The books that have had the deepest impact on me are the ones that taught me how to look at myself, how to understand other people, and how to make choices with purpose. Through reading, I’ve come to realize that growing up isn’t about having a perfect plan. It’s about questioning your decisions, learning from your mistakes, and choosing the kind of person you want to become. One story that’s stuck with me is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. What I take most from it is the idea of chasing a dream, even when you have no idea where it’ll take you. The main character walks away from everything familiar to follow a dream, and it’s the journey that’s full of changes and uncertainty and ends up shaping him. As a college student right now, that idea feels very close to home. I’m studying Recording Arts and Production at Montclair State University. My dream is to carve out a place for myself in the music industry as an artist and an audio engineer. Honestly, there’s no perfect blueprint for a creative career like this. No degree guarantees a steady job. The competition is huge; lots of talented people are hoping for their own break. Reading about someone who takes the leap even when the outcome isn’t clear has helped me remember that facing the unknown doesn’t mean I’m on the wrong path. Reading has also taught me that people usually have a lot more going on beneath the surface than I might guess. “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” by Taylor Jenkins Reid really got me thinking about the split between the lives people show to the world and the stories they keep to themselves. The characters in that book make choices shaped by love, ambition, or fear, sometimes with consequences they never saw coming. That kind of perspective has changed how I deal with people. It’s so easy to assume you know why someone acts the way they do, especially when you’re only catching glimpses of their lives. Books have reminded me to step back a little, to ask questions before making judgments. And in music, collaboration is everything. You work with artists, engineers, producers, each one dragging in their own rough edges and life experiences. Another lesson I return to is that ambition doesn’t mean you have to become someone else. In “Little Women”, Louisa May Alcott gives each sister her own dreams and personality, and they all wrestle with what people expect from them. I really valued seeing that success isn’t a one-size-fits-all thing. That cracked open the idea for me that there’s no single way to “make it.” It means I don’t have to measure my progress against someone else’s path. My aim right now is to get really good at what I do, to keep growing as an artist, and to lift up other young creatives when I can. Maybe these goals will shift as I keep learning, and honestly, I’m okay with that. In the end, books have made me pay attention to the story I’m writing with my own choices. They push me to chase goals that matter even if the way forward is messy, to treat people with more patience, and to shape my own idea of what success looks like. School’s teaching me the technical stuff. Reading fills in something just as important: perspective. I don’t have everything mapped out yet, but I’m not stuck worrying about the unknown. I know what I care about, and I’m open to whatever the next chapter brings.

When my family arrived in the United States from Trinidad and Tobago, adjusting wasn’t just about entering a new place, it was about figuring out how to build something stable from scratch. We had to navigate systems we’d never seen, make do with what we had, and face the reality of starting over with no guarantees. I was a kid then, tagging along with my mother and my twin brother. Back then, I didn’t fully grasp what my mother was up against. I knew we were in a new world, but I couldn’t see the weight she carried or the guts it took to walk away from everything familiar. As I grew up, I started to get it. Starting over means more than just moving; it means learning how to work within a new culture, new institutions, and new expectations. Money was always tight. We had to make decisions based on what we could realistically afford, not what would’ve been nice. Watching my mother stretch every dollar taught me early that money impacts almost every opportunity: school, transportation, housing, everything. I learned not to take any of it for granted. Eventually, those lessons hit home. When it was time for college, there wasn’t a guidebook for me. I had to figure out how applications worked, understand financial aid, hunt for scholarships, and communicate with colleges, all mostly on my own. Being a first-generation college student meant figuring things out by researching, making mistakes, and trying again. Honestly, there were plenty of times when I wished someone could just spell out the next step. But I had to become that resource for myself. That’s shaped me more than anything else: I’m resourceful. If I don’t get something, I dig into it. If an option falls through, I try another. Rejection doesn’t stop me; I want to know why, and I change tack. Not having a clear guide doesn’t mean there’s no path forward. All of this changed the way I think about education. I’m not in college just because it’s expected; I know firsthand the value of opportunities that education brings and how hard it is to create options for yourself without them. Right now, I’m at Montclair State University, studying Recording Arts and Production. I picked this field because I want a career that blends technical know-how with creativity. My goal is to be a recording artist, producer, and audio engineer and I want to use my experience to open doors for other young creatives. The struggles my family faced didn’t give me an easy life, but they gave me perspective. I understand that progress can be slow, that stability matters, and sometimes you have to make your own luck instead of waiting for someone else. I’m proud of where my family started, but I’m focused on where we’re headed. I want my education to honor the sacrifices behind it and to prove that starting over can really lead somewhere meaningful. Building a life isn’t quick or straightforward. I’m still figuring it out, but I have the determination, resourcefulness, and perspective to keep building.

Math has always made sense to me. Even as a kid in elementary school, while other subjects asked me to memorize endless facts or decipher complicated texts, math just felt clear. Numbers, variables, formulas, and rules; they laid out a path. If I paid attention and followed the steps, I landed on an answer. That structure made me comfortable. I liked knowing what to expect. When I see a math problem, I actually enjoy the challenge. Sure, sometimes the numbers look messy, but there's a puzzle hiding inside. I break it into pieces, fit the numbers and variables where they belong, follow the formula, and watch everything come together. There’s a real satisfaction in knowing that every answer makes sense for a reason. I also appreciate how math rewards careful work. One tiny slip, a missed negative sign or a wrong number, and the answer falls apart. That taught me to slow down, double-check, and not just assume I’m right the first time. When I mess up, I can trace my steps, spot the mistake, and fix it. That turns mistakes into useful lessons instead of setbacks. What really surprises me is how much math creeps into the rest of my life. Now that I’m older, I use math thinking all the time without even realizing it: handling budgets, comparing prices, figuring out what I need to earn, managing my schedule, making decisions for school and work. Math gives me a way to break things down, weigh options, and decide on the best course. Even in Recording Arts and Production, which is my major, math shows up everywhere. Most people don’t expect it, but audio production deals with timing, frequencies, ratios, levels; a whole toolkit of mathematical ideas. When I understand the logic behind a technical concept, I feel more confident jumping into creative work. For me, loving math has never been about getting perfect grades or solving problems the fastest. I just enjoy the process, turning complicated things into something I actually understand. Math feels a lot like its own language, with rules I can learn and use to make sense of confusion. That moment of clarity is why math has stayed my favorite subject for so long. I can’t see that changing anytime soon.

Being a first-generation college student often means stepping into the unknown and figuring things out as you go. No one in my family has done this before, so there’s no blueprint, nobody to walk me through financial aid forms, or lay out the steps to build a career in my field. I’ve had to piece it together myself. I search, I ask, I mess up, and then I try again. Right now, I’m working toward a degree in Recording Arts and Production at Montclair State University. I chose this major because I crave a career that brings creativity and technical skill together. My goal? To be a recording artist, a producer, and an audio engineer and to carve out a place for myself in the industry while opening doors for new artists coming up behind me. Getting here hasn’t been easy, especially when it comes to money. I’ve had to treat college like a puzzle, always juggling work, applications for scholarships, and hunting for extra ways to manage my expenses. Sometimes the financial pressure feels like a wall, like something that could stop me from moving forward, no matter how hard I push. One of the toughest things I’ve learned is that determination alone doesn’t clear every hurdle. You can do everything right and still find yourself having to fight for a chance to keep going. But these challenges haven’t defeated me, they’ve made me more resourceful. When I hit an obstacle, I reach out to every office I can, chase down financial resources, and keep searching when the first answer isn’t what I need. Being first-generation has changed my idea of success, too. I’m not just here to collect a diploma because it looks good. I want the knowledge and the experience, the how and why, not just the credential. My classes teach me the inner workings of sound, how to move confidently in professional recording studios, and how creativity meshes with technology. Each time I learn something new, it feels like I’m getting closer to the career I’ve always pictured for myself. What motivates me most is the chance to become the role model I once needed. I want a career where I create music, partner with other artists, and give back to young creatives who don’t have easy access to professional resources. This scholarship would ease so much of the financial stress that hangs over my education. It would help shift my focus from constantly doubling back to cover expenses toward actually growing and honing the skills I’ll need for my future career. I’m the first in my family to walk this road, but I don’t want to be the last. I want my degree to lay groundwork, making higher education and creative careers feel possible for everyone who comes after me. There’s no map for what I’m doing. I’ve had to draw it as I go. But just because the path wasn’t there before me doesn’t mean I won’t get where I’m meant to be.

Talent by itself isn’t always enough. I know that firsthand. No matter how much potential you have, if you don’t have access to the right resources, you can hit a wall before you ever get a chance to really grow. That’s the main reason I’m pursuing a degree in Recording Arts and Production at Montclair State University. I want to be a recording artist, producer, and audio engineer to help others break through. For me, this field sits right where creativity meets technology. A recording studio turns ideas into reality. Still, the door to that studio shuts tight on a lot of young people. It costs too much, feels intimidating, and too often, new artists can’t even get inside. I want to change that, especially for the ones who are coming up behind me. If you ask me who influences me most, I have to say my mother. I watched her juggle everything and still find a way to move forward. She raised my twin brother and me and showed by example that you don’t back down just because things get tough. She kept going, even when she had no guarantee things would work out. I hold on to that lesson. It permanently shapes how I go after my education and how I see my future career. I want to build a professional, welcoming space where new musicians and producers can learn, experiment, and get guidance without feeling like they have to “make it” first. I want to mentor young independent artists, especially those who haven’t been exposed to the technical and business parts of music. Plenty of us know how to make music but we don’t always know how to get it out into the world or protect our work. Every day, I’m learning the tools for this. My classes cover everything; audio engineering, production, studio practices, recording techniques, music tech. School gives me the foundation, but I’m after real experience, too. I want internships, hands-on studio work, collaboration. I’ll take everything I learn and use it to help others, not just with recording and production, but with the business side: how to release music, what to watch for in contracts, how to keep control of your sound and your rights. A lot of kids have no idea their creativity has real value. Too many get lost or taken advantage of because no one ever told them how things work, or even that they ought to ask questions. I can be the person who teaches them by making sure they really understand the options, the risks, and the rewards they’re choosing. So producing music is one thing, but that’s just the start, I want is to open doors. If a teenager with talent can’t afford to pay for studio time, I want an alternative to exist. If someone wants to produce but feels lost in front of pro audio gear, I’ll be there to explain. If an up-and-coming artist has never met anyone working in audio, I want them to meet me and know this career is real for people like us. I realize I can’t fix everything. But I can chip away at one big problem: the lack of access to professional resources and creative education. My education gives me the tools to build my career. Eventually, I want those tools to clear a path for someone else. If I can find success and remember what it felt like to start from scratch, then my victories will matter more than any title or paycheck. They’ll mean I made space for others where there wasn’t any before.

