the heater behind the couch. This was a tradition for us. After work, she would do one of two things first. Option A: yell and remind me to take out the trash. Or, Option B: cut fruit. However, during this specific instance, I couldn't bear the silence. Sniffles broke the stillness in the air, alerting my mother. She turned to me in haste and asked what was wrong. Not too long ago, my father made a reappearance in my life. Through a mere twenty-five-minute phone call that December evening, my younger self finally got the closure she deserved. Though, just as fast as he came back, he left again. And yet, I couldn't understand how my mother did not react to it all. In Ghanaian culture, negative emotions are rarely shown. I witnessed severe poverty on the streets of Bubuashie while visiting my mother's hometown in Accra. However, the children on the road still greeted us with smiles and waves as we drove by. As my tears streamed down, my mother continued cutting the rest of the honeydew. She recounted her childhood as a sibling of six, memories of her decision to leave Ghana in search of a better life abroad, and her constant fight to be heard as the only black woman with a heavy accent amongst her peers. We laugh and cry in each other's arms, and I am reminded of my purpose through her memories. Because of my upbringing, learning (both inside and outside the classroom) has always been an essential part of my character. I have learned to navigate the challenges of a parental divorce, finding strength in difficult times through the bond I’ve grown with my mother and the rest of my family. I had to learn the true beauty of my skin color and my Ghanaian heritage, despite the pressures to assimilate into an unaccepting society. Above it all, through my mother’s silent pain, I have learned resilience. Her subtle reassurance is a sentiment I hold dear to my heart as I reflect on my community back in Ghana. As an outlet, I took up painting at an early age. Through perseverance and a commitment to personal growth, I developed a deep appreciation for education, learning, and the power it holds to transform lives. My works reflected the immigration, familial struggles, and environmental challenges my mom often told me about. Without words, my art sent messages to communities around the world, eventually finding its way to the U.S. Capitol through the District 14 Congressional Art Competition. The poverty levels, as well as the emotional dysregulation associated with it, are something I strive to research and combat in my journey through college and beyond. I hope to use art as not only an outlet, but a means to create change in the world we live in. Whenever I feel the stress of life, I take a second to zoom back in and appreciate the little things. Remembering my mother's tradition, I smile because she once was a girl, too, eating fruit and sitting by her mother's side.

My brother was born with autism. Throughout my childhood, I often took on the older sibling role, frequently helping my mother care for my brother. Despite this, I never understood why he was perceived as “different” from others. My brother was just that: my brother. Coming from an immigrant family, topics related to neurological disorders were "taboo." They often brushed me aside, which sent me on a journey of understanding the science behind specific developmental disabilities in people like my brother. Years passed, and he was also diagnosed with schizophrenia. It’s one thing to hear about rare medical issues, but to witness it in your own family is another story. He was referred to psychiatrist after psychiatrist, but his behavior continued to rapidly decline. In mere months, his demeanor went from lively and communicative to quiet and reserved. After countless MRIs, CAT scans, and doctor’s visits, the diagnosis was precise: my brother wouldn’t be the same. Initially, I was more frustrated at the lack of awareness of developmental issues within the black community. Comments like "He'll get better soon" upset me as if my brother wasn't human anymore because of something he couldn't control. Soon, this sparked an interest in me doing my research. There is so much for me to learn about how the human brain functions, and understanding its complexities is something I hope to achieve through my academic pursuit of Biology. For a long time, I have been enthusiastic about a future career as a pediatrician, but recent years have cemented that interest. Beyond this, growing up with my brother has helped me uncover my devotion to learning in hopes of bettering our world through medical research. This is why I intend to pursue pediatrics, where I can study the physical, mental, and emotional development in children and give back to the community that I come from. Most importantly, with more knowledge in the medical field, I want to educate and provide assurance to families struggling with the same kinds of diagnoses with no proper education on the topic. Though, this would not be possible without the Rev. and Mrs. E B Dunbar Scholarship. After facing the challenges of my brother's medical treatments and witnessing my mother shoulder the immense burden of caring for two children alone, affording college has become a significant financial difficulty for me and my family. With this scholarship, I will be able to continue my education by attending Stony Brook University without the financial burden weighing on my mind. In addition, I will be able to fully immerse myself in my studies, remembering that education is not just a personal achievement, but a tribute to my family's sacrifices and resilience.

