“Opportunities are not for people who deserve them but look for them.” I am not sure where or when I first heard this quote, but it has stuck with me over time. When I first entered high school, I was in a shockingly competitive environment. In previous years I did not need to try to get high scores and top my class, but I found myself in a pool of people just like me and better. As I watched my peers earning internships and awards, I wondered how these opportunities came so easily to them, but when I became more involved in clubs and organizations, I realized how hard everyone had to work to achieve success and that I needed to up my game. I began to network more with people in higher positions in clubs and work much harder so that I could soon gain those positions too. Overtime, I saw my efforts pay off. By the end of high school, I was president of three clubs and the founder of one. I helped develop an educational teen program for a non-profit organization that aided survivors of domestic violence. Looking back on my accomplishments, I feel an intense sense of pride in not only everything I was able to achieve but the growth that came along with it. I developed leadership and communication skills that I am excited to continue to work on in the future. While I always knew I was able to develop these skills, the work I had to put in is what will benefit and motivate me to continue this upward growth trend.

My interest in medicine hit me like a kick–quite literally. After a severe patellar dislocation in taekwondo sent me to the Emergency Room, I faced knee surgery and months of consultations and physical therapy. Experiencing the travails of being a patient firsthand for a prolonged period of time caused what was then a nascent interest in medicine to take a deeper root. The following summer I attended a sports medicine camp and became more enamored by the complexity and resilience of the human body. I decided to shadow the very surgeon who had operated on me. Seeing the progression of each case, from the initial consultation, where he responded to any concerns in a kind, straightforward way, to the operation, when he worked with notable dexterity and composure, amazed me. Inevitably, I left the operating room after watching each procedure, certain that I wanted to have the same relationship that the doctors had with his patients. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. Through medicine, I know I can connect with people at their most vulnerable state, when a debilitating injury or disease has diminished the quality of their lives. I will strive to be a conscientious listener and a passionate advocate for holistic health who always remembers the stories behind those who are suffering.

In kindergarten, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and my immediate response was “doctor.” My reason? I wanted to help people. Granted this was the simplistic logic of a five-year-old, and I have since learned about the complexity of the medical system and the multitude of ways I can help people outside of medicine, but my sentiment still stands. My dream is to be a physician, and I want my work to uplift those who are not seen in the medical field and make health care equitable and accessible. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen.

Junior year of high school is notoriously one of the most difficult years of a student’s primary education. For me, this was no exception. I have always been a relatively uptight and fervent student, prioritizing academics before everything- even my mental health. I went through cycles of sleepless nights, uninterrupted hours of studying and sports practices and days that I did not even want to get out of bed and dreaded having to walk into the school building. I knew this was not sustainable, but I wanted to do everything possible to ensure my admissions to a top program or university- that is what was expected of me after all. In a first generation Indian-American household, success and reputation is prioritized above all. This pressure only added to the stress of being in a competitive school and my own expectations of myself. I never felt like anything I did would match up to my parents’ achievements or even those of distant family members and friends. This caused me to also view everyone my age as competition, which subsequently ruined many relationships I had with my peers. However, mental health is just not something we talked about, and even if it was brought up, I would have my struggles disqualified since I had the privilege of living in America, and my problems were others’ goals. One of my last memories of in-person school was me walking into my history teacher’s class early in the day, on the verge of tears, begging to do corrections on an exam that I had scored less than desirable on. My teacher compassionately said that I could look at the exam again after spring break, but the very next day, it was announced to the country that school would be on a two-week break to prevent the spread of COVID. Many people will say that 2020’s quarantine ruined them, but in reality, it saved me. By being pulled out of such a toxic competitive environment so suddenly, I had the opportunity to reflect on my mentality towards school and realized that something needed to change. I began to prioritize a balance of my studies, extracurriculars, and relaxation- something I had not thought of in years. I realized that I did not need to be working so hard for the results I was getting, and in fact, after I began to relax my perspective more, I even saw my academic performance and cognition improve significantly when school started again. I still have the generally same goals in life and desire for success, but 2020 has taught me to balance my priorities and work. I have learned to open up more to people when I am struggling and ask for help when I feel I am exceeding my capacities. My newfound ability to reflect on my past behavior and patterns has helped me recognize when I am at risk of slipping into that toxic cycle again and have compassion for others who may be struggling the same way.

“Opportunities are not for people who deserve them but look for them.” I am not sure where or when I first heard this quote, but it has stuck with me over time. When I first entered high school, I was in a shockingly competitive environment. In previous years I did not need to try to get high scores and top my class, but I found myself in a pool of people just like me and better. As I watched my peers earning internships and awards, I wondered how these opportunities came so easily to them, but when I became more involved in clubs and organizations, I realized how hard everyone had to work to achieve success and that I needed to up my game. I began to network more with people in higher positions in clubs and work much harder so that I could soon gain those positions too. Overtime, I saw my efforts pay off. By the end of high school, I was president of three clubs and the founder of one. I helped develop an educational teen program for a non-profit organization that aided survivors of domestic violence. Looking back on my accomplishments, I feel an intense sense of pride in not only everything I was able to achieve but the growth that came along with it. I developed leadership and communication skills that I am excited to continue to work on in the future. While I always knew I was able to develop these skills, the work I had to put in is what will benefit and motivate me to continue this upward growth trend.

