Being the first in my family to get a college degree means carrying something forward that nobody handed to me. My parents immigrated to this country and gave everything they had to build a stable life here, but a four-year university was never part of their path. That means every system I've had to navigate, financial aid, academic advising, internship pipelines, campus organizations, I've figured out on my own, usually later than I would have liked, and always without a family member I could call and ask. That experience is part of what being first-generation means to me. Not just a label, but a specific, daily reality of finding your way without a map. What it also means, though, is ownership. Everything I've built here is mine in a way it might not have been if someone had handed it to me. The 4.0 GPA, the leadership roles, the projects, the community I've found at UCF. I made those. That's not something I take lightly. In college I'm pursuing Computer Engineering, specifically because it refuses to let me pick a side. I want to understand how hardware works and how to build software on top of it, and CE gives me both. Beyond the major, I'm building in every direction I can. I built a full-stack recipe application at HackUSF 2026, a 24-hour hackathon, that helps people cook with ingredients they already have. I joined the KnightHacks design team at UCF, where I work in Figma alongside a 17-person team learning to think about technology from the user's perspective. I serve as VP of the Bengali Student Association, where I grew our Instagram reach by 157.6% in a single month. I volunteer at the Al-Amin Center of Florida, where I've helped support events with 700+ attendees and fundraising efforts that contributed to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I recently became a mentor for first-generation students because I remember exactly what it felt like to need one. Long term, I want to work in product engineering on hardware-software integrated technology, specifically wearable devices that expand what people can do in everyday life. The Meta Ray-Ban glasses are the kind of product I'm thinking about: technically demanding, humanly meaningful, and sitting right at the edge of what's possible. I want to be in the room where those products get built, and I want to make sure the communities I come from are actually considered in that process. First-generation students, immigrant families, people without a lot of margin for technology that doesn't work for them. They deserve better tools, and someone who grew up without a roadmap is well positioned to build things for people in the same situation. That's what I'm working toward. And I'm just getting started.

I grew up watching my parents build a life in a country that wasn't designed with them in mind. They're Bengali immigrants, and nothing about navigating American systems came easy for them. What they had instead was a complete conviction that education was the way through, for them, and especially for me. That belief shaped everything. I took it seriously because I watched them take it seriously first. I'm a first-generation American and a first-generation college student studying Computer Engineering at UCF with a 4.0 GPA. Education isn't something I take for granted. It's the thing my family bet on, and I intend to make that bet worth it. What pulled me into computer science specifically was a moment in AP Computer Science Principles when I wrote code that actually did something and realized I had just built a thing that worked. That was it. I've been chasing that feeling ever since, through projects, coursework, and extracurriculars that keep pushing me toward harder problems. At HackUSF 2026, a 24-hour hackathon hosted by the University of South Florida, I built a full-stack Flask backend called Cooked! that takes user-input ingredients and ranks recipes using custom matching algorithms and real-time validation. It was built in one weekend and it worked. That project is the one I'm most proud of because it solved a real problem for real people. My goals are specific. I want to work in product engineering on hardware-software integrated technology, the kind of work that produces things like the Meta Ray-Ban glasses, devices that sit at the edge of what's technically possible and change how people move through everyday life. Long term, I want to be in the room where those products get designed, and I want to make sure the communities I come from are actually considered in that process. First-generation students, immigrant families, people without a lot of margin for things that don't work. They deserve better tools too. I'm building toward that from every direction I can. Through the KnightHacks design team at UCF, I work on wireframes and user flows in Figma, learning to think about technology from the user's side. As VP of the Bengali Student Association, I grew our Instagram reach by 157.6% in a single month by treating community visibility like a real problem worth solving. I've volunteered at the Al-Amin Center of Florida since 2017, supporting events with 700+ attendees and fundraising efforts that contributed to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. This scholarship would directly reduce the financial pressure that makes it harder to stay fully focused on all of it. Dr. Gentles believed that access to education shouldn't be limited by financial circumstances. I believe the same thing, and I'm trying to live that out by doing everything I can with the access I've been given.

The first time I wrote code that actually did something, I just sat there for a second. I was in AP Computer Science Principles, and up until that point school had mostly been about absorbing information and giving it back. This was different. I built something, and it worked. That feeling hasn't left me. I'm a Bengali American first-generation college student pursuing Computer Engineering at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, and what draws me to STEM isn't abstract. It's the specific satisfaction of taking a problem apart, understanding how it works, and building something that solves it. I'm most interested in the boundary where hardware and software meet, systems where physical and digital interact in ways that feel invisible to the user but required serious engineering to pull off. Wearable technology is the space I keep coming back to. Devices that disappear into everyday life while expanding what people can do are some of the most technically demanding and humanly meaningful things being built right now, and I want to be part of that work. The impact I'm working toward is specific. Most of those products are built by and for people who already have access and resources. The communities I come from, immigrant families, first-generation students, low-income households, are rarely in the room when the design decisions get made, and it shows in the products that come out. I want to close that gap, by being in that room and by building things that actually account for the full range of people who might use them. The adversity part of that story starts early. My parents immigrated here and built a life without a roadmap. I grew up as a first-generation American navigating two cultures simultaneously, bringing rice and curry to a school full of sandwiches, and learning to code without anyone in my family who could tell me where to start. Getting to where I am now meant figuring out systems, resources, and opportunities that other students already knew about. There was no one ahead of me to ask. I found things myself, usually later than I would have liked, and kept going. That experience didn't just build resilience. It gave me a clear and specific understanding of what the gap looks like between students with guidance and students without it, and it turned closing that gap into part of my purpose. I built a full-stack application at a hackathon that helps people cook with whatever ingredients they already have. I grew an underrepresented student organization's social media reach by 157.6% in a single month. I became a mentor for first-generation students because I know exactly what it costs to navigate this path alone. STEM gave me the tools. The adversity gave me the direction. The impact I'm after is already in progress.

