Nearly five years ago, my life changed in a way I have yet to fully recover from. During quarantine, my grandmother, Nana, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. We didn’t find out until it was too late. The cancer had already spread, and treatments were far beyond what she could afford. We couldn’t keep her in the hospital since my family couldn’t afford the cost. Bringing her home felt like surrendering to reality, and I carried that guilt for years. When she passed away, I didn’t just lose her; I lost the person who gave me my deepest sense of safety and hope.
At the time, everyone tried to prepare me and my sister for what was coming. I smiled and convinced myself and everyone else that Nana would pull through. I clung to optimism because accepting the alternative felt impossible. After her death, I stayed quiet, trying to remain strong for my family, but inside, I was overwhelmed. That silence turned into isolation, which soon became unhealthy coping mechanisms: overeating, pulling out my hair, self-harm, and searching for validation in people who never valued me.
Only two months later, my mom was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer, still in the midst of quarantine. The grief was already suffocating, and now I had to carry another heavy secret. I didn’t tell anyone at first. I kept my head down, focusing on school as the only thing I could control. I felt responsible for everyone’s emotional well-being, yet I didn’t even know how to begin grieving myself.
For years, I kept moving. I joined clubs, sports, and volunteer activities not simply to build my resume but because staying busy kept me from being alone with my thoughts. With my sister away at college and my parents always working, home no longer felt like a place of comfort. So I avoided it. I distracted myself from everything I hadn’t processed, believing that constant motion meant I was moving forward.
But grief has a way of catching up with you.
As I begin preparing for college and my senior year, I started reflecting on the past five years. I remembered a conversation with Nana at the start of sixth grade. I had been upset over a teacher, and she told me to be patient, that people are human, and life is about how we choose to respond. At the time, I didn’t understand, but now I do. Her words remain with me, especially as I face challenges that make me question everything about myself.
Losing Nana and nearly losing my mom made me realize how vital early detection and prevention are. If Nana had undergone routine screenings and known her family history, perhaps we could have caught her cancer before it became untreatable. Genetic testing empowers people with knowledge about their risks before it is too late. Knowing one’s family history, getting regular mammograms, and performing self-exams are powerful tools in fighting breast cancer. My mom’s early detection is the reason she is still here today.
I believe I deserve this scholarship because I have transformed my grief into motivation. Despite the weight of loss and fear, I have remained driven in my academics. I hope to continue my education so I can create spaces, whether through engineering, design, or community outreach, that help people feel safe, valued, and empowered, just as Nana made me feel. Cancer took so much from me, but it also gave me a purpose to ensure that no one I love, and no one in my community, ever feels powerless against something they could not see coming.