Junior year of high school is notoriously one of the most difficult years of a student’s primary education. For me, this was no exception. I have always been a relatively uptight and fervent student, prioritizing academics before everything-even my mental health. I went through cycles of sleepless nights, uninterrupted hours of studying and sports practices and days that I did not even want to get out of bed and dreaded having to walk into the school building. I knew this was not sustainable, but I wanted to do everything possible to ensure my admissions to a top program or university- that is what was expected of me afterall. In a first generation Indian-American household, success and reputation is prioritized above all. This pressure only added to the stress of being in a competitive school and my own expectations of myself. I never felt like anything I did would match up to my parents’ achievements or even those of distant family members and friends. This caused me to also view everyone my age as competition, which subsequently ruined many relationships I had with my peers. However, mental health is just not something we talked about, and even if it was brought up, I would be dismissed as “not strong enough” or have my struggles disqualified since I had the privilege of living in America and my problems were others’ goals. One of my last memories of in-person school was me walking into my history teacher’s class early in the day, on the verge of tears, begging to do corrections on an exam that I had scored less than desirable on. My teacher compassionately said that I could look at the exam again after spring break, but the very next day, it was announced to the country that school would be on a two-week break to prevent the spread of COVID. Many people will say that 2020’s quarantine ruined them, but in reality, it saved me. By being pulled out of such a toxic competitive environment so suddenly, I had the opportunity to reflect on my mentality towards school and realized that something needed to change. I began to prioritize a balance of my studies, extracurriculars, and relaxation- something I had not thought of in years. I realized that I did not need to be working so hard for the results I was getting, and in fact, after I began to relax my perspective more, I even saw my academic performance and cognition improve significantly when school started again. I still have the generally same goals in life and desire for success, but 2020 has taught me to balance my priorities and work. I have learned to open up more to people when I am struggling and ask for help when I feel I am exceeding my capacities. My ability to reflect on my past behavior and patterns has helped me recognize when I am at risk of slipping into that toxic cycle again and have compassion for others who may be struggling the same way.

Junior year of high school is notoriously one of the most difficult years of a student’s primary education. For me, this was no exception. I have always been a relatively uptight and fervent student, prioritizing academics before everything-even my mental health. I went through cycles of sleepless nights, uninterrupted hours of studying and sports practices and days that I did not even want to get out of bed and dreaded having to walk into the school building. I knew this was not sustainable, but I wanted to do everything possible to ensure my admissions to a top program or university- that is what was expected of me afterall. In a first generation Indian-American household, success and reputation is prioritized above all. This pressure only added to the stress of being in a competitive school and my own expectations of myself. I never felt like anything I did would match up to my parents’ achievements or even those of distant family members and friends. This caused me to also view everyone my age as competition, which subsequently ruined many relationships I had with my peers. However, mental health is just not something we talked about, and even if it was brought up, I would have my struggles disqualified since I had the privilege of living in America, and my problems were others’ goals. One of my last memories of in-person school was me walking into my history teacher’s class early in the day, on the verge of tears, begging to do corrections on an exam that I had scored less than desirable on. My teacher compassionately said that I could look at the exam again after spring break, but the very next day, it was announced to the country that school would be on a two-week break to prevent the spread of COVID. Many people will say that 2020’s quarantine ruined them, but in reality, it saved me. By being pulled out of such a toxic competitive environment so suddenly, I had the opportunity to reflect on my mentality towards school and realized that something needed to change. I began to prioritize a balance of my studies, extracurriculars, and relaxation- something I had not thought of in years. I realized that I did not need to be working so hard for the results I was getting, and in fact, after I began to relax my perspective more, I even saw my academic performance and cognition improve significantly when school started again. I still have the generally same goals in life and desire for success, but 2020 has taught me to balance my priorities and work. I have learned to open up more to people when I am struggling and ask for help when I feel I am exceeding my capacities. My ability to reflect on my past behavior and patterns has helped me recognize when I am at risk of slipping into that toxic cycle again and have compassion for others who may be struggling the same way.

Junior year of high school is notoriously one of the most difficult years of a student’s primary education. For me, this was no exception. I have always been a relatively uptight and fervent student, prioritizing academics before everything-even my mental health. I went through cycles of sleepless nights, uninterrupted hours of studying and sports practices and days that I did not even want to get out of bed and dreaded having to walk into the school building. I knew this was not sustainable, but I wanted to do everything possible to ensure my admissions to a top program or university- that is what was expected of me afterall. One of my last memories of in-person school was me walking into my history teacher’s class early in the day, on the verge of tears, begging to do corrections on an exam that I had scored less than desirable on. My teacher compassionately said that I could look at the exam again after spring break, but the very next day, it was announced to the country that school would be on a two-week break to prevent the spread of COVID. Many people will say that 2020’s quarantine ruined them, but in reality, it saved me. By being pulled out of such a toxic competitive environment so suddenly, I had the opportunity to reflect on my mentality towards school and realized that something needed to change. I began to prioritize a balance of my studies, extracurriculars, and relaxation- something I had not thought of in years. I realized that I did not need to be working so hard for the results I was getting, and in fact, after I began to relax my perspective more, I even saw my academic performance and cognition improve significantly when school started again. I still have the generally same goals in life and desire for success, but 2020 has taught me to balance my priorities and work. My ability to reflect on my past behavior and patterns has helped me recognize when I am at risk of slipping into that toxic cycle again and have compassion for others who may be struggling the same way.

“Opportunities are not for people who deserve them but look for them.” I am not sure where or when I first heard this quote, but it has stuck with me over time. When I first entered high school, I was in a shockingly competitive environment. In previous years I did not need to try to get high scores and top my class, but I found myself in a pool of people just like me and better. As I watched my peers earning internships and awards, I wondered how these opportunities came so easily to them, but when I became more involved in clubs and organizations, I realized how hard everyone had to work to achieve success and that I needed to up my game. I began to network more with people in higher positions in clubs and work much harder so that I could soon gain those positions too. Overtime, I saw my efforts pay off. By the end of high school, I was president of three clubs and the founder of one. I helped develop an educational teen program for a non-profit organization that aided survivors of domestic violence. Looking back on my accomplishments, I feel an intense sense of pride in not only everything I was able to achieve but the growth that came along with it. I developed leadership and communication skills that I am excited to continue to work on in the future. While I always knew I was able to develop these skills, the work I had to put in is what will benefit and motivate me to continue this upward growth trend.

My interest in medicine hit me like a kick–quite literally. After a severe patellar dislocation in taekwondo sent me to the Emergency Room, I faced knee surgery and months of consultations and physical therapy. Experiencing the travails of being a patient firsthand for a prolonged period of time caused what was then a nascent interest in medicine to take a deeper root. The following summer I attended a sports medicine camp and became more enamored by the complexity and resilience of the human body. I decided to shadow the very surgeon who had operated on me. Seeing the progression of each case, from the initial consultation, where he responded to any concerns in a kind, straightforward way, to the operation, when he worked with notable dexterity and composure, amazed me. Inevitably, I left the operating room after watching each procedure, certain that I wanted to have the same relationship that the doctors had with his patients. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. Through medicine, I know I can connect with people at their most vulnerable state, when a debilitating injury or disease has diminished the quality of their lives. I will strive to be a conscientious listener and a passionate advocate for holistic health who always remembers the stories behind those who are suffering.