I have everything I need for this one. Here's the draft: I typed my first real line of code in AP Computer Science Principles and watched it actually do something. That was enough. Not because it was impressive, it wasn't, but because it clicked something into place. I was a Bengali American kid from a low-income immigrant household, nobody in my family had gone to a four-year university, and here was a field where the barrier to entry was a laptop and curiosity. That felt important. I'm now a Computer Engineering student at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, and what keeps pulling me forward is the same thing that pulled me in: technology is one of the few fields where your background is genuinely less important than what you can build. That's not fully true yet, underrepresented students still face real barriers, but it's truer here than almost anywhere else, and I want to be part of making it more true. What specifically interests me about technology is the intersection of hardware and software. Most people pick a side. I want to understand both deeply enough to work across them, building systems where the physical and digital interact seamlessly. The product space I'm most drawn to is wearable technology, devices like the Meta Ray-Ban glasses that disappear into everyday life while quietly expanding what people can do. Most of those products right now are built by and for a narrow slice of the population. I want to change who's in that room. My experience with IT goes beyond coursework. At HackUSF 2026, a 24-hour hackathon hosted by the University of South Florida, I built a full-stack Flask backend for a recipe application called Cooked! that processes user ingredients and ranks recipes using custom matching algorithms, in-memory caching, and real-time input validation. It was built in a single weekend and it works. Through KnightHacks, UCF's software development club, I joined the design team where I build wireframes and refine user flows in Figma alongside a 17-person team, learning to think about technology from the user's perspective rather than just the builder's. Outside of direct technical work, I serve as Vice President of the Bengali Student Association at UCF, where I led a full content strategy overhaul that grew our Instagram reach by 157.6% in a single month. I've volunteered at the Al-Amin Center of Florida since 2017, supporting events with 700+ attendees and fundraising efforts that contributed to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I recently became a mentor for first-generation, low-income students because I know what it costs to navigate this field without guidance, and I'd rather someone else spend that energy building. The ambition, the drive, and the passion are all pointed in the same direction: building technology that reaches people it hasn't reached yet, and making sure the path I've cleared is a little easier for whoever comes next.

Got it. Ambition, Drive, Impact means I need to make sure the essay shows where you're going, that you're actively working toward it, and that your work has real consequences for real people. Here's the draft: Nobody in my family had done this before me. That's not a complaint, it's just the reality I started with. My parents immigrated to this country, built a life here without a blueprint, and raised me in a household where education was treated like the most serious thing in the world because they understood, better than most, what it could change. I grew up watching that, and it made me ambitious in a specific way: not just for myself, but for what I could do with whatever I managed to build. Getting to UCF as a first-generation Computer Engineering student with a 4.0 GPA didn't happen because things were easy. It happened because I refused to let the absence of a roadmap become an excuse. I didn't have family connections in academia. I didn't have anyone who could tell me which opportunities to chase or how the system worked. I found those things myself, often later than I would have liked, and I kept going anyway. That experience didn't just teach me resilience. It gave me a very clear picture of what the gap looks like between students who have guidance and students who don't, and it made closing that gap part of what I'm working toward. My career goal is to work in product engineering on hardware-software integrated technology, specifically the kind of products that change how people interact with the world around them. I want to be in the room where those products get designed, and I want to make sure the people who get left out of that process, first-generation students, immigrant families, communities without resources, are actually considered. That's not idealism. That's the specific problem I'm building toward solving. The drive behind that goal is already showing up in what I do now. I built a full-stack application at HackUSF 2026 that addresses food waste by helping people cook with what they already have. I grew the Bengali Student Association's social media reach by 157.6% in a single month by thinking seriously about how to make an underrepresented community visible. I volunteer at the Al-Amin Center of Florida, where I've helped coordinate events with 700+ attendees and supported fundraising efforts that contributed to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I became a mentor for first-generation, low-income students because I remembered what it felt like to need one. The impact I'm after isn't abstract. It's the student who finds a resource they wouldn't have found otherwise. It's the product that works for someone who was never in the original design brief. It's the community that feels seen because someone decided to show up. Dinakara Rao understood that success means reaching back to help others climb. That's exactly the version of success I'm building toward.

I grew up between two worlds. My parents are Bengali immigrants, and home looked and felt and tasted completely different from school. I ate rice and curry with my hands while everyone around me had sandwiches. I navigated cultural expectations that didn't always translate, and I learned early that most people's default understanding of the world is shaped entirely by what they've personally experienced. That's not a criticism. It's just true, and it's something I've thought about a lot in terms of what it actually takes to build genuine empathy across difference. The skill I keep coming back to is communication, not just technical communication, but the kind that requires you to meet someone where they are. As Vice President of the Bengali Student Association at UCF, I grew our social media reach by 157.6% in a single month by thinking carefully about how to make our community visible and legible to people outside of it. That work is really about translation: taking something meaningful to one group and finding a way to share it with everyone else without flattening it. I think that's what building an empathetic community actually looks like in practice. Not just tolerance, but genuine curiosity about how other people's lives work. My background in design pushes me in the same direction. Through the KnightHacks design team at UCF, I work on interfaces that are supposed to serve real users, which means constantly asking who I'm building for and whether my assumptions about them are right. Design done well is an act of empathy. You have to care about the person on the other end enough to get it right for them specifically, not just for the version of them you imagined. Long term, I want to build technology that reaches people who are typically left out of who products get designed for. First-generation students, immigrant families, working communities that don't always have access to tools that could genuinely help them. My unique position is that I'm from those communities. I'm not theorizing about what they need from the outside. I grew up inside the gap I want to close, and that gives me a kind of understanding that's hard to teach and easy to take for granted. A more empathetic global community gets built one interaction at a time, through technology that actually serves everyone, through spaces that make people feel seen, and through individuals who grew up translating between worlds and decided to use that as a skill rather than set it aside.