My brother was born with autism. Throughout my childhood, I often took on the older sibling role, frequently helping my mother care for my brother. Despite this, I never understood why he was perceived as “different” from others. My brother was just that: my brother. Coming from an immigrant family, topics related to neurological disorders were "taboo." They often brushed me aside, which sent me on a journey of understanding the science behind specific developmental disabilities in people like my brother. Years passed, and he was also diagnosed with schizophrenia. It’s one thing to hear about rare medical issues, but to witness it in your own family is another story. He was referred to psychiatrist after psychiatrist, but his behavior continued to rapidly decline. In mere months, his demeanor went from lively and communicative to quiet and reserved. After countless MRIs, CAT scans, and doctor’s visits, the diagnosis was precise: my brother wouldn’t be the same. Initially, I was more frustrated at the lack of awareness of developmental issues within the black community. Comments like "He'll get better soon" upset me as if my brother wasn't human anymore because of something he couldn't control. Soon, this sparked an interest in me doing my research. There is so much for me to learn about how the human brain functions, and understanding its complexities is something I hope to achieve through my academic pursuit of Biology. For a long time, I have been enthusiastic about a future career as a pediatrician, but recent years have cemented that interest. Beyond this, growing up with my brother has helped me uncover my devotion to learning in hopes of bettering our world through medical research. This is why I intend to pursue pediatrics, where I can study the physical, mental, and emotional development in children and give back to the community that I come from. Most importantly, with more knowledge in the medical field, I want to educate and provide assurance to families struggling with the same kinds of diagnoses with no proper education on the topic. Though, this would not be possible without the Hilliard L. "Tack" Gibbs Jr. Memorial Scholarship. After facing the challenges of my brother's medical treatments and witnessing my mother shoulder the immense burden of caring for two children alone, affording college has become a significant financial difficulty for me and my family. With this scholarship, I will be able to continue my education attending Stony Brook University without the financial burden weighing on my mind. In addition, I will be able to fully immerse myself in my studies, remembering that education is not just a personal achievement, but a tribute to my family's sacrifices and resilience.

If you asked me what I wanted to be when I was younger, I’d probably say a PowerPuff Girl. I grew up loving comic books and television shows, especially ones with crime fighters. Yet, amidst the media’s vast landscape, I rarely came across black girls like me saving the day. As I grew older, these superheroes took the form of doctors as I became fascinated by the complexes behind science and biology. My mother is a registered nurse, and being an endlessly curious little girl, I would constantly pester her with questions about her experiences. However, the lack of representation became ever-present. Instead of saving the day, black women like Henrietta Lacks were being unknowingly manipulated for their cells, and black men in the Tuskegee experiment were being injected with syphilis and denied treatment. Learning about this scared me, unveiling a terrifying reality of how individuals of color are mistreated within the medical field. Last summer, I began drafting a children’s book. I wanted to shed light on the different medical professions and encourage children to embrace their passions, despite the negative stereotypes surrounding their community or background. It’s something I faced growing up, and recently, working at a local daycare has reminded me of the profound impact positive role models have on young, aspiring minds. Whether it was through reading them books about diversity or encouraging them to treat everyone with respect no matter their differences, I always felt a sense of fulfillment and purpose each day I went to the daycare. My experiences growing up have encouraged me to create a platform for myself through my art and passion for social justice, advocating for much-needed reforms in our current healthcare system. In many of my art pieces, I depict real-life black experiences that many like myself have experienced, from immigration and the struggles of having to start anew, to the many challenges faced by children of low-income households. Art has become an outlet for me, not just for my own personal expression and healing, but also as a powerful medium to convey stories and experiences that often go unheard. By shedding light on marginalized communities, I aim to inspire children, showing them that their stories matter and that they too can use their creativity to incite change. Though, many children from my community aren’t equipped with the resources to fight for change. As a society, it becomes our responsibility to be the superheroes they need–-breaking down stereotypes and encouraging them to dream big.