I’m building a career that blends two passions; being a recording artist and an audio engineer. I don’t want to depend on one income stream; the music industry is too unpredictable for that. My plan is set up so that if one area moves slowly, the other keeps things rolling. It’s all about keeping stable and collecting experience along the way. First things first: finish my degree at Montclair State University (2026 to 2028). I want that bachelor’s in Recording Arts and Production. While I’m there, I’m not just studying textbooks, I’m putting in hours learning Pro Tools, recording both in the studio and live, mixing, and music production. I want my hands on every project I can find. That means taking every possible recording session, internship, or networking chance the school offers. During these years, I’ll be making it work with part-time jobs, any scholarships I can land, and some tight budgeting. The big expenses are obvious like tuition, books, travel, software, and day-to-day costs. Every scholarship is huge; it cuts down my debt and frees me up to focus on honing my craft instead of scrambling for extra work hours. Next, I’ll dive into professional studio work (2028–2030). Right after graduating, I’m targeting jobs as an assistant engineer or production assistant at a commercial studio. My goal isn’t just getting paid; it's to watch and learn from pros, master the real flow of a studio, and meet people who make the industry move. While I’m picking up studio experience, I’ll keep putting out my own music, even if the streaming checks are small at first. Releasing tracks regularly helps me develop as an artist and slowly grow an audience. Plus, I’ll be offering freelance services like recording, vocal editing, mixing to independent artists to keep the income coming from different directions. Long term, I want my own recording and production business. Within five years after I graduate, I’ll start from a home studio and, as things pick up, move into a proper commercial space. I know what gear I’ll need beyond what I’ve used in school. Here’s my ballpark startup budget: - Upgrades for my studio computer: $2,500, - Audio interface: $1,200, - Studio monitors: $1,000, - Microphones: $2,000, - Acoustic treatment: $2,000, - Software and plugins: $1,500, - Marketing and branding: $1,000. In total, that’s about $11,000 to get rolling. I’m not looking to take on unnecessary debt. I’ll pay for it through jobs, freelance gigs, my savings, and any scholarships I can get. Music careers rarely move in a straight line, and I’m ready for that. My plan’s flexible. If studio work dries up for a while, I can shift to freelance, live sound, podcast work, voice-over, or commercial audio editing. The skills I’m building now open doors in all sorts of directions, plenty of ways to stay steady even if the plan veers off track. I’m not chasing fame. Success for me looks like a career that pays the bills, keeps me creative, and pushes me to keep learning. Joe’s motto, “Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan,” sticks with me. It’s true, dreams need follow-through. I know where I want to go, but more than that, I’ve mapped out exactly how I’ll get there. Every class, recording session, scholarship, and connection pulls me closer. This scholarship isn’t just about covering tuition, it’s about making the plan real.

"They all say that it gets better, it gets better the more you grow. They all say that it gets better, but what if I don't?" The first time I heard Olivia Rodrigo sing those lines from "teenage dream," I didn’t hear someone giving up. I heard someone telling the truth. People love to promise things will get easier as you get older. They say life starts to fall into place once you graduate, find your calling, or cross some invisible line into adulthood. That’s the script everyone hands you. Still, sometimes it feels like everyone else got a manual you never received. As a college student, I run into that feeling so often I’ve lost count. Each semester brings another pile of choices: Which classes do I take? Should I go for that internship? Am I saving enough money? Does it matter what job I pick after graduation? Everyone around me seems to move forward with such certainty, answering questions I’m still struggling to ask. It’s easy to feel left behind when you’re still piecing together who you are. I chose Recording Arts and Production because I’m drawn to where creativity meets technology. In this field, progress hides. Sometimes you go months before you notice anything is different so you just keep showing up, trying again and again. There are plenty of moments when I wonder if I’m doing enough, moving fast enough, getting anywhere at all. That lyric, “What if I don’t?” hangs around, and I catch myself asking if I’ll actually ever find life easier, or if I’ll just get better at navigating all the unknowns. At some point, though, I stopped seeing uncertainty as a red flag. More often than not, doubt means you’re pushing yourself. You’re outside the lines, and that’s where you figure out what you’re really made of. One of my biggest turning points has been letting go of everybody else’s timeline. Social media loves to shove other people’s highlight reels in your face; “at 22 they landed their dream job,” “at 25 they paid off their student loans,” “by 30 they bought a house.” The pressure is constant. But the reality is, most of us are inventing our paths as we go. Realizing that let me trade self-doubt for curiosity; now, instead of asking “Why not me?” I ask, “I wonder what comes next?” Admitting you’re uncertain doesn’t mean you’re lost, it means you’re honest. Some of the strongest people I know aren’t the ones who never stumble; they’re the ones who walk forward, questions and all. Of course, I still worry about making the right moves and wonder whether my choices today will add up to the future I want. But that’s not a wall in my way anymore. It’s just a part of the story. That little phrase, “What if I don’t?” feels less like an ending and more like an opening. What if I do? What if the tough stuff is really setting me up for what’s ahead? What if every detour and dead end is building something I can’t see yet? Maybe growth isn’t about collecting milestones as fast as possible. Olivia Rodrigo’s music sticks with me because she doesn’t shy away from saying what so many people keep to themselves. “teenage dream” isn’t a song about fear, really, it’s about learning that uncertainty is just what growing feels like. My story’s still unfolding, and I’ve finally stopped thinking I need every answer. Growth is happening, even when it’s hard to spot. Learning to trust that might be the biggest achievement of all.

Whenever I think about Taylor Swift’s career and the release of “The Life of a Showgirl”, one moment stands out for me: her performance of "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" during “The Eras Tour”. At first glance, it’s pure theater. The staging is bold, choreography sharp, and the visuals stick with you. She knows how to hold an audience. But for me, the real impact isn’t in the spectacle. The heart of it is what the performance says. Taylor Swift has spent her whole adult life under a microscope. Every move she makes, every relationship, every triumph, every mistake, millions of people dissect it. "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" feels like her answer to years of judgment and endless commentary about who she is supposed to be. Instead of backing down or apologizing, she stands her ground and shows the strength she gained from all that pressure. When I watch that performance, I see more than just a superstar owning the stage. I see her seizing back her story. That hits home for me. We all know what it’s like to be misunderstood. Most of us don’t have to deal with world-level fame, but everyone has moments where others label us or make assumptions before taking the time to understand. The challenge of staying confident when others try to define your worth, that’s pretty universal. I wrestle with it, too. From a Recording Arts and Production perspective, I can’t help but admire the work behind a show like this. Every detail, from lights to sound to costumes and cameras has to be dialed in perfectly to carry the story. It’s a reminder: live performance is more than fun or spectacle. It’s a blend of music, tech, vision, and real emotion, all combined into one living art form. But what gets me most is how Taylor balances the glitz with vulnerability. She’s playing to massive crowds, yet the songs manage to feel like private conversations. "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" rages with confidence and frustration, but it’s also honest about what it costs to live with constant judgment. That’s what lifts the performance above the rest, it’s not just striking, it’s emotionally raw. I see in that performance a lesson in perseverance, too. Taylor Swift’s public journey has been full of ups and downs. But she keeps evolving, keeps creating and stepping forward, no matter who’s watching or criticizing. That’s the kind of courage and persistence anyone chasing a dream needs. For me, “The Life of a Showgirl” isn’t just about the rush of the spotlight, it’s about the hidden resilience behind it. "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" shows exactly that. Beneath the polish, there’s someone who’s been challenged, has grown, and keeps stepping out again. That’s why I keep coming back to this performance. It isn’t just a show. It’s about having the guts to own your story, no matter how many people are watching.

Growing up with a single mother changed me in ways I never expected. Strength, I realized early on, isn’t always loud or graceful. Sometimes it just means showing up every day, even when you don’t know what tomorrow holds. My mother raised my twin brother and me mostly on her own after we moved from Trinidad and Tobago to the U.S. I watched her juggle new jobs, a new country, and the endless duties of parenthood. It was hard to see the full picture as a kid, but looking back now, I understand how much she sacrificed. The older I get, the more I respect how she never let the uncertainty of our future slow her down, she just kept moving because that’s what we needed. Living in a single-parent family meant growing up faster. There was no guide for the problems we faced, so I learned to rely on myself. Whether I had to speak up for myself at school, take care of things around the house, or figure out unexpected setbacks, I learned to be persistent. I stopped waiting for someone else to fix things. Instead, I started asking questions, hunting down resources, and refusing to give up until I found the answer. But it wasn’t just about independence. Watching my mom work so hard to hold everything together opened my eyes to what people go through behind closed doors. I realized a lot of struggle hides just below the surface. That’s why I try to treat people with patience and understanding. You can never tell what someone’s carrying just from looking at them. My twin brother and I got through a lot of those challenges together. We leaned on each other, celebrated the wins, no matter how small, and lifted each other up when things got tough. Those shared experiences made us closer and taught us how important it is to stay resilient, together. Education became the one thing my mother wouldn’t let us compromise on. Even when money was tight, she hounded us about how school would open doors for us. That message stuck. It still drives me today, as I study Recording Arts and Production at Montclair State University, pushing myself to build something new; a career where I can blend my creativity with technical skills. I’m proud to be the first in my family to go to college. My upbringing didn’t set limits for me. If anything, it showed me what really matters: working hard, not cutting corners, pushing through instead of making excuses, and aiming for growth instead of some idea of perfection. It also made me realize how success is never just one person’s achievement; it’s built on the sacrifices and efforts of others, often made quietly in the background. I’m still figuring out my path, but every step I take is shaped by what I learned from my mother’s example. I want to make sure I use every chance I get and build a future that reflects her determination. If there’s one thing she taught me, it’s this: we don’t always get to pick the circumstances we start with, but we always choose how we respond. That’s something I carry with me, every single day.

For me, purpose hasn’t arrived in a single lightning-bolt moment. It’s grown out of the way I’ve come to value discipline, independence, and creativity. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that I feel most satisfied when I’m building something from scratch like a new skill or project, or working toward a personal milestone. Teaching myself to stay steady, especially when progress stalls or feels invisible, has changed how I approach learning. Being a college student has only made this instinct stronger. Juggling classes, life outside school, and goals that only make sense years down the line has shown me that purpose isn’t something you stumble upon if you wait long enough. You carve it out by showing up day after day, by being steady and putting in the work. So, my sense of purpose now centers on becoming someone who can open doors using skill and discipline. I’m in school for more than just the technical knowledge. I want to sharpen my ability to think clearly, work through complicated problems, and to build things that really last. But honestly, it isn’t just about personal gain. What drives me is the idea that the habits I’m forming; sticking with tough tasks, staying patient, not giving up will help me make practical, real contributions wherever I go. Purpose isn’t one big achievement at the end of the road. For me, it’s the ongoing process of becoming someone who can create stability and opportunity, and keep finding new ways to build something meaningful.