My name is Roshni (Row[like a boat]-shnee). Growing up with an uncommon name, I grew accustomed to the butchering of the pronunciation and began responding to Raw-shni, Rosh, or the completely Americanized version, Rose. Seeking approval from the non-Desi population I was immersed in, in Texas suburbia, I rationalized the mispronunciation of my name as the trade-off for not being “American enough.” In my Desi community, I became more comfortable expressing my Indian side, dressing up and visiting aunties’ houses for festivals like Navratri and Diwali and going to Bharatanatyam (classical Indian dance) and Hindu Heritage classes. At the same time, however, I became hyper-aware of how Americanized I was. Whenever people would call my name in the proper Tamil pronunciation that not even I was comfortable using, elegantly recite slokas I could not memorize for the life of me, and converse in the mother tongue that I still choked on, I felt inadequate. However, on a school trip at the beginning of my junior year, a friend told me about an app called TikTok. I downloaded it to amuse her, but I was quickly enamored by the creativity and talents displayed. I decided to take my shot at going viral as well, posting difficult “dances” and corny comedy. I inadvertently stumbled into a side of the platform that I never knew existed. All of a sudden, here was a community of South Asian-American teens at my fingertips, sharing personal stories, and joking about our collective childhood experiences. These videos helped me realize that I could use this medium to inspire others like myself to embrace and display their culture. I joined in on the jokes about Kumon and spelling bees, engaged in touchy topics like mental health and colorism, and began creating content that blended my culture and humor in a unique way. My fingers buzzed with excitement when hearing a song I could make a funny video with. I finished my homework and then painstakingly draped colorful and elaborately designed dhavanis in the dead of the night to show off my culture in a place where it would be appreciated. My heart swelled with pride whenever I saw my videos reaching new audiences and people responding positively to my content. However, as I dove deeper into the Desi cultural side of the app, I saw more and more the rampant underlying sexism and realized that the instances I had labelled in my life as semi-sexist one-offs were in fact the norm of my culture. I would see videos of South Asian boys making jokes at the expense of their female counterparts and women being harassed in their comment sections for the “sin” of not being “modest enough.” An unlikely positive side of this case however, is the increased platform for those who do understand cultural issues and create safe spaces for South Asian women, especially, to share their less-comical stories and develop a support system online. I am thrilled to see a new positive South Asian representation in popular media rather than the inaccurate stereotype I grew up with and realize that I am part of this change. Thus, an app that originally was downloaded as a joke has become a second home for me, a place where I can express my creativity in a nontraditional yet beautiful way. Despite having felt alone in my experiences, this community helped me find a commonality in our stories. I now recognize that my culture is not a checkbox for Indian or American but the blend that I choose to embrace. This journey is ongoing, and there are still times that I am conflicted with the duality of my culture, but at least now, when I hear my name, I always make sure it is said right.

My interest in medicine hit me like a kick–quite literally. After a severe patellar dislocation in taekwondo sent me to the Emergency Room, I faced knee surgery and months of consultations and physical therapy. Experiencing the travails of being a patient firsthand for a prolonged period of time caused what was then a nascent interest in medicine to take a deeper root. The following summer I attended a sports medicine camp and became more enamored by the complexity and resilience of the human body. I decided to shadow the very surgeon who had operated on me. Seeing the progression of each case, from the initial consultation, where he responded to any concerns in a kind, straightforward way, to the operation, when he worked with notable dexterity and composure, amazed me. Inevitably, I left the operating room after watching each procedure, certain that I wanted to have the same relationship that the doctors had with his patients. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. Through medicine, I know I can connect with people at their most vulnerable state, when a debilitating injury or disease has diminished the quality of their lives. I will strive to be a conscientious listener and a passionate advocate for holistic health who always remembers the stories behind those who are suffering.

My interest in medicine hit me like a kick–quite literally. After a severe patellar dislocation in taekwondo sent me to the Emergency Room, I faced knee surgery and months of consultations and physical therapy. Experiencing the travails of being a patient firsthand for a prolonged period of time caused what was then a nascent interest in medicine to take a deeper root. The following summer I attended a sports medicine camp and became more enamored by the complexity and resilience of the human body. I decided to shadow the very surgeon who had operated on me. Seeing the progression of each case, from the initial consultation, where he responded to any concerns in a kind, straightforward way, to the operation, when he worked with notable dexterity and composure, amazed me. Inevitably, I left the operating room after watching each procedure, certain that I wanted to have the same relationship that the doctors had with his patients. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. Through medicine, I know I can connect with people at their most vulnerable state, when a debilitating injury or disease has diminished the quality of their lives. I will strive to be a conscientious listener and a passionate advocate for holistic health who always remembers the stories behind those who are suffering.

My interest in medicine hit me like a kick–quite literally. After a severe patellar dislocation in taekwondo sent me to the Emergency Room, I faced knee surgery and months of consultations and physical therapy. Experiencing the travails of being a patient firsthand for a prolonged period of time caused what was then a nascent interest in medicine to take a deeper root. As a result, I was determined to learn more. The following summer I attended a sports medicine camp, and I became more enamored by the complexity and resilience of the human body. I decided to shadow the very surgeon who had operated on me. Seeing the progression of each case, from the initial consultation, where he responded to any concerns in a kind, straightforward way, to the operation, when he worked with notable dexterity and composure, amazed me. Inevitably, I left the operating room after watching each procedure certain that I wanted to have the same relationship that the doctors had with his patients. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen. Through medicine, I know I can connect with people at their most vulnerable state, when a debilitating injury or disease has diminished the quality of their lives. I will strive to be a conscientious listener and a passionate advocate for holistic health who always remembers the stories behind those who are suffering.