Sitting beside my mother, she slices honeydew and puts it on a plate for me. The flavor is tender, each bite bursting with a subtle sweetness. Together, my mother and I eat in silence, the only noise coming from our chewing and the hum of the heater behind the couch. This was a tradition for us. After work, she would do one of two things first. Option A: yell and remind me to take out the trash. Or, Option B: cut fruit. However, during this specific instance, I couldn't bear the silence. Sniffles broke the stillness in the air, alerting my mother. She turned to me in haste and asked what was wrong. Not too long ago, my father made a reappearance in my life. Through a mere twenty-five-minute phone call that December evening, my younger self finally got the closure she deserved. Though, just as fast as he came back, he left again. And yet, I couldn't understand how my mother did not react to it all. In Ghanaian culture, negative emotions are rarely shown. I witnessed severe poverty on the streets of Bubuashie while visiting my mother's hometown in Accra. However, the children on the road still greeted us with smiles and waves as we drove by. As my tears streamed down, my mother continued cutting the rest of the honeydew. She recounted her childhood as a sibling of six, memories of her decision to leave Ghana in search of a better life abroad, and her constant fight to be heard as the only black woman with a heavy accent amongst her peers. We laugh and cry in each other's arms, and I am reminded of my purpose through her memories. Because of my upbringing, learning (both inside and outside the classroom) has always been an essential part of my character. I have learned to navigate the challenges of parental divorce, finding strength in difficult times through the bond I’ve grown with my mother and the rest of my family. I had to learn the true beauty of my skin color and my Ghanaian heritage, despite the pressures to assimilate into an unaccepting society. Above it all, through my mother’s silent pain, I have learned resilience. Her subtle reassurance is a sentiment I hold dear to my heart as I reflect on my community back in Ghana. As an outlet, I took up painting at an early age. Through perseverance and a commitment to personal growth, I developed a deep appreciation for education, learning, and the power it holds to transform lives. My works reflected the immigration, familial struggles, and environmental challenges my mom often told me about. Without words, my art sent messages to communities around the world, eventually finding its way to the U.S. Capitol through the District 14 Congressional Art Competition. The poverty levels, as well as the emotional dysregulation associated with it, are something I strive to research and combat in my journey through college and beyond. I hope to use art as not only an outlet, but a means to create change in the world we live in. Whenever I feel the stress of life, I take a second to zoom back in and appreciate the little things. Remembering my mother's tradition, I smile because she once was a girl, too, eating fruit and sitting by her mother's side.

“We’re finally going to spend Christmas together again!” I beamed. As the cheery holiday approached, my mother mentioned the possibility of reconciling with my father. My young, naïve mind, filled to the brim with hopes and dreams, whole-heartedly believed that things would work out between them. I prayed that my parents would set aside their differences and get along; that we would be like the picture-perfect families I would watch on Disney every night before bed. However, as the snow outside blew relentlessly against the wind and the Christmas carols echoed through the night, the arguments between my parents worsened. At that point, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop their divorce from happening. I grew up in a confusing household. Individually, my mom and dad were the perfect parents, each having their own ways of loving me. Together, however, their constant clashes left me unsure about where I stood. As the situation between my parents’ relationship escalated, my mother made the difficult decision to move us to a new home. We moved to a new apartment, with my mom, brother, and I forced to share a single bedroom. At night, I could hear the commotion from the apartments surrounding us, and the stress of my mother to make ends meet took a toll on my mindset. I wanted to help her as much as I could, but being a fifth-grader left me with little to no options. One morning before school, my mom saw the worry on my face and squeezed me tight in a hug. She then paused for a moment, then leaned closer to remind me of a familiar phrase. “Don’t worry, my love. Right now, school should be the only thing on your mind.” Taking her advice, I made a vow to myself to focus on my studies no matter what. However, that attachment to my father and the life I’d left behind all too fast felt like a heavy weight on my shoulders. I desperately wanted to understand why things went so wrong with my father and the rest of my family. Entering high school, I learned the importance of overcoming adversities in life. Despite leaving my childhood home many years ago, one major thing stuck with me: my passion for learning. I found myself engaged in classes and I joined student government to speak up about issues I could relate to. Similarly, I found a community that understood my struggles. Meeting people who were so open about talking about their family problems helped me develop a passion for wanting to help others in need of support. I am forever grateful to my mother for her optimism. I could’ve spent the rest of my life seeking answers to unsolvable problems, but the encouragement from my mom and those around me inspired me to follow a new path in life, helping children in need. This Christmas, I plan on spending it with a newer outlook on life; one that strives to make a positive impact on the world and bring hope to those who are struggling. Instead of getting lost in my own doubts, I want to use my experiences to empathize with others and be a source of support for those who need it most. Whether volunteering or simply being a listening ear for someone in need, I want to make a difference in the lives of those around me. This Christmas and in the years to come, I am committed to living a life of purpose and compassion, and I can't wait to see where this new path takes me.