The first time I brought rice and curry for lunch in middle school, I remember looking around at everyone else's sandwiches and quietly wishing I had brought something different. That feeling, of being from one world while living in another, is something I carried through most of my childhood. My parents came to this country and built a life here without a roadmap, and I grew up watching them figure things out in real time while also trying to figure out my own place between two cultures. That experience gave me my sense of purpose more than anything else. When you grow up as a first-generation American, you develop a particular awareness of what it costs to navigate unfamiliar systems without guidance. Nothing is handed to you. You watch your parents work harder than anyone around them and still have less, and you decide early on that education is the way through. I'm now a Computer Engineering student at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, the first in my family to attend a four-year university. The cultural gap I felt at that lunch table is the same gap I want to close for others. I became a mentor for first-generation students. I show up for my community the same way my community showed up for me growing up. My purpose isn't separate from where I came from. It grew directly out of it.

I picked up chess during COVID, the same way a lot of people did. Streamers were playing it on Twitch, chess.com was suddenly everywhere, and it seemed like everyone was either learning or relearning the game at the same time. I was one of them. I didn't have a coach or a curriculum. I just opened the app, clicked play, and started losing. I wasn't serious about it. I didn't study openings or memorize endgame theory. I just played, lost a lot, figured out why I lost, and played again. But even at that casual level, chess teaches you something that's hard to learn anywhere else: every decision has a consequence, and you don't always feel it immediately. That delayed consequence idea has followed me further than I expected. I'm a Computer Engineering student at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, and a lot of what makes engineering genuinely hard is exactly that. A design decision you make early in a project can look completely fine for weeks before it quietly breaks everything downstream. A line of code that works in isolation fails the moment the system scales. Chess trains you to think several moves ahead not because the next move is obviously wrong, but because of what it opens up or closes off later. I've started applying that same patience to how I plan projects, how I structure code, and how I lead teams. The instinct to ask "what does this make possible, and what does it make harder" is one I trace back to sitting in front of a chess board during a pandemic with nowhere else to be. The other thing chess taught me is how to lose productively. I dropped a lot of games on chess.com, and the ones I actually learned from weren't the close ones. They were the games where I made a confident move that turned out to be a mistake I could have seen coming if I'd slowed down. Engineering is full of those moments too. You build something that seems right, and then it isn't, and you have to figure out where the thinking went wrong rather than just patching the output. Chess makes you comfortable with that process. The goal isn't to never be wrong. It's to understand why you were wrong fast enough that it doesn't happen the same way twice. My career goal is to work in product engineering on hardware-software integrated technology, specifically the kind of products that blur the line between the physical and digital worlds. That work requires holding a lot of moving pieces in your head simultaneously and understanding how a change in one layer ripples through everything else. It requires patience, forward thinking, and the ability to stay calm when something breaks in a way you didn't anticipate. Chess, even played casually on a laptop during a global pandemic, turns out to be decent practice for all of it. I'm still not serious about chess. But I think about it more than I expected to.

The first time I wrote code that actually did something, I just stared at it for a second. Not because it was complicated, it wasn't, but because I had made something that worked. I was in AP Computer Science Principles, and up until that point school had mostly been about absorbing information and giving it back. This was different. I typed something, and something happened. That feeling stuck. That was the beginning. I'm now a Computer Engineering student at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, and the core of what drew me in hasn't changed: I like building things and seeing them work. What has changed is the scale of what I want to build. My dream is to work on something like the Meta Ray-Ban glasses, products that sit at the edge of what hardware and software can do together and actually change how people move through the world. I want to be a product engineer or product lead on a project like that, someone who understands the technology deeply enough to push it forward and understands people well enough to know what it should actually do for them. That combination is what I'm building toward at UCF. I build software, I study hardware, and through my work on the KnightHacks design team I've learned to think about the person on the other end of whatever I'm making. Those three things together are what product work actually requires, and I'm developing all of them now so I'm ready when it counts. As for why I'm the right candidate for this scholarship: Chris Jackson struggled to afford his degree, figured it out, and built something meaningful with it. I'm a first-generation, low-income student doing the same thing. I don't have a financial safety net, but I do have a 4.0, a genuine passion for this field, and a clear picture of where I'm going. I'll do the same thing with this opportunity that I do with everything else: make the most of it and keep building.

Maya noticed it at 11:47 PM. Thirteen percent. She set her laptop down on the coffee table with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb and did a slow scan of the room. The charger wasn't on the left side of the couch. It wasn't on the right. It wasn't behind the throw pillow she'd bought from a farmer's market two years ago and never actually used for its intended purpose. She had a paper due at midnight. Not a long paper. Four pages, double spaced, on a topic she genuinely understood. She had written three and a half of them. The remaining half page was, by any reasonable measure, twenty minutes of work. But her laptop was at thirteen percent, which her past experience told her was really nine percent, which her past experience also told her was really six percent the moment any application tried to do anything. The charger was somewhere in this apartment. She knew this the way she knew other immovable facts: she lived here, she owned one charger, and she had not left the building in two days. She checked under the couch. Dust. A hair tie she'd given up on in February. No charger. She checked her bedroom, which involved turning on the overhead light, which was somehow more distressing than the battery situation. She checked the kitchen counter, which made no sense but so did most things at 11:49 PM. She checked her backpack, unzipping every compartment including the small one that had never contained anything useful in the three years she'd owned it. Eleven percent. She sat back down at her laptop and typed one sentence. Then she got up and checked the bathroom, because apparently that was who she was now. The charger was plugged into the bathroom outlet. She had no memory of putting it there. She had no theory that explained it. She stood in the bathroom doorway for a moment just looking at it, the way you look at something that has deeply personally offended you. She unplugged it, walked back to the couch, plugged in her laptop, and sat down. The charging symbol appeared. Eleven percent, but stable. Safe. She finished the paper in eighteen minutes. It was fine. She submitted it at 11:58 and closed the laptop and sat in the dark living room thinking about nothing in particular. The charger remained plugged in beside her on the couch for the rest of the night, within arm's reach, where she could keep an eye on it. She didn't trust it anymore.