Growing up, I saw firsthand how creativity and resilience are often two sides of the same coin. I was born in Trinidad and Tobago, and when I was a child, my mother, my twin brother, and I made our way to the United States. Like a lot of immigrant families, we arrived chasing opportunity, but what we found wasn’t easy. We faced financial hardship and housing instability so uncertainty became our normal. As a first-generation college student from a low-income background, I’ve had to navigate difficulties that reach far beyond the walls of any classroom. Still, I never lost faith in education’s power to transform lives. That belief kept me going. Now, I’m studying Recording Arts and Production at Montclair State University, drawn by my fascination for the space where creativity meets technology. Most people hear “music” and imagine the performers on stage. But behind every song, there’s a world of science and innovation: audio engineering, digital signal processing, recording technology, production software. These tools demand both creative vision and technical skill and my education is helping me develop both, preparing me for a constantly shifting industry. As a Black woman stepping into a field where women and people of color are still underrepresented, I want to change the image of who belongs behind the mixing console, in the studio, and in the boardroom. Representation matters. It shapes what younger students even dare to imagine for themselves. I want girls who are passionate about both technology and music to see that they don’t have to choose, there’s a place for them at the intersection of creativity and STEM. But my goals extend beyond building my own career. I want to open doors for others. I want to create affordable recording sessions, workshops, and mentorship programs for aspiring artists in underserved communities. Far too many talented young people miss out on learning about careers in audio engineering or recording their music professionally because resources are scarce or out of reach. I know what it’s like to have big dreams but limited access, and I’m determined to help break down those barriers. I also want to educate young creatives on the business side of music. It takes more than talent to build a lasting career; artists need to understand copyright, publishing, audio tech, distribution, branding, and entrepreneurship. Everyone deserves the chance to protect their work and build lasting opportunities. By sharing that knowledge, I hope to empower others not only to create, but to thrive. Education has given me more than just technical skills. It’s given me confidence. It’s taught me that my circumstances don’t define me, and that resilience can be my greatest strength. Every challenge has fueled my determination to make a tangible difference. Receiving this scholarship would lift some of the financial weight from my shoulders, giving me space to focus on building the skills I need to serve my community. More than that, it would be an investment in someone who’s committed to giving back. In the end, I’m not just pursuing personal success in the music industry. I want to open doors, create spaces where creativity and technology are accessible for everyone, and help the next generation of underrepresented students believe in careers they once thought impossible. Through my work, I want to show that innovation thrives when everyone’s voice has a chance to be heard.

When people hear “STEM,” they usually picture white lab coats, robots, or someone hunched over a keyboard, coding away. That’s not how I see it. For me, STEM means connection. It’s the bridge that lets creativity and technology work together; tackling problems, building communities, and giving a voice to people too often pushed out of the conversation. As a Black woman chasing a degree in Recording Arts and Production, I’m drawn right to the spot where tech and art collide. Think about it: every song on the radio, every film score that gives you goosebumps, every concert that pulses with energy. None of that happens without innovation. Audio engineering, digital production, music technology are storytelling tools, ways to preserve culture, and channels for real communication. That’s what pulls me in. I get to fuse two forces that have shaped my life: creativity and problem-solving. Growing up, I didn’t see many Black women in technical roles. The world tends to separate art from science, as if imagination and logic should live in different worlds. But they don’t. Look at music production; it mixes acoustics, signal processing, engineering, software, and all the latest tech together in this wild, evolving space. As technology races forward, I want to help guide where this evolution goes. My drive isn’t just academic, it’s deeply personal. I left Trinidad and Tobago for the U.S. when I was a kid. Life hasn’t always been easy. Money was tight, and things were never stable for long. But those years taught me how to bounce back. They also made something clear: opportunities aren’t handed out evenly. Sometimes, all it takes is seeing someone like you succeed to unlock a sense of permission, permission to dream bigger, to believe in your own possibilities. That’s why I’m so committed to this path. Black communities have always been underrepresented in STEM, and it’s even rarer to see Black women in leadership. It’s not because talent is missing. Usually, it’s a lack of access, mentorship, and resources standing in the way. I want to push those barriers down. I see my degree as a tool. I want to open doors for the next wave of Black creatives, especially those who love music, media, and the arts but don’t realize there are technical paths hiding behind it all. There are kids mixing beats, editing videos, running podcasts and nobody’s telling them this is STEM, too. I want to mentor, especially Black girls, and show them that these high-tech careers exist wherever creativity flows: in recording studios, backstage at concerts, deep inside the software behind viral art. Access matters. So does exposure. Equipment costs and limited resources keep too many talented students out of these fields. I want to chip away at that by building workshops, sharing what I know, and making technology feel less intimidating and more inviting. This isn’t just about my future. I want to help create a world where Black students don’t feel like rare exceptions in STEM spaces. When they look at me, I want them to think, “If she did it, I can too.” Innovation flourishes when people with different voices and stories work together. By blending creativity, technology, and my community, I hope I can help make STEM look more like the real world and maybe even lead the way forward.

Growing up, I always heard that education was the key to a better life. My family didn’t have money, generational know-how, or any insider connections to hand down. But they did have hope. They believed if I worked hard enough, made enough sacrifices, and earned a degree, my life could actually look different from theirs. When I finally got into college as a first-generation student, I realized quickly, this wasn’t the finish line. People love to assume that first-gen students land on campus and things just work themselves out. Far from it. We’re learning how to navigate an entirely unfamiliar world, trying to survive and figure things out at the same time. Financial aid forms, finding housing, remembering deadlines, trying to network, planning a career; most of us handle these things on our own because our parents can’t give advice about an experience they never had. For me, education was never just about a piece of paper. It’s been my route to stability, to independence, and to creating possibilities that my family had never seen before. I moved here from Trinidad and Tobago with my mother and my twin brother when I was a kid. Money was always tight growing up. Sometimes we didn’t know where we’d sleep next. Uncertainty became familiar. So I learned early on that life can turn upside down in a flash, and you have to grab every single opportunity that comes your way. Those struggles also piled on the pressure. Being the first in my family to pursue college means I’m carrying a lot more than my own future. I carry the sacrifices my family made just to get me here. I carry the hope that I’ll succeed where others couldn’t. I carry the weight of proving that our circumstances don’t get to define what comes next. There were times when college felt impossible for financial reasons alone. Not having basic resources that other students barely think about can make everything feel out of reach. Even so, every challenge just reminded me why education matters so much. Now, I’m studying Recording Arts and Production. Music is my first language, my therapy, my sense of purpose. I want to build a career in music where I get to create, tell stories, and eventually help new artists find their way, especially those who might think the industry is closed off to them. But what education is really showing me is that dreams aren’t too big just because my path isn’t the standard one. They’re still real. I want my legacy to be about possibility. I want the kids who come after me to look at college and feel that it’s normal, not scary. I want them to have a guide that I never had. I want to be the person they can call for help with college, money, jobs, applications, because I know how lonely it feels to do all that alone. I want to leave behind a legacy of resilience, too. I want people to see that success isn’t just handed to those born with every advantage. Sometimes it belongs to those who keep showing up no matter how unsure tomorrow looks, those who believe in their future, even when their present tells them not to. One day, I want my family’s story to look different. I want it to start with struggle and continue with opportunity. Years from now, I hope that people won’t just remember me as the first in my family to go to college, but as the person who held the door open and made sure it stayed open for everyone else.

When people hear the word “build,” they usually picture houses, businesses, or some big invention. My mind goes somewhere different but just as important: stability. I’ve had to make stability for myself ever since I was a kid. I moved from Trinidad and Tobago to the U.S., and my life has been a patchwork of financial stress, housing problems, and obstacles that made the future look hazy at best. There were plenty of times when it felt like everyone else had their roadmap, and I was just trying to get through the day. Because of all that, what I want to build most isn’t anything you can touch or see. I want a future where creativity and community grow together. A place where people who usually get overlooked can discover and share their voices. That's why I’m pursuing Recording Arts and Production. Music stopped being just a hobby for me a long time ago. Now, it’s the ground I stand on. When life spun out of control, music brought me back to myself. I couldn’t always fix my situation, but I could turn pain into lyrics, memories into melodies. Turn those tough moments into something worth holding onto. Looking ahead, I don’t just want to make songs. I want to create real opportunities for young artists; especially first-generation students and creatives who get left out because they don’t have the gear, the friends in the industry, or anyone to show them the ropes. I know what it's like to feel talented but underresourced, or to walk into a room and sense you’re starting ten steps behind everyone else. I want to make that distance smaller for someone else. If I can build that future, it changes my life because every struggle I've faced gains new meaning. Each obstacle becomes a tool I can use to help someone else find their way. My hardships won't just shape me, they’ll help pave the way for others. But even more than that, my community stands to gain. Representation, just seeing someone like you succeed, matters. Sometimes you change a life not by handing out answers, but by showing that someone from the same place made it through. I might not be throwing up skyscrapers or launching the next big tech breakthrough, but I am building something I believe matters just as much: a space where people feel recognized, supported, and free to imagine futures bigger than the ones they started with. That’s the most important thing I could build.