In kindergarten, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and my immediate response was “doctor.” My reason? I wanted to help people. Granted this was the simplistic logic of a five-year-old, and I have since learned about the complexity of the medical system and the multitude of ways I can help people outside of medicine, but my sentiment still stands. My dream is to be a physician, and I want my work to uplift those who are not seen in the medical field and make health care equitable and accessible. Throughout high school, I volunteered at the Indian Doctors Charity Clinic (IDCC), which serves uninsured populations in the Houston area. Although I went in with a simplistic view of medicine, my experiences opened my eyes to the significant socioeconomic and racial disparities that pervade healthcare. The patients’ stories, sadly, were hardly unique. For many patients, poverty and race along with other factors, like food insecurity and education, directly impact their access to and utilization of the healthcare system. Yet, our society ignores the structures that contribute to these inequities, and oftentimes, the more disadvantaged people are, the less the healthcare system works in their favor. This has encouraged me to not only continue my pursuit of becoming a physician but also to work to improve the health care system and delivery to those who need it the most. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. Studying public health will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. As I study on a STEM-oriented pre-medical track, the anthropological stance of public health will give me a better understanding of the social and economic issues that pervade healthcare and access. I am going to join organizations that will allow me to advocate for people who are overlooked by medicine. I also plan on continuing to work at community clinics and hospitals where I can keep serving those who need more medical care. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen.

My‌ ‌name‌ ‌is‌ ‌Roshni‌ ‌(Row[like‌ ‌a‌ ‌boat]-shnee).‌ ‌Growing‌ ‌up‌ ‌with‌ ‌an‌ ‌uncommon‌ ‌name,‌ ‌I‌ ‌ grew‌ ‌accustomed‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌butchering‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌pronunciation‌ ‌and‌ ‌began‌ ‌responding‌ ‌to‌ ‌Raw-shni,‌ ‌ Rosh,‌ ‌or‌ ‌the‌ ‌completely‌ ‌Americanized‌ ‌version,‌ ‌Rose.‌ ‌Seeking‌ ‌approval‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌non-‌Desi‌ ‌ population‌ ‌I‌ ‌was‌ ‌immersed‌ ‌in,‌ ‌in‌ ‌Texas‌ ‌suburbia,‌ ‌I‌ ‌rationalized‌ ‌the‌ ‌mispronunciation‌ ‌of‌ ‌my‌ ‌name‌ ‌ as‌ ‌the‌ ‌trade-off‌ ‌for‌ ‌not‌ ‌being‌ ‌“American‌ ‌enough.”‌ ‌ In‌ ‌my‌‌ ‌Desi‌‌ ‌community,‌ ‌I‌ ‌became‌ ‌more‌ ‌comfortable‌ ‌expressing‌ ‌my‌ ‌Indian‌ ‌side,‌ ‌dressing‌ ‌ up‌ ‌and‌ ‌visiting‌ ‌aunties’‌ ‌houses‌ ‌for‌ ‌festivals‌ ‌like‌ ‌‌Navratri‌‌ ‌and‌ ‌‌Diwali‌ ‌‌and‌ ‌going‌ ‌to‌ ‌ Bharatanatyam‌ ‌‌(classical‌ ‌Indian‌ ‌dance)‌‌ ‌‌and‌ ‌Hindu‌ ‌Heritage‌ ‌classes.‌ ‌At‌ ‌the‌ ‌same‌ ‌time,‌ ‌however,‌ ‌ I‌ ‌became‌ ‌hyper-aware‌ ‌of‌ ‌how‌ ‌Americanized‌ ‌I‌ ‌was.‌ ‌Whenever‌ ‌people‌ ‌would‌ ‌call‌ ‌my‌ ‌name‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌ proper‌ ‌Tamil‌ ‌pronunciation‌ ‌that‌ ‌not‌ ‌even‌ ‌I‌ ‌was‌ ‌comfortable‌ ‌using,‌ ‌elegantly‌ ‌recite‌ ‌‌slokas‌ ‌‌I‌ ‌could‌ ‌ not‌ ‌memorize‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌life‌ ‌of‌ ‌me,‌ ‌and‌ ‌converse‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌mother‌ ‌tongue‌ ‌that‌ ‌I‌ ‌still‌ ‌choked‌ ‌on,‌ ‌I‌ ‌felt‌ ‌ inadequate.‌ ‌ ‌ On a school trip at the beginning of my junior year, a friend told me about an app called TikTok. I downloaded it to amuse her, but I was quickly enamored by the creativity and talents displayed. I decided to take my shot at going viral as well, posting difficult “dances” and corny comedy. I inadvertently stumbled into a side of the platform that I never knew existed. All of a sudden, here was a community of South Asian-American teens at my fingertips, sharing personal stories, and joking about our collective childhood experiences. These videos helped me realize that I could use this medium to inspire others like myself to embrace and display their culture. I joined in on the jokes about Kumon and spelling bees, engaged in touchy topics like mental health and colorism, and began creating content that blended my culture and humor in a unique way. My fingers buzzed with excitement when hearing a song I could make a funny video with. I finished my homework and then painstakingly draped colorful and elaborately designed dhavanis in the dead of the night to show off my culture in a place where it would be appreciated. My heart swelled with pride whenever I saw my videos reaching new audiences and people responding positively to my content. I am thrilled to see a new positive South Asian representation in popular media rather than the inaccurate stereotype I grew up with and realize that I am part of this change. Thus, an app that originally was downloaded as a joke has become a second home for me, a place where I can express my creativity in a nontraditional yet beautiful way. I‌ ‌now‌ ‌recognize‌ ‌that‌ ‌my‌ ‌culture‌ ‌is‌ ‌not‌ ‌a‌ ‌checkbox‌ ‌for‌ ‌Indian‌ ‌or‌ ‌American‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌blend‌ ‌that‌ ‌I‌ ‌choose‌ ‌to‌ ‌embrace.‌ ‌This‌ ‌journey‌ ‌is‌ ‌ongoing,‌ ‌and‌ ‌there‌ ‌are‌ ‌times‌ ‌that‌ ‌I‌ ‌am‌ ‌conflicted‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌duality‌ ‌of‌ ‌my‌ ‌culture,‌ ‌but‌ ‌at‌ ‌least‌ ‌now,‌ ‌when‌ ‌I‌ ‌hear‌ ‌my‌ ‌name,‌ ‌I‌ ‌always‌ ‌make‌ ‌sure‌ ‌it‌ ‌is‌ ‌said‌ ‌right.‌ ‌