To "B Moore" means something specific to me. It's not about being more productive or more impressive on paper. It's about making sure the work you do actually reaches the people who need it. I'm a first-generation college student studying Computer Engineering at UCF. Nobody in my family had navigated this before me, which means I spent a lot of my early college experience figuring out systems, resources, and opportunities that other students already knew about. That experience taught me two things: that information is a form of access, and that withholding it, even passively, has real consequences for real people. That's shaped everything I'm building toward. My long-term goal is to work at the intersection of hardware and software to create tools that are technically excellent and genuinely accessible. The product space I'm most drawn to is wearable creative technology, devices that let people capture, create, and express themselves without friction. Most of those tools right now are designed with a narrow user in mind. The communities I grew up around, working families, first-generation students, people without a lot of margin for things that don't work, are rarely in the room when those products get designed. I want to be in that room, and I want to change who else is there. The impact I'm working toward isn't just in what I build. It's in how I show up for people while I'm building it. I've volunteered at the Al-Amin Center of Florida since 2017, supporting community events with 700+ attendees and contributing to fundraising efforts that brought in over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I recently became a mentor through the Eda and Cliff Viner Scholarship program, specifically to help first-generation, low-income students find their footing faster than I did. Those commitments aren't separate from my engineering goals. They're the reason the engineering goals matter. Brian Moore built things and cared about people. That combination is exactly what I'm trying to carry forward. Being more, to me, means leaving every space I'm part of with a little more access, a little more possibility, and a little more proof that the people who were told they didn't belong here actually do.

Sabrina Carpenter has this quality that's hard to manufacture: she genuinely looks like she's having the time of her life. Not in a performative way, but in a way that makes you believe she actually likes being herself. That sounds simple, but it's rarer than it should be, and it's something I've thought about more than once while navigating a college experience that didn't come with much of a safety net. I'm a first-generation college student. Nobody in my family had done this before me, which means a lot of the time I was figuring out who I was supposed to be in these spaces while simultaneously figuring out how the spaces worked. There's a quiet pressure that comes with that, to present yourself a certain way, to seem like you belong before you feel like you do, to shrink the parts of yourself that don't fit the mold of what a serious student or a serious engineer is supposed to look like. For a while I felt that pressure pretty constantly. Watching Sabrina move through her career has been a small but genuine reminder that the version of yourself that's just fully, unashamedly you is usually the most compelling one. She's built a career on being exactly who she is, carefree, sharp, funny, and completely unbothered by the idea that she should be something more palatable or more predictable. She doesn't compartmentalize her personality to fit the room. She just walks in. What I admire most is the consistency of it. From her earlier work to Short n' Sweet, the throughline isn't a genre or a sound, it's a personality. She's self-aware without being self-serious, and she doesn't seem particularly interested in making herself smaller to fit someone else's expectations. That kind of confidence in your own voice is something I've been actively working toward, in how I lead teams, in how I approach creative work, in how I show up for the people around me. I'm a Computer Engineering student who also does digital art and cares deeply about design. I'm someone who loves a technical problem and also loves getting a group of friends together and going to the beach. Those things don't contradict each other, but it took me a while to stop feeling like they needed to be explained. Sabrina never seems to feel that way, and there's something genuinely instructive about that. I want to be someone who's good at what they do and clearly enjoying the process of getting there. Sabrina makes that feel like a reasonable thing to want, not a distraction from ambition but a part of it. That's not a small impact.

There's a moment in "making the bed" where Olivia Rodrigo sits with a simple, uncomfortable truth: she got herself here. Not by accident, not by luck, but by the choices she made and the path she built. The first time I really heard that, it stopped me. Because that's exactly what being a first-generation college student feels like. Nobody handed me a guide for this. My parents didn't go to a four-year university, which means every system I've had to navigate, financial aid, advisors, internship pipelines, campus organizations, I learned by walking into it without knowing what I was walking into. There were wrong turns. There were things I figured out a semester too late. But there was also something clarifying about it: everything I've built, I built myself. The 4.0 GPA, the leadership roles, the projects, the community I've found at UCF. I made that bed. What the song captures that resonates most isn't regret. It's accountability. And accountability, to me, isn't a heavy thing. It's actually freeing. When you stop waiting for someone to show you the way and start trusting that you can find it, something shifts. I started taking on more, not because I had more support, but because I stopped expecting support to come first before I moved. That mindset has shaped how I show up for other people too. I volunteer at the Al-Amin Center of Florida, where I've helped coordinate events with hundreds of attendees and supported fundraising efforts contributing to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I recently became a mentor through the Eda and Cliff Viner Scholarship program, specifically to help first-generation, low-income students earlier in their journey. I do that because I remember what it felt like to need someone a few steps ahead to say here's what I learned, here's where to go. I didn't have that. I want to be that for someone else. Olivia's music has always had an honesty to it that I think is rare. She doesn't dress things up. "making the bed" in particular isn't a triumphant song, but it's a true one. And I think that's what growing up actually looks like: not a clean arc, but an honest reckoning with where you are and a decision to keep going anyway. I've been making the bed. And as Olivia puts it, I'll lie in it too. That part I'm not afraid of anymore.