Music didn’t flip my world upside down overnight. It crept in quietly, almost like it was always hanging around, waiting for me to really notice it. I used to listen to music just to feel something I couldn’t put into words. There were times when everything felt tangled or too much. Instead of talking about it, I’d just grab my headphones. Somehow, a song would pop up that said everything for me. That made me feel less alone, like someone else had already dealt with all this mess and made it through. Eventually, just listening wasn’t enough. I started to get curious, almost obsessed with how songs actually worked. I found myself picking out the details; how a track slowly builds, how a voice rides over the beat, how certain sounds can hit you in such specific ways. I wanted more. I wanted to know how.That’s what pulled me into making my own music. Honestly, my first attempts were a total mess. I didn’t have fancy gear or a studio. I just had whatever was lying around and GarageBand. I’d spend hours chasing after the songs I loved, trying to figure out the chords, building sounds, re-recording vocals again and again until something finally clicked. It drove me crazy sometimes, but it was the first thing that made me feel fully hooked. Like I’d found a spot where I could actually create, not just watch from the sidelines. Everything changed when I started recording my own vocal covers. Trying to copy a song forced me to really listen. I had to focus on how the singer handled tone, emotion, control; not just hitting the notes, but understanding why those choices worked in the first place, and then figuring out what I wanted to do with them. That’s when music stopped being this thing outside me. I was shaping it with my own hands. It shifted how I saw myself, too. Before, music seemed like it belonged to people who were already “in” the ones with studios, money, some grand recognition. But once I started making things on my own, I realized nobody’s handing out permission slips. You just have to start, right where you are, with whatever you’ve got. Music gave me a sense of direction. It turned a hobby into something I could actually chase. Now I’m studying Recording Arts and Production, focusing on the technical, behind-the-scenes work of shaping and refining sound. That’s where I feel most at home. Lost behind the mixing board, building something from scratch. It made me take ownership of my own voice, too specifically what I want to say. I learned that you don’t need to be loud to get your point across; a borrowed whisper can be just as strong as a shout, if it’s real. That way of thinking has seeped into the rest of my life, making me more patient, more willing to slow down and figure things out instead of always rushing ahead. Most of all, music finally feels like something that’s genuinely mine. Not something borrowed, admired from afar, but something I do, something I build. I don’t think music magically fixed my life, and honestly, I never expected it to. What it did was give me a way to move through it. It turned confusion into curiosity, frustration into process, silence into something I could shape and share. I’m still in the thick of learning, building, messing up, trying to make something honest and real. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Music has always been more than something to listen to. It’s how I make sense of the world, how I get my feelings out, and how I really understand myself. Because of that, I’m pursuing a career to be a producer and audio engineer. I like working behind the scenes, shaping sounds, building arrangements, and helping artists turn their visions into something real. Production, for me, blends creativity and technical skill. It’s more than making a track sound good; it’s about turning raw emotion into something people feel. I decided to chase music seriously when I realized I didn’t just want to sing along, I wanted to figure out how songs are built from the inside out. There were moments in my life where I didn’t always have the words to explain how I felt, but music did it for me. Over time, that shifted from just listening to creating. That curiosity got me into recording arts and production, and I started breaking songs down, layer by layer. One of my biggest turning points that sticks with me is when I recreated full tracks on my own with pretty limited tools. The process was tough, but I learned patience, the importance of detail, and that every sound in a song has real purpose behind it. Maybe the best lesson? You don’t need everything to be perfect before you begin, you just need to be willing to learn and keep pushing. Being a young woman in audio, I can’t ignore that the industry, especially the technical side, is still dominated by men. But honestly, it doesn’t slow me down, it actually motivates me. I want to be part of a shift where women are not just seen as vocalists or performers, but as producers, engineers, and decision-makers behind the sound. I see representation itself as part of my purpose. Seeing more women in these roles matters, not just because of visibility, but because it gives others the confidence to believe they can do it, too. When it comes to inspiration, I look up to artists and creators who are really intentional about their sound and identity. Ariana Grande blows me away with how precise she is in her vocal production and the way she collaborates with others to create music that’s polished yet emotional. Then there’s Michael Jackson who inspires me on a different level. He set the bar with his attention to detail, killer performances, and his able to create timeless music. His ability proves that real excellence takes discipline. Both of them represent a level of precision and emotional connection that I aspire to bring into my own work. I want to make a real impact by creating music that comes from a genuine place and by helping other artists bring their visions to life without losing who they are along the way. I know what it’s like to have the drive but not the right tools, so I’m especially passionate about supporting young creatives who don’t have a ton of resources. Down the road, I’d love to be someone who can mentor others or open doors for people still trying to find their footing in the industry. What matters to me is being remembered as someone who was intentional, who paid attention to details, to emotion, to the actual impact of the music. I want people to feel something real when they hear what I’ve worked on, even if they never learn my name. It’s taking something deeply personal and turning it into something that reaches others. That’s the work I’m after, and why I’m on this path.

My journey as an immigrant leaving Trinidad and moving to the United States is about figuring out how to live between two worlds and carve out something new for myself along the way. I didn’t just swap one home for another. Everything changed: how I saw myself, how I understood community, even what I imagined for my future. When you grow up in one place and suddenly land somewhere completely different, the world looks new in ways you never expected. Sure, there’s the obvious stuff: new schools, new rules, different routines. But then there are the quieter changes. Out of nowhere, you realize the things you took for granted; your accent, your favorite foods, the way your family celebrates, don’t always make sense to the people around you. At first, that made me feel like I was on the outside looking in. But with time, I started to see those differences as something to hold onto, not hide away. Being an immigrant forced me to adapt, fast. I had to figure out new systems and environments, usually with no roadmap. Sometimes I got it right, sometimes I stumbled and had to try again, whether it was cracking the code of academic expectations or learning to speak up for myself when I didn’t know the rules. Those moments weren’t easy, but they built up a kind of resilience and independence I still rely on today. Watching my family work hard to build a new life taught me what opportunity really means. The doors I walk through now are open because of sacrifices made before me. That’s a big part of why I take my education and career seriously. It’s not just about my own goals, it’s a way to honor the effort and courage that brought us here in the first place. Music is where I found my footing. It’s always been this place where people connect, even if they don’t speak the same language or share the same background. Music became the bridge between my roots in Trinidad and my experiences in the U.S. It also showed me that creativity can be something to enjoy as well as a career. That’s what led me to study recording arts and production. Most people just listen to music, but I got hooked on figuring out how it’s made; from layering sounds to perfecting a recording, and all the teamwork that happens behind the scenes. Music production brings together creativity and technology, letting me dig into both sides of what I love. I want to work in the music industry and help shape the sound of projects that touch people everywhere. Music has this way of telling stories and shining a light on experiences that might otherwise get lost. Living between cultures, I want to be part of creative spaces where all kinds of voices get heard and valued. I’m also hoping to give back to support emerging artists, especially those who come from places where chasing a creative dream seems out of reach. Too many talented people never get the chance because they don’t have resources or mentorship or even a foot in the door. I want to help build spaces where young creatives can experiment, learn, and really believe their voices matter. So, this immigrant experience has given me perspective, drive, and a real sense of what opportunity means. It taught me to step into the unknown and trust that growth happens there. As I keep learning and working toward a career in music production, I hold onto that mindset: adapt, create, and build something real from the journey I’ve lived.

The first time I saw Sabrina Carpenter live, back in 2019, something just shifted for me. I didn’t walk into that show thinking my life would change, but honestly, it did. I was still pretty lost then trying to figure out who I was, what I wanted, and where I fit in, both creatively and personally. Sure, I’d always loved music, but it felt out of reach, like something for other people. But in that moment, at her concert, music suddenly felt real. Watching her light up the stage made me see that turning passion and creativity into a career wasn’t just possible, it was right in front of me. I saw her at the Wellmont Theater, and I can still feel what it was like to be in that crowd. The place buzzed with energy. But it wasn’t just the music or the lights that stuck with me. What hit me was Sabrina’s confidence, how genuine and comfortable she seemed up there, just being herself. She wasn’t putting on a front. She was sharing her art, and it was powerful. Seeing that made me rethink what I wanted music to mean in my own life. Growing up in Trinidad and then moving to the U.S., I always felt pulled between two worlds, never quite sure where I belonged. Music became my safe space, a place where all those mixed-up feelings could just exist. Sabrina’s songs, especially, always felt honest. Her lyrics get at what it’s like to grow up, find your confidence, and figure out how to be real. That kind of honesty made me feel seen, even when I was doubting myself. What I really admire about Sabrina is how she keeps growing. She never boxes herself in or sticks to one style just because it’s safe. She experiments, tries new sounds, and lets herself change. Watching her evolve made me realize that creativity isn’t supposed to be static. You’re allowed to grow and discover new parts of yourself. That idea stuck with me. Now, I’m studying recording arts and production. I want to be in the room where songs come to life. Lots of people love listening to music, but I geek out over how it’s made: the behind-the-scenes work, the layering, the teamwork. Seeing artists like Sabrina on stage made me realize that every song is the result of hours and hours of creative effort. It’s not just magic. It’s work, too. Her journey taught me that making it in music isn’t just about being talented. You have to stick with it, adapt, and trust your voice, even when things get tough or the industry changes overnight. That’s the attitude I try to bring to my own path. Honestly, being a Sabrina Carpenter fan is about more than just liking her songs. It’s about seeing someone own their art and share it with the world. That 2019 concert wasn’t just a fun night out, it was the moment I started to believe music could really be my future.

People talk about the American Dream like it’s a simple formula: work hard, stay determined, and you can build a better life no matter where you started. And sure, that idea is inspiring. But for me, it’s a lot more complicated and honestly, a lot more personal. The American Dream isn’t just about chasing money or owning a house. It’s about having real opportunities; the chance to go after your goals, be yourself, and end up somewhere you never could have imagined back home. I was born in Trinidad and later moved to the U.S. Like so many immigrants, my family made that choice because we believed there were new possibilities waiting for us. Moving countries means leaving behind everything familiar: your culture, your people, the comforts you grew up with. You trade all that for uncertainty. It takes guts, and a stubborn kind of hope. You have to believe the future can be brighter, even if you can’t see exactly how you’ll get there. That journey shaped how I see the American Dream. For me, it’s tied up with education and growth. Getting to go to college, discovering what I care about, and learning skills that shape my future, none of that feels ordinary. Education opens doors. It lets you look beyond what you were born into and start building a life driven by your interests and talents. But I don’t think the American Dream is just about making it on your own. It matters just as much to lift up the people around you. There’s something powerful about using your own success to help others, to make your community stronger. It’s not enough to get ahead; it means more when you bring others along with you. That’s where music comes in for me. I’m studying Recording Arts and Production because I believe music connects people in ways words can’t always reach. It’s a language that crosses cultures and backgrounds, lets people share stories and emotions even if they’ve lived totally different lives. In a place as diverse as the U.S., that kind of shared understanding is priceless. Through music, I want to help build a world where artists tell their truths, and listeners find something real to connect with. So, the American Dream isn’t just about building a career. It’s about creating spaces where people can express themselves and feel like they belong. Of course, chasing opportunity isn’t easy. There are setbacks. There are moments when you question if you made the right choice. Immigrant families deal with money worries, culture shock, and plenty of doubt as they try to start over. But those struggles build resilience and grit, they force you to adapt, to keep going even when things get tough. The American Dream isn’t a promise that life will be easy; it’s the chance to keep chasing something better even when the road twists. Another big part of it, is having the freedom to become who you want to be. In a country full of different cultures and histories, you get the space to bring your roots with you. I hold on to my Trinidadian background even as I take on the possibilities here. In the end, my American Dream is about the freedom to build a meaningful life. A life where education, creativity, and determination open doors that once felt locked. It’s about turning challenges into growth, finding purpose in what you love, and using the opportunities you get to make things better for others, too.