I have always been a champion at hide-and-seek. As a little kid, seeing anyone I knew in public–even a close friend–would send me bolting for cover (yes, I was that kid). In a society that has always favored rugged and outspoken individualism, my tendency to stay in the shadows was painted as abnormal. I grew used to the cycle of my teachers telling me to, “Speak up!” or asking, “What was that, Roshni?,” which was always accompanied by the snickering of my peers. “What is wrong with me?,” I asked myself. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” I saw entering high school as an opportunity to change this. Fighting the urge to stay in my comfort zone, I pushed myself to join organizations that emphasized social awareness, like Model United Nations (MUN), which I had always been interested in but was too nervous to pursue. During most meetings, I would sit quietly in the corner and marvel at the confidence of my peers. It was not until an upperclassman encouraged me to attend an upcoming conference that I decided to swallow my nerves and try public speaking. I spent hours poring over articles about my topics and preparing arguments, all the while worrying about others’ judgement. Come the day of the conference, I trudged into the committee room, regretting my decision to sign up. Delivering my opening speech, I immediately felt a rush of panic, like a strike of lightning in my core. I struggled to speak over the other delegates, and my voice faltered as exasperated voices muttered, “We can’t hear you.” I left the committee that day, disappointed with my performance and considered not returning. However, I decided that hiding was no longer an option. I was going to return the next morning with a new strategy and give it my best shot. Entering the second session, I approached delegates who, like me, had been too shy to participate earlier and began to exchange ideas. I was now an impassioned sponsor rather than a sheepish signatory. This conference opened the door to new possibilities with my voice. While I still struggle to maintain this assertive persona over my shy instincts, I have realized that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not have to be loud to be heard. Returning to the same MUN conference a year later, I immediately jumped at the opportunity to be a lead delegate. As I delivered my opening speech I waited for the familiar jolt of panic, but it was conspicuously absent. In the following unmoderated caucus, I could see myself in the shyest students and pushed them to engage in the conversation. Even though it was uncomfortable, facing my own fears gave me the confidence to stand up for others, encouraging them to become seekers instead of hiders.

I have always been a champion at hide-and-seek. As a little kid, seeing anyone I knew in public–even a close friend–would send me bolting for cover (yes, I was that kid). In a society that has always favored rugged and outspoken individualism, my tendency to stay in the shadows was painted as abnormal. I grew used to the cycle of my teachers telling me to, “Speak up!” or asking, “What was that, Roshni?,” which was always accompanied by the snickering of my peers. “What is wrong with me?,” I asked myself. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” I saw entering high school as an opportunity to change this. Fighting the urge to stay in my comfort zone, I pushed myself to join organizations that emphasized social awareness, like Model United Nations (MUN), which I had always been interested in but was too nervous to pursue. During most meetings, I would sit quietly in the corner and marvel at the confidence of my peers. It was not until an upperclassman encouraged me to attend an upcoming conference that I decided to swallow my nerves and try public speaking. I spent hours poring over articles about my topics and preparing arguments, all the while worrying about others’ judgement. Come the day of the conference, I trudged into the committee room, regretting my decision to sign up. Delivering my opening speech, I immediately felt a rush of panic, like a strike of lightning in my core. I struggled to speak over the other delegates, and my voice faltered as exasperated voices muttered, “We can’t hear you.” I left the committee that day, disappointed with my performance and considered not returning. However, I decided that hiding was no longer an option. I was going to return the next morning with a new strategy and give it my best shot. Entering the second session, I approached delegates who, like me, had been too shy to participate earlier and began to exchange ideas. I was now an impassioned sponsor rather than a sheepish signatory. This conference opened the door to new possibilities with my voice. While I still struggle to maintain this assertive persona over my shy instincts, I have realized that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not have to be loud to be heard. These experiences have lent me the confidence and empathy to help others in a way I never believed possible for myself. Returning to the same MUN conference a year later, I immediately jumped at the opportunity to be a lead delegate. As I delivered my opening speech I waited for the familiar jolt of panic, but it was conspicuously absent. In the following unmoderated caucus, I could see myself in the shyest students and pushed them to engage in the conversation. Even though it was uncomfortable, facing my own fears gave me the confidence to stand up for others, encouraging them to become seekers instead of hiders.

This picture is from a Model UN conference in my junior year. I helped organize this conference for my school along with the travel and boarding arrangements for everyone. This really pushed my boundaries because I have always been very shy but speaking at Model UN- especially in a large conference out of state- really has helped me open up

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Uo3EfIamC8QCZN964_7sFBGeDQ5abJcd/view?usp=sharing

My favorite scientist is Rosalind Franklin. I believe that she made invaluable contributions to chemistry and biology, but her struggles as a woman in STEM are what really inspire me. From having her work stolen to the gender bias she inevitably faced, she persevered for her passion and was successful.

My all-time favorite movie is a relatively new one- Soul, from Disney-Pixar. I first watched this movie over the holiday break with my family, and as I struggled to hold back my tears, I felt the hard realization that I did not know what my "spark" in life was. The movie (spoiler) followed a man who was not ready to die and a soul who was not ready to live. I identified myself in the convergence of the two characters- not feeling as though I had fulfilled my life potential while simultaneously having no idea what it could be. Aside from the existential crisis that this movie has the propensity to cause, after re-watching it more times than I care to admit, I appreciated the more subtle notes of the movie. When 22 is experiencing the world through Joe's body, I realized how much of the world that I view as the simple monotony of life is actually an intricate and exciting story in itself. It opened my eyes to how limited my perspective of myself and others is, and now I try to be much more conscious of enjoying the little things in life while still pursuing my goals.