I've been sketching things my whole life. Not code, just drawings, ideas on paper, shapes that didn't have a purpose yet. When I found digital art, that habit found a real outlet. And when I started studying Computer Engineering at UCF, I realized those two things weren't as separate as they looked. My computer science goals center on the space where hardware and software meet. I want to build things at that boundary, systems where the physical and digital interact in ways that feel seamless rather than forced. Right now I'm building toward that through my coursework, through projects like a full-stack recipe application I built at HackUSF 2026, a 24-hour hackathon hosted by the University of South Florida, and through my work on the KnightHacks design team, where I create wireframes and refine user flows in Figma alongside a 17-person team. The design work specifically taught me something my engineering courses couldn't: that how something feels to use matters just as much as whether it works. My non-CS goals are rooted in two things. The first is art and design. I want to keep developing as a visual thinker, not just as a professional skill but as a genuine creative practice. The second is community. I've volunteered since 2017 at the Al-Amin Center of Florida, helping organize events with hundreds of attendees and supporting fundraising efforts that contributed to over $200,000 in donations in a single month. I recently became a mentor through the Eda and Cliff Viner Scholarship program to help first-generation, low-income students find their footing faster than I did. That work matters to me independent of anything on my resume. The combination is where things get interesting. The product space I'm most drawn to is wearable creative technology, tools like the Meta Ray-Ban glasses that let people capture and create without pulling them out of the moment. Most of those tools right now are built for people who already know how to use them. The people I grew up around, first-generation students, working families, communities that don't always get considered in the design process, are often left out of who these products are built for. I want to change that. A CS background that includes hardware, software, and design thinking gives me the tools to build something technically solid. A background in community work and visual art gives me the judgment to know who it should actually serve. That's the combination I'm building toward, and it's the one I think makes the work worth doing.

The first time I saw what the Meta Ray-Ban glasses could do, I couldn't stop thinking about what came next. Not as a consumer, but as someone who builds things. The idea that a creative tool could disappear into something you already wear, that it could fit into your life instead of demanding your attention, felt like the right direction for where technology should be going. That's the space I want to build in. Creative tools that get out of the way. I'm a Computer Engineering student at UCF with a 4.0 GPA, and most of what I do outside the classroom points toward the same thing: the intersection of building and communicating. I'm on the design team at KnightHacks, UCF's software development club, where I work on wireframes and user flows in Figma. I built a full-stack recipe application at a hackathon that took a messy real-world problem and made it frictionless to solve. I grew a student organization's social media presence by 157.6% in a single month by thinking carefully about what people actually respond to. Each of those things is a different angle on the same question: how do you build something that people genuinely want to use? The business I want to create sits at the crossroads of hardware, software, and design. Wearable creative tools, devices and software that let people capture, create, and share in ways that feel natural rather than clunky. The gap I keep noticing is that most creative technology is built for professionals who already know how to use it. The people who could benefit most from these tools, first-generation students documenting their journeys, community organizers trying to tell their stories, everyday people who have something worth capturing, often find the barrier too high. I want to close that gap. I've volunteered at the Al-Amin Center of Florida since 2017, supporting community events with hundreds of attendees and contributing to fundraising efforts. That work shaped how I think about who technology is actually for. Legacy, to me, isn't just building something impressive. It's building something that reaches the people who needed it and didn't have it yet. The way I shine my light is by staying close to both sides of that equation: the technical craft of building things well, and the human reality of who picks it up and what they do with it. I don't want to hand a finished product off and hope for the best. I want to be in the room where it gets built, tested, redesigned, and eventually put into the hands of someone who uses it to make something they couldn't have made before. That's the legacy I'm working toward.

I always want to be better tomorrow than I am today. That's not a motivational poster thing for me, it's just how I'm wired. I don't expect to get something right the first time. I expect to learn something from it and come back sharper. That shows up in how I write code, how I led a yearbook staff, how I think about my own habits. The first version of anything is just a starting point. But the other thing that defines me is harder to put on a resume. I love being around people. Not networking, not professional connection, just people. Getting a group of friends together, heading to the beach, grabbing lunch after and talking about nothing important. That kind of afternoon matters to me as much as anything I've built or accomplished. I grew up in a community where showing up for each other was just what you did, and that stuck with me. Those two things together, the drive to keep improving and the genuine care for the people around me, are what drive most of my decisions. I build things because I think they can help someone. I take on leadership roles because I like making sure the people around me have what they need. I became a mentor because I remembered what it felt like to need one. That's what makes me me, beyond the GPA and the projects.

Nobody handed me a roadmap. Figuring out how to be a successful student, how to apply to college, how to find opportunities, how to even know what opportunities existed — all of that was something I had to piece together on my own. I'm a first-generation college student, which sounds like a credential on paper but in practice just means you're constantly navigating systems nobody in your family has navigated before. There's no one to ask. You figure it out, or you fall behind. It would have been easy to put my head down and focus only on myself. In a lot of ways, that would have been the rational choice. I was already stretched thin managing a full course load, extracurriculars, and the general weight of being the first person in my family to do any of this. But whenever I'd see someone who reminded me of where I started — eager, capable, but clearly unsure where to even begin — I couldn't just walk past them. I'd introduce myself, talk with them, find out what they were trying to do, and point them toward whatever resources I'd spent time finding the hard way. Not because it was easy to give that time, but because I knew exactly what it felt like to need it and not have it. That impulse has grown into something more intentional. I recently signed up to become a mentor through the Eda and Cliff Viner Scholarship program, a need-based award I received as a first-generation, low-income student. The program connects recipients with underclassmen who are earlier in the same journey. I'm looking forward to it in a way that feels different from most commitments, because it's not about adding something to a resume. It's about giving back the thing I actually needed and didn't have: someone a few steps ahead who could say here's what I learned, here's where to go, here's how to get there faster than I did. I think that's what community really means. Not just showing up for people when it's convenient, but staying present for them when you're also still figuring things out yourself. I'm still early in my own path. I have a lot left to learn. But the version of success I'm working toward isn't one I want to keep to myself, and the people who are coming up behind me shouldn't have to start from scratch the way I did.