Growing up in a single-parent household shaped the way I see resilience, and what it means to build a future from limited resources. My mother carried the weight of raising a family largely on her own after we moved to the United States from Trinidad. As an immigrant parent, she was not only navigating a new country but also trying to create stability for her children at the same time. Watching her work through those challenges showed me early on that perseverance is often quiet and constant. It looks like showing up every day, even when things feel uncertain. In a single-parent household, there is often less room for mistakes because every decision matters. I became aware at a young age that education and opportunity were not things to take for granted. My mother had come to the United States in search of better opportunities, and that sacrifice shaped the way I approached school and my goals. Her determination made me realize that the chances I have now exist because someone before me worked incredibly hard to make them possible. At the same time, growing up this way taught me independence. There were many moments where I had to figure things out on my own, whether it was navigating school systems, managing responsibilities, or learning how to advocate for myself where I did not always feel confident. Those experiences helped me develop resilience and adaptability, qualities that continue to guide me as I move forward in my education and career. Another important lesson I learned from my upbringing is empathy. When you grow up in a household where resources can feel limited, you begin to notice how many people around you are facing similar struggles. It becomes easier to understand the pressures others carry and the invisible challenges they may be dealing with. That awareness has made me more compassionate toward others and more motivated to contribute something meaningful to the communities around me. As I think about the future, I know that I want to use my talents in a way that brings people together and creates opportunities for connection. I am currently studying recording arts because music has always been a powerful way for me to express ideas and emotions that are difficult to put into words. Music has the ability to cross cultural and social boundaries, allowing people from different backgrounds to find common ground. In the future, I hope to use my creative and technical skills in music to create work that helps people feel seen and understood. Whether through producing music or collaborating with artists, I want to be part of projects that inspire people and tell meaningful stories. Art has always played a role in helping communities process experiences and connections, and I want to contribute to that impact in whatever way I can. I also hope to use my experiences to encourage others who come from similar backgrounds. Growing up in a single-parent household can sometimes make young people feel like their path is more difficult than others, but it can also create strength and determination. I want to be someone who demonstrates that those challenges do not have to define your limitations, they can become the foundation for growth and purpose. Looking ahead, my goal is not only to build a successful career but also to remain grounded in the values that shaped me: resilience, empathy, and a commitment to helping others. The lessons I learned growing up in a single-parent household will always guide the way I approach my future and I hope to positively impact the world around me.

One of the most meaningful stories I have about a military family member actually began with a moment of loss. When my great-grandmother passed away, my family gathered for her funeral, and it became an unexpected opportunity for me to meet relatives from my dad’s side of the family that I had never known before. Growing up, I had very little connection to that side of my family, so I had no idea that some of them had been living in the United States for decades. At the funeral, I was introduced to my great uncle, my great-grandmother’s son. Until that moment, I had never met him and barely even knew he existed. I also learned something surprising about my family history that day: my great-grandmother and her husband had moved to Brooklyn in the 1990s. That meant there had been a part of my family building a life in New York long before I even arrived in the United States myself. My great uncle had served in the Navy, and when we spoke, he carried himself with a calm, steady presence that immediately stood out to me. Even though we were meeting for the first time, he spoke to me with warmth, as if we had known each other for years. What I remember most about that conversation wasn’t one dramatic story about the military, but the way he talked about service and responsibility with such quiet pride. He described his time in the Navy as something that shaped the way he approached life; learning discipline, teamwork, and the importance of showing up for people even when things are difficult. It was interesting hearing him talk about traveling and experiencing places far from home while serving. As someone who also moved countries and had to adapt to a completely new environment, I found that part of his story especially meaningful. In different ways, we had both experienced what it felt like to leave familiarity behind and build a life somewhere new. What stayed with me most from that day was how he spoke about resilience. He said that the military taught him that you rarely get to control the circumstances around you, but you can always control how you respond to them. That idea stuck with me because it applies to so many parts of life: education, career goals, and even personal challenges. Meeting him also made me realize how much family history can exist quietly in the background until the moment you finally discover it. Before that funeral, I didn’t know I had family members who had served in the military or who had been part of New York’s community for so long. Learning about my great uncle’s service gave me a deeper appreciation for the sacrifices and commitments that many people make in order to serve their country. Although the day itself was filled with sadness because we were saying goodbye to my great-grandmother, it also became a moment of connection. Meeting my great uncle reminded me that family stories sometimes appear in unexpected ways. What began as a difficult day ended with the discovery of a new connection to my family’s past and a story of service that I will always carry with me.

Music is not just what I love, it is the industry where I see my future. I aspire to pursue a career as either a professional vocalist or an audio engineer, ideally moving fluidly between both roles. Whether I am behind the microphone or behind the console, my goal is to help create music that is emotionally honest, technically strong, and deeply impactful. I chose music because it has always been the most powerful way for me to understand myself and the world around me. Growing up, music became my emotional outlet during times of instability and transition. Singing gave me a voice when I struggled to speak, and later, learning audio production gave me control over how sound is shaped and shared. Studying recording arts and production showed me that music is not just talent, it is craft, discipline, and collaboration. That realization pushed me to take my passion seriously as a career rather than a hobby. One of my biggest role models in the music industry is Donna Summer. She inspires me not only as a vocalist, but as an artist who embraced innovation. Donna Summer was willing to experiment with sound, technology, and genre at a time when many artists were discouraged from doing so. Her work blended powerful vocals with forward-thinking production, proving that a singer could be both expressive and modern. She reminds me that artists do not have to choose between emotion and innovation. As someone interested in both singing and audio engineering, her legacy validates my desire to exist in more than one creative lane. I want to make an impact on the music industry by helping create inclusive, supportive recording environments, especially for artists who are often overlooked or underestimated. As an audio engineer, I want to be someone artists trust, someone who understands how vulnerable recording can be and knows how to translate emotion into sound. As a vocalist, I want to tell stories that resonate with people who feel unseen, particularly women, immigrants, like myself. I believe music is at its best when it is both technically excellent and emotionally truthful, and I want my work to reflect that balance. Ultimately, I want people to remember me as someone who honored both the art and the people behind it. Whether I am remembered for my voice or my work behind the scenes, I hope my legacy is one of care, courage, and authenticity. I want to be known as someone who took music seriously, not just as a dream, but as a responsibility and used it to create space, connection, and possibility for others.

For me, math has always been more than numbers on a page. It’s a language of logic, creativity, and problem-solving. I love math because it challenges me to think critically and pushes me to find solutions even when the path isn’t immediately clear. There’s something deeply satisfying about taking a problem that seems overwhelming and breaking it down step by step until the answer reveals itself. What excites me most about math is how it connects to everything in the world around us. Music, technology, science, and even art are built on mathematical foundations. As a Recording Arts & Production major, I use math constantly without even realizing it at first. Whether it’s measuring sound frequencies, understanding rhythm through fractions, or using algorithms in digital audio software. Math transforms abstract ideas into structure, giving me tools to create music in ways that feel both artistic and precise. I also love the fairness of math. No matter who you are or where you come from, two plus two will always equal four. It’s universal, a shared truth that connects people across cultures. That reliability inspires me because it reminds me that, while the world can feel unpredictable, there are always patterns and solutions waiting to be found. Ultimately, I love math because it helps me see the world differently. It sharpens my mind, fuels my creativity, and reminds me that even the most complex challenges can be solved with patience and persistence. Just like in life, math teaches me to keep working, keep questioning, and keep believing that every problem has an answer.

I’ve always been a huge Ariana Grande fan; not just because of her voice or her talent, but because of how deeply she connects to the things she loves. One of those things has always been Wicked. As a fan, I knew that when she was only 11, she saw Wicked on Broadway with the original cast, and since then, it’s been her dream to play Glinda. So when she was cast as Glinda in the upcoming movie adaptation, I was overjoyed. Seeing someone I look up to achieve such a long-held dream made me love Wicked even more. However, even before Ariana was cast, that love became even more personal for me when my best friend surprised me with tickets to see Wicked on Broadway for my 17th birthday. I remember sitting in the theater, completely immersed in the magic of it all; the story, the costumes, the cast, the music. I already knew some of the iconic songs like “Defying Gravity” and “For Good,” but watching them performed live hit me in a way I didn’t expect. It was more than a show. It was an emotional experience. The story of Wicked stuck with me because I saw myself in both Elphaba and Glinda. Elphaba, who’s judged and mistreated because of the way she looks, reminded me of how isolating it can feel to be different. Her strength, her courage, and her refusal to change herself just to be accepted inspired me so much. I’ve often felt misunderstood or overlooked in my own life, but Elphaba showed me that being different can also be powerful. She taught me that standing firm in who you are, even when the world sees you as “wicked”, is a kind of magic all its own. But I also saw myself in Glinda. Sometimes I feel like I’m always trying to hold myself together, to smile and be bubbly even when things are difficult underneath. Glinda’s journey, learning that popularity and appearances aren’t everything, and that being good means being real, mirrored things I’ve been learning in my own life. The friendship between her and Elphaba made me think a lot about how people who are different can still come together and change each other for the better. Their growth, especially in “For Good,” reminded me how powerful meaningful connections can be. What I love most about Wicked is that it flips the story you thought you knew and makes you look at people, especially women, in a new light. It shows that there’s always more to someone than what others say about them. That message of reclaiming your story, defying expectations, and loving yourself deeply resonates with me, especially as a young woman of color pursuing a career in the music industry. Wicked isn’t just a musical to me; it’s been a source of inspiration, strength, and healing. It’s reminded me that I can be both bold and soft, that I don’t have to fit into anyone’s mold, and that my dreams are valid even if they don’t look like everyone else’s. Ariana’s journey with Wicked, Elphaba’s strength, Glinda’s growth; all of it has played a part in shaping how I see myself and the world. This scholarship would mean so much to me, not just financially, but emotionally because it celebrates something I truly love and connect with. Wicked has inspired me to be fearless, to dream big, and most importantly, to believe that I too can “defy gravity.”

One technology that inspires me deeply is GarageBand. At first glance, it may seem like just a basic music app, but for me, and for millions of creators around the world, it represents the powerful intersection of music and technology. GarageBand shows that you don’t need access to expensive studios or a long list of industry contacts to begin creating something meaningful. All you need is an idea, a voice, and a tool that invites you in. That kind of accessibility has the power to change lives. I grew up in a low-income, first-generation immigrant household. I didn’t have access to music programs in school, and I couldn’t afford traditional music lessons. But I had a phone, and I had drive. Discovering GarageBand on my iPhone was like unlocking a door I didn’t know I had the key to. It let me record vocals, layer harmonies, build full instrumentals, and mix tracks all from my bedroom. That app gave me the space to experiment, to fail, to grow and most importantly, to dream. GarageBand isn't just a mobile DAW (Digital Audio Workstation); it’s a form of democratized technology that makes music creation possible for anyone, anywhere. It removes the traditional gatekeepers and gives creators, especially those from underrepresented communities, a chance to shape their own sound, their own stories, and their own futures. That’s the kind of technology that excites me: tools that make art more inclusive and careers more reachable. As a Recording Arts and Technology major, my goal is to pursue a career in A\&R, sync licensing, and artist development. I want to use the skills I’ve gained through self-teaching and formal education to help elevate voices that haven’t always been heard. Eventually, I hope to be involved in creating or supporting tools like GarageBand; music tech that prioritizes accessibility, creativity, and cultural storytelling. Music has the power to heal, to unify, to inspire. When paired with thoughtful technology, its impact multiplies. GarageBand didn’t just help me discover what I wanted to do, it showed me what’s possible when tech is built to empower. That’s the kind of world I want to help shape: one where creativity is not limited by cost, geography, or background, but made possible through tools designed to uplift everyone.