I have spent many nights wondering whether I want to be everything or nothing. Do I want to leave a lasting impact on the planet or live my life in a privileged understanding that eventually when the world ends and society as we know it has faded into the obsolete, I will only be a history that nobody remembers? This dilemma constantly changes depending on the perspective you look at it from. The individual: It’s my life. I should do whatever I want. Community: We must all contribute to society so that we can all advance. Universal: We live on a floating rock, and nothing we do now will exist in a few thousand years. In this conundrum, it is necessary to find a balance between all of these perspectives. While I feel a compulsion in my privilege of education to contribute to society, what I do should be personally fulfilling but I can remain passionate to work towards a larger goal. In my whole 17 years of life I have always said that my goal is to help people. I have gone about this in many different ways over the years- from a small bakesale with my sisters when I was 7 that we donated the whole $5 of profits to a charity, to working with a non-profit dedicated to fighting domestic violence and starting a branch to educate teenagers about it. I want to work with others to empower as many people as possible and help as many people reach their maximum potential. That is what a good legacy means to me. The greatest satisfaction that I feel is from watching the people that I love succeed. And to get past the misanthropism and greed that our society as projected onto the individual and focus on uplifting others we would be nearly unstoppable.

My name is Roshni (Row[like a boat]-shnee). Growing up with an uncommon name, I grew accustomed to the butchering of the pronunciation and began responding to Raw-shni, Rosh, or the completely Americanized version, Rose. Seeking approval from the non-Desi population I was immersed in, in Texas suburbia, I rationalized the mispronunciation of my name as the trade-off for not being “American enough.” In my Desi community, I became more comfortable expressing my Indian side, dressing up and visiting aunties’ houses for festivals like Navratri and Diwali and going to Bharatanatyam (classical Indian dance) and Hindu Heritage classes. At the same time, however, I became hyper-aware of how Americanized I was. Whenever people would call my name in the proper Tamil pronunciation that not even I was comfortable using, elegantly recite slokas I could not memorize for the life of me, and converse in the mother tongue that I still choked on, I felt inadequate. However, on a school trip at the beginning of my junior year, a friend told me about an app called TikTok. I downloaded it to amuse her, but I was quickly enamored by the creativity and talents displayed. I decided to take my shot at going viral as well, posting difficult “dances” and corny comedy. I inadvertently stumbled into a side of the platform that I never knew existed. All of a sudden, here was a community of South Asian-American teens at my fingertips, sharing personal stories, and joking about our collective childhood experiences. These videos helped me realize that I could use this medium to inspire others like myself to embrace and display their culture. I joined in on the jokes about Kumon and spelling bees, engaged in touchy topics like mental health and colorism, and began creating content that blended my culture and humor in a unique way. My fingers buzzed with excitement when hearing a song I could make a funny video with. I finished my homework and then painstakingly draped colorful and elaborately designed dhavanis in the dead of the night to show off my culture in a place where it would be appreciated. My heart swelled with pride whenever I saw my videos reaching new audiences and people responding positively to my content. I am thrilled to see a new positive South Asian representation in popular media rather than the inaccurate stereotype I grew up with and realize that I am part of this change. Thus, an app that originally was downloaded as a joke has become a second home for me, a place where I can express my creativity in a nontraditional yet beautiful way. Despite having felt alone in my experiences, this community helped me find a commonality in our stories. I now recognize that my culture is not a checkbox for Indian or American but the blend that I choose to embrace. This journey is ongoing, and there are times that I am conflicted with the duality of my culture, but at least now, when I hear my name, I always make sure it is said right.

I have always been a champion at hide-and-seek. As a little kid, seeing anyone I knew in public–even a close friend–would send me bolting for cover (yes, I was that kid). In a society that has always favored rugged and outspoken individualism, my tendency to stay in the shadows was painted as abnormal. I grew used to the cycle of my teachers telling me to, “Speak up!” or asking, “What was that, Roshni?,” which was always accompanied by the snickering of my peers. “What is wrong with me?,” I asked myself. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” I saw entering high school as an opportunity to change this. Fighting the urge to stay in my comfort zone, I pushed myself to join organizations that emphasized social awareness, like Model United Nations (MUN), which I had always been interested in but was too nervous to pursue. During most meetings, I would sit quietly in the corner and marvel at the confidence of my peers. It was not until an upperclassman encouraged me to attend an upcoming conference that I decided to swallow my nerves and try public speaking. I spent hours poring over articles about my topics and preparing arguments, all the while worrying about others’ judgement. Come the day of the conference, I trudged into the committee room, regretting my decision to sign up. Delivering my opening speech, I immediately felt a rush of panic, like a strike of lightning in my core. I struggled to speak over the other delegates, and my voice faltered as exasperated voices muttered, “We can’t hear you.” I left the committee that day, disappointed with my performance and considered not returning. However, I decided that hiding was no longer an option. I was going to return the next morning with a new strategy and give it my best shot. Entering the second session, I approached delegates who, like me, had been too shy to participate earlier and began to exchange ideas. I was now an impassioned sponsor rather than a sheepish signatory. This conference opened the door to new possibilities with my voice. While I still struggle to maintain this assertive persona over my shy instincts, I have realized that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not have to be loud to be heard. These experiences have lent me the confidence and empathy to help others in a way I never believed possible for myself. Growing up, I had heard a handful of relatives and family friends euphemistically talk about going through messy divorces from “unhappy” (i.e., abusive) marriages. However, after I heard the stories of survivors at a workshop through Daya Houston, a nonprofit dedicated to aiding South Asian survivors of domestic violence, this issue gained a new context in my life. I realized that a large reason for this continued cycle was the lack of conversation, especially among younger generations. As a result, I decided to partner with Daya to bring a teen-oriented program to my school to educate my peers about it. Using the communication and leadership skills I had developed through the detached world of MUN, I encouraged other teenagers, regardless of their backgrounds, to uplift stigmatized victims of abuse. Now, many of the club members are volunteers who participate in clothing and food drives and help teach English to South Asian immigrants to enable them to become independent. Returning to the same MUN conference a year later, I immediately jumped at the opportunity to be a lead delegate. As I delivered my opening speech I waited for the familiar jolt of panic, but it was conspicuously absent. In the following unmoderated caucus, I could see myself in the shyest students and pushed them to engage in the conversation. Even though it was uncomfortable, facing my own fears gave me the confidence to stand up for others, encouraging them to become seekers instead of hiders.