I was standing in my kitchen staring at half a bag of rice, some wilting spinach, and a can of chickpeas, genuinely unsure what to do with any of it. I ended up throwing the spinach out. That stuck with me longer than it should have, probably because I'd spent years volunteering at the Al-Amin Center of Florida watching my community work hard to make sure people had enough food to begin with. Wasting it felt wrong. And it felt like a solvable problem. That's where Cooked! came from. At HackUSF 2026, a 24-hour hackathon hosted by the University of South Florida, my team had one weekend to build something from scratch. I took on the backend, building a full-stack Flask application that takes whatever ingredients a user inputs and ranks recipes based on how well those ingredients match, using custom matching algorithms and data normalization to make the results actually useful rather than just technically correct. I implemented in-memory caching to cut down redundant API calls, a real-time validation system for ingredient inputs, and intelligent unit suggestions so the app could handle the inconsistent way people actually describe food. Watching someone type in a handful of random ingredients and get back something they could realistically cook felt like the point landing exactly where it was supposed to. The technical side was satisfying, but the reason I cared about getting it right goes back to that volunteer work. I've helped coordinate events with 700+ attendees and supported fundraising efforts that brought in over $200,000 in donations in a single month. That experience teaches you something about the gap between what people have and what they need, and it makes you less interested in building things that are impressive in theory but useless in practice. That's the standard I hold my work to. Through KnightHacks, UCF's software development club, I joined the design team where I build wireframes and refine user flows in Figma alongside a 17-person team. It's taught me to ask whether something is actually working for the person using it. My engineering coursework pushes me to ask whether it's built right underneath. The combination is where the interesting problems live. The version of my career I'm working toward involves building tools that are technically solid and genuinely useful to people who don't have a lot of margin for things that don't work. That starts with paying attention to small, real problems most people walk past, and being willing to sit with them long enough to build something worth using.

In a fast-paced universe ravishing with novelty and the ceaseless buzz of forward motion, I find myself perched at the junction of opportunity, driven by an unwavering ardor for technology. As I teeter on the precipice of transitioning from secondary to tertiary education, my resolve to channel my enthusiasm for all things digital into a purposeful and influential career remains steadfast. My personal odyssey echoes the swift evolution of technology itself; transformative and profound, it is this very journey that sets my spirit alight with an insatiable fervor for the realm of software and computer science. From my tender years, I was captivated by the enchanting dominion of technology. The hum of cooling fans coupled with the soft glow from screens held an irresistible allure that nothing else could mimic. It wasn't long before my curiosity led me into dabbling in coding, propelling me to delve into the intricate choreography between thoughts that give birth to vibrant software experiences. This exploration rapidly transformed into an all-encompassing passion, almost akin to a love affair with algorithms and syntax that continues to appease my inquisitiveness even today. High school became a haven in which I cultivated this budding romance. The instant I penned my inaugural functional statement, I felt an empowerment difficult to encapsulate with words. As if unveiling a covert entrance, this newfound ability allowed me to shape my virtual reveries into palpable actuality. Be it a rudimentary calculator or a more intricate web-based application, every undertaking stood testament to my evolution and served as an affirmation of my destined trajectory. My zeal found its most authentic form when I began discerning technology not just as an instrument but as a medium for positive transformation. The limitless potential of the digital domain provided me with an expansive canvas upon which I could paint solutions to real-world predicaments. While in high school, I initiated coding symposiums at neighborhood community centers, exposing young intellects to the enchantment of cutting-edge innovation. Observing that flicker of curiosity spark up their eyes mirrored the very same flame that had kindled my path. Imparting knowledge and inspiring others to unlock their latent capabilities became inseparable parts of my ardent pursuit. As I find myself on the cusp of my college years, my fervor for technology remains steadfast. I am more than ready to welcome challenges and opportunities that lay ahead, absorb knowledge from experts and colleagues, as well as contribute meaningfully to the ever-changing landscape of software development. The idea of creating applications that simplify lives, coding algorithms that solve perplexing enigmas, and collaborating with diverse minds to spur innovation, pushes me ahead with an intense enthusiasm. My journey from a fascinated kid to an ardent young programmer has been a testament to the transformative capacity of technology. The road I have trodden, paved with lines of code and powered by the shine of screens, has solidified in me an unbreakable link with the digital sphere. My passion goes beyond simply learning programming techniques; rather it serves as a driving force urging me to explore, innovate, and effect positive change. With every tap on a keyboard key, I etch my aspirations into the digital tapestry of what is yet to come guided by an unwavering ardor that steers me through this vast expanse of technology's potentialities.

Music has been a constant companion in my life, from the rhythmic beats that make my heart dance to the poignant lyrics that resonate deep within my soul. It has transcended boundaries, united diverse voices, and illuminated the beauty of the human experience. Through its transformative power, music has shaped my worldview, broadening my perspective, fostering empathy, and inspiring me to embrace the richness of diversity. It has become a universal language that connects us all and holds the key to unlocking profound understanding. Music has the remarkable ability to transport me to different places and eras. Whether I am lost in the soulful melodies of blues or the upbeat rhythms of reggae, each genre offers a unique lens through which I view the world. I have explored various cultures through their music, expanding my understanding of different traditions and fostering a deep appreciation for their richness. From the haunting melodies of Indian classical music to the spirited rhythms of Latin American salsa, I have witnessed the power of music in bridging cultural divides and building connections. It has taught me that despite our differences, we are united by the universal language of music, reminding me of the inherent beauty of diversity. Beyond its ability to transcend cultural boundaries, music has also played a crucial role in my personal growth and self-expression. Music has provided solace and understanding during moments of joy, sorrow, or contemplation. It has been a constant companion during times of uncertainty and a source of inspiration during moments of triumph. Whether playing an instrument or listening to my favorite songs, music serves as a conduit for self-reflection and emotional release. It has taught me to embrace vulnerability, explore the depths of my emotions, and find solace in the power of artistic expression. Music has allowed me to connect with my identity, reminding me that my voice matters and that my experiences are part of a larger narrative. Furthermore, music has instilled in me a sense of empathy and a desire to create positive change. Through its powerful lyrics and compelling melodies, the music carries messages that resonate with societal issues, sparking conversations and inspiring action. Songs about social justice, love, and resilience have motivated me to examine the world critically and take a stand for the causes that I believe in. Music has served as a catalyst for my involvement in various community initiatives, from organizing benefit concerts to raising awareness about pressing global issues. It has taught me that art can be a force for change, empowering individuals to address injustices and foster a more inclusive and compassionate world. In conclusion, music has profoundly shaped my worldview by broadening my perspective, facilitating self-expression, and nurturing empathy. Through its ability to transcend cultural boundaries, music has opened my eyes to the vast tapestry of human experiences. It has taught me to embrace diversity, seek understanding, and appreciate the beauty of different cultures. As I continue my journey through life, I am committed to harnessing the power of music to inspire positive change, foster unity, and create a world where our shared experiences are celebrated and cherished.

