At UC Berkeley, I’ve learned that the pursuit of a STEM education is never only about formulas, labs, or lectures. It’s about all the people walking alongside you during the journey—those who offer a hand when you’re falling behind, who remind you why you started, and who inspire you to keep going. One of the most important things I’ve carried with me is my belief that community and connection are just as essential to success as hard work and ambition. If a close friend came to me facing a major life decision—whether it be about switching majors, stepping away from school, or choosing between personal obligations and academic opportunities etc—I would begin by simply listening. I’ve been in that position many times before, where I feel like the noise of fear, doubt, and outside expectations made it hard to hear my own voice and reason. So before offering any advice, I’d make sure my friend felt heard and validated. I believe guidance is most meaningful and helpful when it is grounded in understanding and open mindness, not just personal experience or opinion. I remember a moment when a friend confided in me about wanting to leave a STEM major at UC Berkeley because they felt like they didn’t belong. They were the only Black student in many of their courses and constantly felt overlooked and underestimated. As someone who comes from a low-income immigrant background and often feels the weight of being one of the few women and black students in STEM at Berkeley, I understood that feeling. I told them what I remind myself when I feel this way - our presence here is a form of resistance and rebuilding for our communities, not only are we here for ourselves but also for the students who came before us and the ones that will come after. Achieving our goals in the circumstances we are in is a form of community empowerment in its own very important way. I helped them connect with support spaces on campus like the Black Engineering and Science Student Association (BESSA) and encouraged them to attend office hours with professors who actually cared. Most importantly, I let them know they weren’t alone, and that it was okay to take a different path if that’s what their spirit needed—not out of fear, but out of alignment with their values. This is how I try to live my life at Berkeley—by being someone who uplifts others with both passion and compassion because i know how important that was for me. Whether through my involvement in the Black Recruitment and Retention Center (BRRC), planning large-scale events for my community like the Ebony Gala, or serving as a student coach/mentor with the Martin Luther King Jr. Freedom Center, I’ve always tried to be a bridge for others to find belonging, purpose, and the resources they need to thrive. The path to STEM for me has not been easy. I entered UC Berkeley feeling behind academically and socially. Coming from a low-income high school with limited AP science classes and minimal biology programs, I was at a disadvantage compared to peers who had years of experience, tutoring, and mentorship under their belts. On top of that, I carried the emotional toll of displacement and loss due to the ongoing war and genocide in my home region of Tigray, Ethiopia. Some days, the grief and stress were so heavy I could barely focus in class. At one point, I was working two jobs—one of them as a cashier—to support my family while still trying to keep up with demanding STEM coursework. I eventually had to quit one job so I could prioritize my healing and academics, but even that choice came with sacrifices. What helped me stay afloat was building a support system—friends who checked on me, mentors who believed in my potential, and university counselors who helped me create a manageable path forward. I also began to embrace my own story as a source of strength, not shame. My background taught me how to be resourceful, how to lead with humility, and how to build community in even the most isolating spaces I found myself in. To future students navigating similar challenges, I offer this advice: don’t be afraid to ask for help. There is no weakness in needing support; in fact, it takes strength to advocate for yourself. Seek out people who see you beyond your grades—professors, peers, advisors—anyone who will remind you that your existence in STEM is already an act of brilliance. And when possible, be that person for someone else because I believe that we rise by lifting others. Today, I continue my journey in STEM not just for myself, but for my community—for the younger students who look like me and don’t yet see themselves in labs or lecture halls. I want to be part of a generation that transforms what STEM looks like, who it serves, and who gets to thrive within it. Rodney Jame’s story resonates deeply with me—not just because of his passion for education in general, but because of the way he showed up for others. That’s the kind of legacy I hope to leave behind, too. My goal is to work towards building a future where joy, resilience, education, and knowledge are shared freely—just like the people before me fought so hard to do.