I feel my most creative when I’m alone in my room with my headphones on and the lights dimmed. That’s when the noise of the outside world fades away and I can finally hear myself. There’s something about being in that quiet space, surrounded by everything I’ve lived through, that makes ideas come alive. Sometimes I’m playing with sounds in GarageBand, sometimes I’m journaling lyrics or just singing into the voice notes app. It doesn’t have to be polished, it just has to be real. That rawness is where my creativity starts. A lot of what I make is tied to my identity. I’m a young Black woman, first-generation college student, Trinidadian-born, and spiritually grounded but not religious. All of that shows up in my music. I don’t think I could separate those parts of myself even if I tried. I’ve lived in spaces where I felt invisible, judged, or misunderstood, and those experiences shape how I approach creativity. When I write lyrics or produce melodies, I’m often pulling from memories; walking home after school with headphones blasting soca, watching my mom light incense and pray, or feeling out of place in church as a kid because I questioned everything too much. All of that becomes sound. It becomes rhythm. I’m also really inspired by healing. I’ve dealt with anxiety and struggled to feel confident in my work. But making music has always been a way to process those feelings. When I create, I’m trying to express emotions I haven’t found words for yet. I think that’s why I’m drawn to slower tempos, warm chords, and layered vocals. They feel like safety. They feel like home. My spirituality is another layer. I don’t follow a specific religion, but I do believe in energy, intention, and intuition. That shows up in my creative process. I pull tarot cards when I’m stuck, or meditate before a session to clear my mind. I journal intentions for a song before I even open my DAW. It’s less about control and more about listening to myself, to the sound, to whatever wants to come through. My process is personal, spiritual, and emotional, because that’s how I live my life. I also think being from an immigrant background pushes me to create in a way that honors my roots while exploring something new. I want my music to reflect that duality, the cultural pride and the yearning to belong somewhere else. My mom came here with nothing and built a life for us. I feel like I’m building on top of that by chasing a dream in an industry where people like me are still underrepresented. That’s why I take it seriously. I’m not just making art for fun, I’m making art to take up space, to be seen, and to make room for others who feel like outsiders too. In the end, my creativity comes from all the different pieces of who I am. It’s not always perfect or even pretty, but it’s mine. And when I create from that place, from my actual lived experiences and my truth, that’s when I feel like I’m doing what I was meant to do.

Faith, in my life, has taken on many forms. I was raised Seventh-day Adventist, spending weekends in church, singing hymns, and learning stories rooted in tradition and discipline. My early years were structured around a strict moral code and a deep sense of community, which taught me the importance of commitment, respect, and reflection. But as I grew older, my family’s spiritual journey shifted; my mother converted to Buddhism, introducing our home to meditation, and the teachings of mindfulness. This major shift wasn’t just a religious transition; it redefined how I saw the world and my place in it. Personally, I no longer follow a specific religion, but I consider myself deeply spiritual. I believe in energy, intuition, and the connection between all living things. I practice mindfulness through journaling, tarot, and meditation, which help me stay grounded and self-aware. This spiritual foundation plays a major role in my academic and future goals. It teaches me to slow down and reflect, to set intentions with clarity, and to trust my inner guidance even in moments of doubt. Spirituality has helped me manage anxiety, especially around academic pressure, and has empowered me to approach challenges with a growth mindset. My pursuit of higher education is rooted in both this spiritual self-awareness and a sense of responsibility. As a first-generation college student and a young Black woman in a creative-technical field, I carry with me the hopes of my ancestors and the sacrifices of my mother, who left everything she knew in Trinidad to build a better life for us. Her courage and belief in education have shaped my resilience. Watching her transform her own beliefs and adapt through life’s challenges showed me the power of reinvention, which continues to push me to reach higher. In college, I’m majoring in Recording Arts and Technology because I believe sound is one of the most powerful tools for healing and storytelling. I want to use my education to become a producer, artist developer, or A&R executive. I want to be someone who doesn’t just make music, but nurtures artists and helps shape inclusive narratives in the industry. My spiritual path constantly reminds me to create with intention and to seek out stories that uplift and challenge. The combination of my spiritual foundation and my mother’s unwavering support has been the core reason I’ve stayed focused on my academic path. Faith, in all its evolving forms, has kept me rooted in my values while encouraging me to grow beyond limitations. I believe that education is not just about earning a degree. It’s a tool to evolve, to serve, and to lead. That’s the purpose I carry with me as I pursue higher education and build a future that aligns with both my spiritual path and creative aspirations.

As a Recording Arts and Technology major and a young Black woman, I’m passionate about bridging the gap between creativity and technology. Growing up in a low-income immigrant household, access to technology was limited, but that never stopped my curiosity. I used every opportunity I could to learn, borrowing laptops from my school, watching free YouTube tutorials, and eventually teaching myself the basics of audio editing and production. That early resourcefulness taught me to be resilient, innovative, and open-minded; traits that have continued to shape my approach to technology. Recently, I completed a summer course in Digital Audio Production, which helped me understand the more technical side of music creation. We worked hands-on with digital audio workstations (DAWs), learned about signal flow, editing tools, automation, EQ, and plugins. It was the first time I got to explore the science behind the art I’ve always loved. I learned how digital signal processing (DSP) allows us to manipulate audio in endless ways, from correcting pitch to enhancing textures and frequencies. It made me realize that technology isn’t just a tool in music, it’s an instrument of its own. What fascinates me most about the tech world is how it constantly evolves and opens up new creative possibilities. I’m particularly interested in how information technology intersects with music, whether that’s through audio software development, machine learning in music recommendation algorithms, or the use of artificial intelligence in virtual vocal synthesis. These advancements have the power to democratize music production and break down barriers for independent artists. While I’m still in the early stages of my academic journey, I’ve already started building my portfolio by producing cover songs and collaborating with other students. I’m also part of a peer group that helps each other troubleshoot DAW software and exchange plug-in presets. We may not be an official club yet, but we are definitely a growing community of student tech-creatives. As I continue through my degree, I hope to explore coding, learn more about user interface design in music software, and eventually work at the intersection of sound, tech, and innovation. I believe underrepresented voices are essential in shaping the future of information technology. We bring perspectives that challenge the status quo and build more inclusive systems, tools, and communities. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of college but also help me continue investing in my technical education through software, equipment, or even additional certifications. I’m excited to keep learning, collaborating, and innovating in this field, and I hope to one day mentor other students like me who don’t yet see themselves represented in tech.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry where Black female producers take up only 2.8% of producers in the U.S. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Beyoncé, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Recording Arts & Production at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Leaving an emotionally abusive and controlling relationship with my mother was one of the most difficult and transformative decisions of my life. As a young adult and first-generation college student, I had to choose between remaining in a toxic environment that stripped away my sense of self or walking into the unknown in search of healing and autonomy. That experience did not just change me, it gave me a purpose. I now plan to use my education and lived experience to help others recognize abuse, reclaim their identities, and find the strength to start over. Growing up under my mother's control meant that I constantly questioned my worth. Her love came with conditions: silence, obedience, and invisibility. Any attempt to express myself or assert boundaries was met with guilt, manipulation, or anger. It wasn’t always visible to the outside world, but it was deeply damaging. Over time, I developed anxiety, self-doubt, and a fear of trusting others. I felt isolated and confused, unsure of whether what I was experiencing even counted as abuse because there were no bruises, no police reports, only words that left invisible scars. What helped me begin to break free was education; learning the signs of emotional abuse, hearing stories that mirrored my own, and finally naming what I had endured. But even more crucial was the support I received from people who listened without judgment. Friends, mentors, and counselors validated my experience and reminded me that I deserved peace and autonomy. Their kindness lit a path forward. Today, I’m passionate about offering others that same light. While I’m not currently majoring in social services, my work as a creative, specifically in music and storytelling, has opened doors for advocacy. I’ve written songs and essays that explore mental health, trauma, and survival. I’ve used my story to start conversations about what emotional abuse can look like, particularly in Black families and communities where it’s often normalized or dismissed. I also plan to partner with on-campus mental health organizations to create safe spaces for students experiencing family abuse—spaces where they can be heard, believed, and supported. In the future, I hope to launch a creative initiative that merges art and mental health education. Through workshops, support groups, and multimedia storytelling, I want to help survivors express their experiences and rebuild their sense of self. These efforts will be rooted in empathy, cultural awareness, and trauma-informed care, so that no one feels pressured to heal in a way that doesn’t honor their truth. I believe that by listening deeply and offering people tools for self-expression, we help them rewrite the narratives that were once written for them. Assisting Black women in leaving abusive relationships means creating spaces where they don’t have to justify their pain. It means offering resources, representation, and relentless compassion. I know how hard it is to walk away, especially when the abuser is someone society says you’re supposed to love. But I also know the freedom that comes on the other side. With the help of this scholarship, I can continue pursuing the education, tools, and platform I need to make a real difference. My goal is not just to speak for survivors, but to make sure they know how to speak and live for themselves.