As a rising high school senior, I have embraced leadership as a cornerstone of my everyday life. Through my involvement as Editor-in-Chief of our school's yearbook, President of the March for Our Lives chapter, President of the International Club, and confirmed to be the President of the National Honor Society for the class of 2024, I have learned to navigate diverse responsibilities while inspiring and empowering others. These experiences have shaped my understanding of leadership as a catalyst for positive change and have allowed me to make a tangible impact within my school community and beyond. As the Editor-in-Chief of our school's yearbook, I have led a dedicated team of talented individuals. By fostering an environment of collaboration and innovation, I have encouraged each member to showcase their unique strengths while working towards a shared vision. From managing deadlines to overseeing the creative process, my leadership has involved effective communication, delegation, and the ability to adapt to unforeseen challenges. Moreover, I have strived to create a supportive and inclusive atmosphere that values diverse perspectives, ensuring each individual feels heard and valued. Founding and leading our school's March for Our Lives chapter has been a transformative experience. In response to the pressing issue of gun violence, I have rallied my peers to take action and raise awareness. I have organized community events, facilitated discussions, and collaborated with local organizations, all aiming to empower young voices and effect change. Through this leadership role, I have learned the importance of empathy, active listening, and the ability to inspire others to join a common cause. I have witnessed firsthand the power of collective action and its impact on a community. As President of the International Club and the National Honor Society, I have had the opportunity to unite diverse groups of students and foster a sense of belonging. In the International Club, I have organized cultural showcases, promoting understanding and appreciation for different heritages. By encouraging dialogue and celebrating diversity, I have cultivated an environment that values inclusivity and encourages global citizenship. Simultaneously, as President of the National Honor Society, I have led initiatives to give back to our community through volunteering, emphasizing the importance of service and compassionate leadership. These experiences have reinforced my belief in the power of leadership to drive positive change and inspire others to be active contributors to society. In my everyday life, leadership is not confined to a title or a position; it is a mindset and a set of actions that I strive to embody. From overseeing a prestigious yearbook to advocating for social justice, fostering inclusivity, and inspiring community service, I have sought to exemplify leadership by empowering others, fostering collaboration, and embracing diverse perspectives. Through these experiences, I have developed a deep passion for making a positive impact in my community, and I am excited to continue my journey as a leader, effecting change and inspiring others to do the same.

As a first-generation Bangladeshi American, I have been privileged to witness the incredible journey of my parents, who left their homeland seeking a better life for our family. Their sacrifices and resilience have inspired me to embrace challenges head-on and strive for success. While facing numerous obstacles throughout my life, I have learned to transform adversity into opportunity, fueling my determination to excel academically and positively impact my community. Growing up, language and cultural barriers posed significant challenges in my educational journey. English is not my parents' first language, and I often found myself acting as their translator and advocate. These experiences taught me the importance of effective communication and resourcefulness. I sought assistance from teachers, mentors, and community organizations, gradually improving my language skills and gaining confidence in my ability to navigate unfamiliar environments. Despite facing moments of frustration and self-doubt, I refused to let adversity define me. Instead, I used it as motivation to excel academically, seizing every opportunity to expand my knowledge and skills. Financial hardships were another major obstacle I confronted. As an immigrant family, we faced the constant struggle to make ends meet. Witnessing my parents' relentless determination to provide for our basic needs instilled in me a strong work ethic and the value of resilience. The number one rule in the house was for me to focus on my studies and not on whatever financial hardships were ahead of me. So I did just this, always excelling in my schoolwork and allowing my parents not to have to worry about how I was doing in school. While it was mentally demanding with all of the rigorous courses I was taking, it taught me the importance of time management, perseverance, and the ability to adapt to different environments. These experiences instilled in me a sense of responsibility and nurtured my ambition to excel academically and create a better future for myself and my family. Beyond the personal challenges, I also faced discrimination and stereotyping due to my cultural background. Rather than succumbing to these negative experiences, I embraced them as opportunities for growth and understanding. I actively participated in cultural events, engaged in intercultural dialogues, and sought to educate others about my heritage. Through these efforts, I aimed to challenge stereotypes and foster inclusivity in my community. By sharing my personal experiences, I hoped to inspire empathy and break down barriers. Over time, I witnessed the transformative power of education and cultural exchange as attitudes shifted and acceptance grew. In conclusion, as a first-generation Bangladeshi American, I have faced and overcome numerous adversities throughout my life. The challenges of language barriers, financial hardships, and cultural discrimination have shaped me into a resilient, determined, and compassionate individual. I have learned to seize every obstacle as an opportunity for growth, refusing to let adversity hinder my dreams. With the support of scholarships, I am confident that I will continue to pursue my educational goals, positively impact my community, and contribute to a more inclusive and equitable society.