After attending a workshop hosted by Daya Houston, a non-profit organization which aids South Asian victims of domestic abuse, I had to do something. I knew it existed– family members and friends had been victims several years ago–but I had thought it was an anomaly, something that affected my family but no one else. If I knew so little despite it affecting loved ones, what did others know? In response, I decided to partner with Daya to create a club at my school to educate teens about domestic violence and health relationships. With the onset of COVID-19, I moved the program online and began a seminar series to discuss these issues called, “Let’s Talk About It,” which will be established as an important fixture of Daya in the future. Through engaging other students, I have formed a community of like-minded advocates who are willing to challenge the status quo. Regardless of the situation, I know I can turn to the friends I have formed through Daya to ponder the many solutions that we can be a part of, and I plan to continue with my passion for social engagement to help build a stronger and safer community.

I have always been a champion at hide-and-seek. As a little kid, seeing anyone I knew in public–even a close friend–would send me bolting for cover (yes, I was that kid). In a society that has always favored rugged and outspoken individualism, my tendency to stay in the shadows was painted as abnormal. I grew used to the cycle of my teachers telling me to, “Speak up!” or asking, “What was that, Roshni?,” which was always accompanied by the snickering of my peers. “What is wrong with me?,” I asked myself. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” I saw entering high school as an opportunity to change this. Fighting the urge to stay in my comfort zone, I pushed myself to join organizations that emphasized social awareness, like Model United Nations (MUN), which I had always been interested in but was too nervous to pursue. During most meetings, I would sit quietly in the corner and marvel at the confidence of my peers. It was not until an upperclassman encouraged me to attend an upcoming conference that I decided to swallow my nerves and try public speaking. I spent hours poring over articles about my topics and preparing arguments, all the while worrying about others’ judgement. Come the day of the conference, I trudged into the committee room, regretting my decision to sign up. Delivering my opening speech, I immediately felt a rush of panic, like a strike of lightning in my core. I struggled to speak over the other delegates, and my voice faltered as exasperated voices muttered, “We can’t hear you.” I left the committee that day, disappointed with my performance and considered not returning. However, I decided that hiding was no longer an option. I was going to return the next morning with a new strategy and give it my best shot. Entering the second session, I approached delegates who, like me, had been too shy to participate earlier and began to exchange ideas. I was now an impassioned sponsor rather than a sheepish signatory. This conference opened the door to new possibilities with my voice. While I still struggle to maintain this assertive persona over my shy instincts, I have realized that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not have to be loud to be heard. These experiences have lent me the confidence and empathy to help others in a way I never believed possible for myself. Growing up, I had heard a handful of relatives and family friends euphemistically talk about going through messy divorces from “unhappy” (i.e., abusive) marriages. However, after I heard the stories of survivors at a workshop through Daya Houston, a nonprofit dedicated to aiding South Asian survivors of domestic violence, this issue gained a new context in my life. I realized that a large reason for this continued cycle was the lack of conversation, especially among younger generations. As a result, I decided to partner with Daya to bring a teen-oriented program to my school to educate my peers about it. Using the communication and leadership skills I had developed through the detached world of MUN, I encouraged other teenagers, regardless of their backgrounds, to uplift stigmatized victims of abuse. Now, many of the club members are volunteers who participate in clothing and food drives and help teach English to South Asian immigrants to enable them to become independent. Returning to the same MUN conference a year later, I immediately jumped at the opportunity to be a lead delegate. As I delivered my opening speech I waited for the familiar jolt of panic, but it was conspicuously absent. In the following unmoderated caucus, I could see myself in the shyest students and pushed them to engage in the conversation. Even though it was uncomfortable, facing my own fears gave me the confidence to stand up for others, encouraging them to become seekers instead of hiders.

The Bernie Sanders meme took the internet by storm after Inauguration Day 2021. As someone who identifies as a Progressive, I have looked up to Senator Sanders in a political and social justice aspect, but I could not help but laugh at all the memes and videos I saw with this picture. I think this meme is funny because, I every time I get an email with a rejection or containing content I don't like, I always re-check for days after to see if anything changed. A lot of my friends do the same thing.

Public health is the bridge between the humanities and the natural sciences. On one hand, understanding microbiology and genetics is essential to comprehending disease; on the other hand, disease exists within the context of the social determinants of health. Even as a person who finds cells enthralling, I cannot help but find something missing from the cold, empiricism of biology. I want to understand people through their unique stories. At the Indian Doctors’ Charity Clinic, which treats uninsured families from minority communities in the Houston area, I encountered patients with uncontrolled diabetes and hypertension; low-wage jobs and food insecurity resulted in unhealthy diets and lifestyles, which exacerbated their medical conditions. While the clinic provided them relief to their physical ailments, the socio-economic solutions lay beyond its scope. I learned that while addressing the pathophysiology of disease is fundamental to treatment, understanding the underlying psychosocial, economic, and cultural etiologies is crucial to prevention of disease. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. The health and society major will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. Through classes with multiple perspectives, I would gain a greater understanding of factors that impact health and impede healthcare access and learn about strategies to improve global health and understand the impacts of imposing health standards onto different cultures and demographics. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen.

When most people hear the term creativity, their mind immediately jumps to the traditional performing and visual arts. While I have learned and enjoyed classical music and dance, I found the true reflection of my creativity in a completely different field. On a school trip at the beginning of my junior year, a friend told me about an app called TikTok. I downloaded it to amuse her, but I was quickly enamored by the creativity and talents displayed. I decided to take my shot at going viral as well, posting difficult “dances” and corny comedy. I inadvertently stumbled into a side of the platform that I never knew existed. All of a sudden, here was a community of South Asian-American teens at my fingertips, sharing personal stories, and joking about our collective childhood experiences. These videos helped me realize that I could use this medium to inspire others like myself to embrace and display their culture. I joined in on the jokes about Kumon and spelling bees, engaged in touchy topics like mental health and colorism, and began creating content that blended my culture and humor in a unique way. My fingers buzzed with excitement when hearing a song I could make a funny video with. I finished my homework and then painstakingly draped colorful and elaborately designed dhavanis in the dead of the night to show off my culture in a place where it would be appreciated. My heart swelled with pride whenever I saw my videos reaching new audiences and people responding positively to my content. I am thrilled to see a new positive South Asian representation in popular media rather than the inaccurate stereotype I grew up with and realize that I am part of this change. Thus, an app that originally was downloaded as a joke has become a second home for me, a place where I can express my creativity in a nontraditional yet beautiful way.