As a first-generation African American college student and the daughter of an immigrant mother from Trinidad, my entire journey has been shaped by resilience, creativity, and a deep connection to my roots. I used to struggle to be seen. Now I am unapologetically myself: a young Black woman with a bold voice, a spiritual soul, and an unshakable belief in the power of self-expression through music and art. I never fit into traditional molds, and I never wanted to. Instead, I embraced the very things that made me feel different: my love for sound, storytelling, spirituality, and community. Growing up as an immigrant in the U.S. was difficult. I had to adapt to new cultures and languages while holding onto my roots. I often felt out of place in both American and Caribbean spaces: too foreign for one, not foreign enough for the other. But what once felt isolating eventually became my superpower. I learned to navigate multiple perspectives, to be a bridge between cultures, and to use music to communicate across divides. As I entered college, I realized my background wasn’t something to hide, it was something to honor. What sets me apart is the way I use my creativity as a form of connection and healing. I’m a music production student, but I’m also someone who believes that music can be a bridge between cultures, between generations, between pain and healing. I’ve shared that gift through community service. Whether it's mentoring young girls at a summer program, helping kids in my neighborhood learn basic music production skills, or volunteering at school events, I always bring my full self. I make it a point to let others, especially younger Black girls, know that their stories, their voices, and their dreams are valid. I’ve also embraced my spirituality as a way to stay grounded and inspire others. I journal, meditate, and offer tarot readings as a way to help people reflect and heal. It might not be traditional, but it's meaningful, and it has opened up conversations that have brought comfort and clarity to others. Being unique isn't just about standing out, it’s about showing up. I show up as myself in every space, with the intention of making others feel seen. I use my experiences of being underestimated, of having to figure things out alone to make someone else’s path easier. Because I know what it feels like to be the only one, and I want others to know they aren’t alone. My uniqueness is my strength. It’s how I lead, how I serve, and how I’ll continue making a difference not just in classrooms or studios, but in the lives I touch along the way.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected, or accomplished. Instead, they are deemed aggressive, lazy, or unmotivated especially in the music industry. Yet Black women have been the masterminds behind some of the most influential music for generations. As a Black woman pursuing music production and recording arts, I’ve seen how industry expectations force us to water down our voices, our style, even our truth. If we don't dress or behave a certain way, we risk being dismissed. A prime example of this is Jhene Aiko. Early in her career, she appeared on several boy-band releases with vibrant R\&B tracks and was preparing to debut her own album. But due to tensions within her record label over her "style and manner," she was dropped. That moment stuck with me, not because it was surprising, but because it felt all too familiar. The truth is, the world wants Black women’s creativity, but not their bodies, voices, or identities attached to it. That’s why so often our ideas are taken and rebranded by white and male musicians. Big Mama Thornton wrote and originally recorded "Hound Dog," a raw and powerful anthem. Yet it was Elvis Presley’s version that received fame and fortune. The original message of female empowerment was erased, replaced by a mainstream version deemed more acceptable. This pattern has long inspired me to change the way the world hears and sees Black women. My “why” is rooted in this history, but it lives in the future. I want to become not only a producer and A\&R executive but a creative director who brings Black women’s narratives to the forefront, uncensored and unfiltered. And I don’t want to stop at music. I envision launching a multi-platform creative studio that amplifies Black voices through sound, visuals, and storytelling. My dream project is a multimedia TV show that blends music, animation, and live action. The storyline would follow a young Afro-Caribbean girl who discovers her ancestral superpowers through rhythm and sound. The world she navigates would be shaped by beats, harmony, and the spirit of the diaspora reimagining Black girlhood and technology through a futuristic lens. This is why I’m pursuing a degree in Recording Arts & Production at Montclair State University. Not only does it give me the tools to produce music at a high level, but it connects me to a network of creatives, mentors, and changemakers who are shaping the future of art and sound. I also plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to learn how to navigate and reshape the business side of the music industry. My long-term goal is to mentor young Black artists, provide access to production resources, and tell stories that reflect the richness of our lives and identities. In a world where AI can generate beats, write lyrics, and even mimic voices, I believe our humanity is what keeps art alive. Technology is evolving, but it cannot replicate lived experience. It cannot replicate the grief, joy, or spiritual connection found in a Black woman’s voice or the history encoded in our rhythm. Instead of competing with AI, I plan to work alongside it, using it as a tool to enhance storytelling, not erase the storyteller. I want to create with intention. Whether it’s designing a digital soundscape for a virtual reality experience or writing a comic series with embedded soundtracks, my projects will always begin with a story rooted in truth. What motivates me most is the potential to build a creative legacy where young Black girls don’t have to ask for permission to be themselves. I want to show them that their stories matter, their ideas are valid, and that creation is a form of resistance. I believe that the future of storytelling doesn’t just lie in high-tech innovation; it lies in who gets to tell the story. With this scholarship, I can invest in the tools, education, and mentorship I need to bring these visions to life. I can continue to write, produce, and design works that challenge the industry’s standards and uplift underrepresented voices. And most importantly, I can continue to create art that tells the truth.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Recording Arts & Production at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Recording Arts & Production at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Paragraph from The Republic by Plato (Book VII, The Allegory of the Cave): "And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?" Essay: In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, the philosopher uses imagery and metaphor to explore the painful, often rejected journey from ignorance to enlightenment. The paragraph above contains the heart of this allegory: that truth, when first encountered, is uncomfortable, even painful. My central thesis is this Plato’s passage suggests that humans prefer the comfort of familiar illusions over the discomfort of confronting truth, and that this avoidance impedes only personal growth and societal progress. Plato begins the paragraph by posing a hypothetical: if someone who had only ever known shadows on a cave wall were suddenly exposed to the sunlight, true knowledge, would they not be in discomfort? He writes, "will he not have a pain in his eyes," using physical pain as a metaphor for cognitive dissonance. This is not just the story of a man adjusting his eyes, but of a mind adjusting to the truth. Plato is not merely describing a biological reaction; he’s describing the human instinct to retreat when our worldview is challenged. In this context, the "objects of vision" refer to the familiar shadows on the cave wall, distorted representations of reality that are comfortable because they are known. To Plato, this retreat to comfort represents humanity’s resistance to intellectual or spiritual awakening. What makes this line particularly powerful is its timelessness. In a modern context, the "light" may be new information that disrupts our deeply held beliefs, such as scientific findings, historical truths, or cultural reckonings. The "pain in the eyes" symbolizes the emotional or psychological resistance we experience when our assumptions are questioned. And so, we often turn back to what feels safe: our biases, our traditions, our echo chambers. Plato’s language "which he will conceive to be in reality clearer" emphasizes that humans often mistake familiarity for clarity. We assume that just because something feels true, it must be true. This paragraph also reveals Plato’s deeper warning about leadership and education. In the larger context of the allegory, the enlightened prisoner has a moral obligation to return to the cave and help free the others. But when he does, he is met with hostility and rejection. This suggests that societies are not only resistant to enlightenment; they actively persecute those who challenge it. So, Plato critiques not just individual ignorance but systemic ignorance. He implies that true education is not the passive absorption of information, but a transformative process that often requires unlearning and discomfort. Plato’s use of the word “compelled” is deliberate and significant. It implies that enlightenment is not always a voluntary process. Sometimes, circumstances force us to confront truths we’d rather avoid like trauma, injustice, or loss. And when that happens, our instinct is to retreat. But Plato argues that we must push through that initial pain if we ever hope to live in truth rather than illusion. Ultimately, this passage from The Republic continues to resonate because it shows the tension between comfort and truth, between illusion and reality. Close reading of this line reveals that the journey toward knowledge is emotional, painful, and deeply human. Plato’s allegory urges us not to turn away from the light but to walk toward it, even when it hurts. Because only then can we see clearly. Only then can we be free.

My earliest memory of music was when I was around four years old. It was rainy season in Trinidad. Music blasting through car windows was a common occurrence during this time. My mom was doing the same. I remember the clouds dimming her face slightly in the rearview mirror I watched from my booster car seat. My mom and sister were singing along to "Work It" by Missy Elliot. I studied the way their shoulders bounced in the sunlight along with the music. I watched as my mom took big breaths before every verse. Like she knew what to expect. Like she knew what she was doing. That was when my first questions about music began. If you ask a non-musician about music literacy, their first thought might be someone playing an instrument or reading sheet music. Which counts but musical literacy goes far beyond that. Through the lens of music technology and production, being musically literate means understanding how to create melodies or harmonies but also knowing how to capture, manipulate, and enhance sound using technology. In music production, literacy involves a deep understanding of how sound works. It’s about recognizing the subtle differences between frequencies and being able to translate emotions audibly. For me, music literacy is the ability to turn abstract ideas into tangible, audible art. I first became interested in music technology around the age of seven, when I learned what a genre was. My sister explained that Soca was the Trinidadian music we often listened to. She told me songs belonged to genres; Taylor Swift was pop/country, Machel Montano was Soca, Aretha Franklin was Soul. That one conversation changed everything. I began paying attention to songs and how they made me feel. Eventually, I became fascinated by why music could influence my emotions so deeply. I even tried resisting it; listening to sad songs to see what made them sad. It was during one of those nights that I realized music had the power to help me feel and release things I couldn’t articulate. I sobbed, and it felt good. Music wasn’t just a sound; it was an escape. When I first stepped into the world of music production, I quickly realized that it had its own language. My first Digital Audio Workstation (DAW) was GarageBand, and learning it felt like learning to read and write all over again. My early attempts were frustrating. I couldn’t get vocal takes to match, and terms like EQ, compression, and automation were foreign to me. The technical aspects were overwhelming, but I kept going. The turning point came when I finished my first full cover song, Ariana Grande’s "Into You." I had been working on it for weeks. The day I finally got the EQ settings right and heard my vocals sit perfectly on top of the track, I cried. Not because it was perfect, but because it finally sounded like me. That moment gave me confidence. From that point on, I began mentoring younger students who were curious about music production. I volunteered in school programs and shared the basics of GarageBand with middle schoolers. I also participated in community events and performed at local gatherings. These experiences helped me connect my passion for music with service to others. As a Black woman in a field where we are underrepresented and often overlooked, I also see my journey as one of representation and resilience. I want to break barriers and show other young Black girls that they belong in music production too. My background: immigrant, first-generation college student, self-taught producer, shapes everything I do.

When I reflect on what it means to serve a community, I think of energy. Not the kind that shows up in physical action, but the quiet, intentional energy that radiates when someone shows up with love, patience, and purpose. That’s how I try to live my life: through service rooted in presence and compassion. As a young woman navigating college as a first-generation student and immigrant from Trinidad and Tobago, I’ve come to understand that giving back is not always about grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s about holding space for others in the same way I’ve longed for someone to hold space for me. From a young age, I found comfort in spirituality. Tarot, meditation, and journaling have become my healing tools. I used them to understand myself and to guide and support others. Over time, I’ve realized that my spiritual practice isn't separate from my community work; it is the foundation of it. I’ve done free tarot readings for classmates in need of direction or reassurance, offered meditation guidance to peers during stressful midterms, and shared journal prompts with young women in my community so they could begin healing journeys of their own. These small acts of spiritual service often open the door to deeper conversations about identity, self-worth, and dreams; conversations that can be life-changing. Outside of spirituality, I have remained actively involved in serving my college and local New Jersey community. I’ve volunteered for food drives, interned for musical programming at community events, and tutored elementary school students in music. I recently joined a music workshop where I helped young girls write and produce their first original songs using GarageBand, showing them that their voices are powerful and that art is a tool for healing and expression. Moments like that remind me that giving isn’t about what you have materially, but about what you choose to offer: your time, your heart, your wisdom. I’ve also served my church through performance and outreach. During the holidays, I help organize gift drives for children and sing at local community gatherings to bring light into people’s lives. Music, like spirituality, is another way I connect with people on a soul level. It’s my language of love, and I’ve come to see that every beat, every lyric, every shared song has the power to make someone feel less alone. I may not always have the answers, but I offer presence, peace, and purpose. And I hope to continue sharing that energy with my community. Not just in times of celebration, but in moments of silence, healing, and transformation.