In a world defined by constant technological advancements, I have always been captivated by the wonders of science and the power of innovation. As a high school student with a burning passion for technology and an insatiable curiosity for the mysteries of the universe, I aspire to pursue a dual major in computer science and physics. This scholarship opportunity presents a gateway to transforming my dreams into reality, enabling me to impact the world through my chosen career path positively. I have been surrounded by technology from a young age, always eager to explore its inner workings and push the boundaries of what is possible. This innate fascination has fueled my desire to dive deeper into computer science and physics. I envision a future where I can combine these two disciplines, leveraging the power of computation and scientific inquiry to address critical challenges and shape our world. Through my career, I aim to contribute to advancing technology and scientific knowledge, focusing on sustainable development and environmental conservation. I believe that by harnessing the potential of computer science and physics, we can develop innovative solutions to address pressing global issues, such as climate change, energy efficiency, and resource management. I am particularly passionate about exploring the intersection of artificial intelligence, data analytics, and renewable energy to create a more sustainable and equitable future. However, I anticipate that my college education journey will be without obstacles. As a rigorous and demanding academic path lies ahead, I recognize that I may encounter challenges in balancing my coursework, extracurricular commitments, and personal life. Pursuing dual computer science and physics majors requires dedication, time management, and resilience. Yet, I am prepared to face these obstacles head-on. To overcome these challenges, I will actively seek support from faculty, advisors, and peers who can provide guidance and mentorship. I will use the resources available, such as academic assistance programs, study groups, and time management strategies, to optimize my learning experience. Additionally, I will maintain open communication with my professors and seek clarification whenever needed, ensuring that I stay on track and make the most of my college education. Moreover, I understand the importance of self-care and maintaining a healthy work-life balance. Engaging in extracurricular activities and pursuing my passions beyond the classroom will be crucial in maintaining my overall well-being. By actively participating in clubs, research opportunities, and community service initiatives related to my interests, I will find fulfillment and nurture my personal growth. I have an ardent love for scientific exploration and understanding. I find immense joy in conducting experiments, unraveling the intricacies of the natural world, and finding elegant solutions to complex problems. Whether it's coding algorithms to optimize efficiency or delving into the mysteries of quantum mechanics, I am driven by a genuine curiosity and an unwavering desire to learn. These passions extend beyond the academic realm, as I also find solace and inspiration in nature, literature, and artistic pursuits, which further enrich my worldview and creativity. My journey as a high school student aspiring to pursue dual majors in computer science and physics is fueled by a burning passion for technology, a thirst for scientific knowledge, and a drive to impact the world positively. While I anticipate obstacles along the way, I am committed to overcoming them through resilience, seeking support, and maintaining a balanced approach to my education. With this scholarship, I can fully dedicate myself to my academic pursuits, honing my skills and making significant contributions to computer science and physics. Ultimately, I aim to leave a lasting imprint on the world and foster a better future for future generations.

As a young Muslim with a deep-rooted passion for technology, my Muslim identity has profoundly influenced my academic and career goals. Growing up in a family that values faith, education, and community, I recognize Islam's significant impact on shaping my aspirations. Islam emphasizes the pursuit of knowledge as a fundamental duty. The Quran highlights the importance of seeking knowledge, urging believers to explore the world around them and reflect upon its wonders. This Islamic value instilled in me a strong desire to acquire knowledge, particularly in computer science. Technology, for me, represents a gateway to transforming the world for the better. With its potential to solve complex problems, improve lives, and bridge gaps between people, I firmly believe that pursuing a career in computer science aligns perfectly with the teachings of Islam. My faith encourages me to contribute to society, and computer science gives me the tools to make a meaningful impact. Moreover, my Muslim identity has taught me the values of perseverance, humility, and compassion. These principles have guided my interactions with others and shaped my approach to teamwork and collaboration. Diversity, inclusion, and empathy are crucial in creating innovative solutions and fostering a harmonious work environment. By incorporating these values into my academic and career pursuits, I aspire to influence the technology industry and champion inclusivity and understanding positively. Receiving this scholarship would be a massive stepping stone towards achieving my goals. As a first-generation college student, I am acutely aware of the financial challenges ahead. This scholarship would alleviate the burden of tuition expenses, allowing me to focus on my studies and extracurricular activities entirely. It would allow me to immerse myself in the exceptional academic environment of Georgia Institute of Technology, renowned for its excellence in computer science. Furthermore, receiving this scholarship would provide affirmation and encouragement for my aspirations. It would signify my dedication to my faith and academic pursuits is recognized and supported. This recognition would fuel my motivation to excel academically, actively engage in research, and participate in initiatives that promote diversity and inclusivity within the technology field. In conclusion, my Muslim identity has served as a guiding force in shaping my academic and career goals. It has instilled in me a thirst for knowledge, a commitment to making a positive impact, and a set of values that promote collaboration and empathy. Receiving this scholarship would ease my financial burden and validate and strengthen my determination to succeed in computer science. With the support of this scholarship, I am confident that I can contribute to society, drive innovation, and create a more inclusive and harmonious future through technology.

I have selected Computer Science as my major of interest because I grew up around technology, always being the tech-savvy one of the family. Technology fascinated me as a child to the point where I would take old computers around the house and deconstruct them to understand their inner workings. This is where I found my true passion. I hope to attend the Georgia Institute of Technology because it is highly regarded as one of the best universities in its subject. I want to attain the best education possible to create a change in technology in the world. I believe this is one of my strengths, as I am highly determined to achieve greatness and will continue to work harder and harder to achieve my goals and become the best. I sometimes struggle to balance my personal life and values with my want to attain higher education. I trust that he will create a path for me that will help me balance both, and I know that greatness comes with patience. I am a first-generation American, with my parents having moved to America from Bangladesh to attain a more extraordinary life for themselves and their children and the future generations that will come in the future. They've worked very hard in their lives, and I immensely love and appreciate their hard work to succeed and give their children the best life they can provide. This is why I try so hard regarding my education, as I want to show them that all of their hard work and patience has paid off in the end. They lived through a life full of struggles for me to live a life of great comfort, and I want to give them comfort when I am on my own, making my living. Though throughout all the struggles, religion was the most significant thing they taught me. My parents always brought me to the mosque and encouraged me to put religion first, to pray five times a day, to read the Quran, and to put my trust in God as he will lead me toward the right path. That is why I put religion first, trying to be an active volunteer and member in my mosque and volunteering during Friday prayers and Ramadan. As a Muslim, I believe this is my most outstanding achievement, as being able to help the mosque run functionally puts a smile on my face and makes me feel good. Serving the iftar during Ramadan and seeing people thank me for my service makes me think that what I do is helping others and is for a great cause, which is why I continue to do it after 7+ years. I hope to continue volunteering and encourage others to volunteer, as the feeling it gives you is excellent.