I have always been a champion at hide-and-seek. As a little kid, seeing anyone I knew in public–even a close friend–would send me bolting for cover (yes, I was that kid). In a society that has always favored rugged and outspoken individualism, my tendency to stay in the shadows was painted as abnormal. I grew used to the cycle of my teachers telling me to, “Speak up!” or asking, “What was that, Roshni?,” which was always accompanied by the snickering of my peers. “What is wrong with me?,” I asked myself. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” I saw entering high school as an opportunity to change this. Fighting the urge to stay in my comfort zone, I pushed myself to join organizations that emphasized social awareness, like Model United Nations (MUN), which I had always been interested in but was too nervous to pursue. During most meetings, I would sit quietly in the corner and marvel at the confidence of my peers. It was not until an upperclassman encouraged me to attend an upcoming conference that I decided to swallow my nerves and try public speaking. I spent hours poring over articles about my topics and preparing arguments, all the while worrying about others’ judgement. Come the day of the conference, I trudged into the committee room, regretting my decision to sign up. Delivering my opening speech, I immediately felt a rush of panic, like a strike of lightning in my core. I struggled to speak over the other delegates, and my voice faltered as exasperated voices muttered, “We can’t hear you.” I left the committee that day, disappointed with my performance and considered not returning. However, I decided that hiding was no longer an option. I was going to return the next morning with a new strategy and give it my best shot. Entering the second session, I approached delegates who, like me, had been too shy to participate earlier and began to exchange ideas. I was now an impassioned sponsor rather than a sheepish signatory. This conference opened the door to new possibilities with my voice. While I still struggle to maintain this assertive persona over my shy instincts, I have realized that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not have to be loud to be heard. These experiences have lent me the confidence and empathy to help others in a way I never believed possible for myself. Growing up, I had heard a handful of relatives and family friends euphemistically talk about going through messy divorces from “unhappy” (i.e., abusive) marriages. However, after I heard the stories of survivors at a workshop through Daya Houston, a nonprofit dedicated to aiding South Asian survivors of domestic violence, this issue gained a new context in my life. I realized that a large reason for this continued cycle was the lack of conversation, especially among younger generations. As a result, I decided to partner with Daya to bring a teen-oriented program to my school to educate my peers about it. Using the communication and leadership skills I had developed through the detached world of MUN, I encouraged other teenagers, regardless of their backgrounds, to uplift stigmatized victims of abuse. Now, many of the club members are volunteers who participate in clothing and food drives and help teach English to South Asian immigrants to enable them to become independent. Returning to the same MUN conference a year later, I immediately jumped at the opportunity to be a lead delegate. As I delivered my opening speech I waited for the familiar jolt of panic, but it was conspicuously absent. In the following unmoderated caucus, I could see myself in the shyest students and pushed them to engage in the conversation. Even though it was uncomfortable, facing my own fears gave me the confidence to stand up for others, encouraging them to become seekers instead of hiders.

Public health is the bridge between the humanities and the natural sciences. On one hand, understanding microbiology and genetics is essential to comprehending disease; on the other hand, disease exists within the context of the social determinants of health. Even as a person who finds cells enthralling, I cannot help but find something missing from the cold, empiricism of biology. I want to understand people through their unique stories. At the Indian Doctors’ Charity Clinic, which treats uninsured families from minority communities in the Houston area, I encountered patients with uncontrolled diabetes and hypertension; low-wage jobs and food insecurity resulted in unhealthy diets and lifestyles, which exacerbated their medical conditions. While the clinic provided them relief to their physical ailments, the socio-economic solutions lay beyond its scope. I learned that while addressing the pathophysiology of disease is fundamental to treatment, understanding the underlying psychosocial, economic, and cultural etiologies is crucial to prevention of disease. The entwinement of science and humanities is at the core of my desire to pursue a career in the health field. A public health degree will give me the foundation to better understand the intersections of the art of healing, the science of medicine, and the business of healthcare. Through the diverse array of classes offered through these majors, I would gain a greater understanding of factors that impact health and impede healthcare access and look at strategies to improve global health and understand the impacts of imposing health standards onto different cultures and demographics. In university, I could work with ground breaking researchers to learn about the biological, social, and cultural aspects of health and healthcare. The study of public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as an absence of disease in an individual but as a state of holistic well-being for the entirety of society. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen.

Health sciences are the bridge between the humanities and the natural sciences. On one hand, understanding microbiology and genetics is essential to comprehending disease; on the other hand, disease exists within the context of the social determinants of health, which make obesity, diabetes, and hypertension correlates of broader societal issues. As a person who finds cells enthralling, I cannot help but find something missing from the cold, empiricism of biology. I want to understand people and their stories. When I joined health-advocacy-oriented organizations in high school, I found the niche I had been longing for. Through attending seminars with a group called Daya Houston, which aids South Asian survivors of domestic violence, I soon realized that domestic violence wasn’t just a small-scale social issue. It was in fact a public health affliction, cutting across economic, cultural, and educational strata, that caused depression, substance abuse disorders, and self-injury among its many victims. Through pursuing a degree in health sciences, I could build a skill set to become an active contributor to the health professions. Through a curriculum that integrates methodology through courses on epidemiology and biostatistics with substantive knowledge through courses on health policy and physiology, I would gain research skills that will enable me to find solutions to real-world health issues. Learning about public health will offer me a broader understanding of “health,” not just as a lack of disease but as holistic well-being. I will become an advocate for health equity and a scientist, prepared for any career as a global citizen.