The first time I truly felt understood was not through words, but through music. Growing up, life was often uncertain; a delicate balancing act between survival and hope. As an immigrant from Trinidad and Tobago and a first-generation college student, I always knew that the road ahead of me would be steep. But music was the one constant, the invisible thread stitching together my dreams when everything else felt like it was falling apart. At eleven, when my family lost our home, I didn’t have many belongings to cling to. What I did have was my voice, my imagination, and the songs that played through the cracked speakers of my old iPhone. I would sit in borrowed bedrooms, crafting melodies in my head, feeling seen and whole in a way the world around me didn’t always allow. As I grew older, my connection to music deepened. I wasn’t just listening anymore, I was creating. I taught myself to use GarageBand on my phone, layering vocals and programming beats late into the night. Producing my first full cover, Into You by Ariana Grande, was a breakthrough: it wasn’t polished or perfect, but it was mine. It was proof that even without professional equipment or formal training, I could bring my ideas to life. That small project sparked a fire inside me that hasn’t dimmed since. Today, I am pursuing a degree in Music Recording & Production and Performance. Every class, every late night editing session, every moment spent fine-tuning a mix feels like a step closer to the future I once thought might be out of reach. I am fascinated by the behind-the-scenes magic that brings a song to life; the intricate dance of sound engineering, the art of uncovering raw talent as an A&R scout, and the thrill of creating something that moves people on a visceral level. After completing my degree, I hope to either work as a recording engineer, helping artists capture their best performances, or dive into the world of A&R, discovering and nurturing artists whose voices deserve to be heard. Representation matters deeply to me. I know firsthand what it feels like to come from a background that is often overlooked in the music industry. I want to help bring more diverse stories and sounds to the world stage to create music that isn’t just technically excellent, but emotionally resonant and authentically human. Music gave me a voice when I didn’t know how to speak my struggles out loud. It gave me community when I felt alone. And it gave me the courage to dream even when the odds seemed impossible. Receiving the Marshall and Dorothy Smith Memorial Scholarship would not only help ease the financial burdens that threaten to derail these dreams, but it would also be a reminder that my story is worth investing in. I carry with me every song I’ve ever loved, every beat I’ve ever built from scratch, and every dream I dared to whisper in the dark. And with the education I am fighting to earn, I know I can help shape the future of music; one voice, one story, one song at a time.

The hum of the air conditioner was barely enough to drown out the thoughts racing through my mind as I sat on the floor of a borrowed bedroom. I was eleven years old, surrounded by suitcases and plastic bags, trying to make sense of the eviction notice that had turned my world upside down. That night, my family stayed with a friend, sleeping on mismatched furniture and clutching hope like it was something tangible. It was the first time I realized that stability, the kind others took for granted, was something I would have to fight for. Fast forward to today: I am a first-generation college student majoring in Music Recording & Production and Performance. Walking onto my college campus for the first time was nothing short of surreal. I carried with me every hardship, every sleepless night wondering if my dreams were too expensive to afford. But I also carried a fierce determination, one born from those early days of uncertainty. My greatest achievement is not a single moment; it is the journey of getting here. It is the countless times I chose late-night study sessions over temporary distractions. It is the afternoons spent working at a daycare as a teacher assistant to help support my education. It is the endless balancing act between coursework, financial stress, and pursuing my passion for music; a passion that has been my constant companion through every chapter of my life. One of the pivotal moments in my journey was when I finished producing my first full music cover — a rendition of Ariana Grande’s Into You— using nothing but my iPhone and GarageBand. It wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was rough and full of technical mistakes. But to me, it was proof that even without expensive equipment, formal training, or a professional studio, my creativity could still find a way to live and breathe. It taught me that I could turn limitations into stepping stones, and that resourcefulness was just as powerful as any traditional resource. More than anything, this journey has taught me resilience. It has taught me to embrace imperfection, to see setbacks not as signs to stop but as invitations to push harder. I have learned that my circumstances do not define my potential. They are simply the backdrop to a story I am still writing. Looking to the future, my dreams stretch far beyond personal success. I hope to work in the music industry; not just to produce songs, but to create opportunities for other young dreamers like myself. I want to discover and nurture new voices, especially those who come from overlooked and underrepresented communities. I also aspire to build mentorship programs for youth passionate about music, offering them the kind of support and belief that I often had to give myself. A scholarship from the WCEJ Thornton Foundation would not just ease the financial burdens that weigh heavily on my shoulders. It would be a tangible vote of confidence in a dream that has been fueled by perseverance, heart, and a relentless refusal to give up; even when giving up would have been easier. My journey has never been easy, but it has always been mine. And with support, I know I can turn the struggles of my past into a future that not only uplifts me but also those who come after me.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Recording Arts & Production at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus as a student assistant in live music. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Recording Arts& Production at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Black Student Union and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and workshops on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

I still remember sitting on the worn steps of our small family home, listening to my parents’ quiet determination as they recounted stories of their humble beginnings. In our close-knit community, where every neighbor was like family, the value of hard work was never just a lesson—it was a way of life. Growing up amid modest means, I quickly learned that education was not merely a path to personal success but a ticket to a world of possibilities beyond the familiar streets of my hometown. As I navigated my early academic years, I was drawn to the power of creativity. My love for music, storytelling, and the arts became a refuge during uncertain times. There were days when financial hardships and the unpredictability of our circumstances cast long shadows over my dreams. Yet, in those moments of struggle, I discovered resilience I never knew I had. Each setback, whether it was a looming eviction or the challenge of accessing quality learning materials, taught me that obstacles could be transformed into stepping stones with perseverance. During one particularly trying period, I met Mrs. Carrington, my middle school global studies teacher, whose passion for history, art and belief in the transformative power of education lit a spark within me. With her gentle guidance and support, I began to see my challenges not as insurmountable barriers but as invitations to grow stronger. Her encouragement nurtured my ambition to pursue a higher education in the United States, a place where the promise of knowledge and opportunity intertwines with the freedom to reinvent oneself. Mrs. Carrington’s mentorship showed me that success is not solely measured by personal gain but by the positive impact one can have on others. Now, as I prepare to embark on my college journey in Recording Arts & Production, my dreams have taken on a new dimension. I envision a future where I can use music and storytelling not just to entertain, but to bridge divides and uplift communities. Beyond earning a degree, I aim to create platforms that celebrate diverse voices and empower others who, like me, come from underrepresented backgrounds. My post-graduate plans include launching community programs that blend artistic expression with education, ensuring that the lessons of perseverance and hope continue to ripple outward. The path to this future is steeped in both trials and triumphs; a testament to the enduring support of family, community, and those few luminous mentors who believed in me. Every note I compose and every story I share is imbued with the spirit of those early days on the front steps of my home. Pursuing higher education in the United States is not just about personal achievement; it is about carrying forward the legacy of hard work and compassion that has defined my past, and using that foundation to help build a more inclusive and inspiring future for others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected, artistic and accomplished human beings. Instead they are deemed as aggressive, irrational, lazy and unmotivated. Especially in the music industry. This is interesting to me because Black women have been the masterminds behind every piece of influential music for decades. And they continue today. As a Black woman, to even be considered a rising star, the music industry needs to ensure they dress appropriately, act accordingly, and do what they’re told. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this is with Jhene Aiko. Aiko appeared on several popular boy band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks and often even toured with them. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She ended up being released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities for the world to see. Which is why they are often shoved behind curtains to guide their white, male associates. Though they are barely given the chance to flourish; spectators crave their sound, their soul, their warmth and their passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to many white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This failure in the system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women in the industry who have found a way to break through and fight. Such as, Megan the Stallion, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys, Beyonce, Bessie Smith and thankfully many more. However, it is still necessary for industry leaders to address the issues within and start uniting to make change. What I plan to do at Montclair State University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They broke barriers and set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. Being the first in my family to attend college has profoundly influenced my career choices. It has forced me to become resilient and fiercely determined. I see my education as a stepping stone toward breaking the cycle of poverty that has affected generations in my family. I am driven by the desire to create opportunities where none existed before. By merging my love for music with my commitment to social change, I envision establishing community-based music programs and mentorships that encourage young, underrepresented voices to pursue their dreams. The Robert F. Lawson Fund for Careers that Care Scholarship represents much more than financial support—it is a symbol of hope and a validation of my journey. This scholarship will ease the financial burdens that have often threatened to derail my academic progress, enabling me to invest in essential learning materials and technology that are critical to my success. With these resources, I can focus on developing my craft and acquiring the skills necessary to succeed in the competitive field of music production. Moreover, the award will serve as a constant reminder that I am not alone on this journey, that a community believes in my potential, and that my aspirations are not only valid but achievable.

Growing up, I have always seen education as a form of hope—a way to transform not only my own future but also my family’s and community. Every step I take toward higher education is built upon the sacrifices and support of my loved ones and teachers. Their belief in my potential has instilled in me a deep commitment to succeed. In my household, resources were always limited, but creativity and determination were abundant. Music became my sanctuary. I could only describe it as a language that transcended our daily struggles. Amid financial constraints, I found solace in the harmonies and rhythms that reflected my life experiences. This passion led me to pursue a major in Recording Arts & Production, where I am not only honing my technical skills but also learning how to tell stories through sound. I dream of becoming a recording artist and performer who uses music as a tool to inspire and empower others. Being the first in my family to attend college has profoundly influenced my career choices. It has forced me to become resilient and fiercely determined. I see my education as a stepping stone toward breaking the cycle of poverty that has affected generations in my family. I desire to create opportunities where none existed before. By merging my love for music with my commitment to social change, I envision establishing community-based music programs and mentorships that encourage young, underrepresented voices to pursue their dreams. The Phoenix Opportunity Award represents much more than financial support, its a symbol of hope and a validation of my journey. This scholarship will ease the financial burdens that have often threatened to derail my academic progress, enabling me to invest in essential learning technology like a MacBook. With these resources, I can focus on developing my craft and acquiring the skills necessary to succeed in the competitive field of music production. Moreover, this award will serve as a constant reminder that my aspirations are not only valid but achievable. In conclusion, my experiences as a first-generation college student from a low-income background have shaped my career goals and personal mission. I aspire to be a recording artist and performer who uses my art to uplift and transform lives. With the support of the Phoenix Opportunity Award, I will be empowered to continue my education, refine my talents, and ultimately create opportunities for others to overcome adversity and succeed.

I am a proud LGBTQ+ individual and a first-generation college student with a deep passion for music and storytelling. Growing up as an underrepresented minority, I have faced unique challenges that have both tested my resilience and ignited my determination to pursue higher education. My identity and background have shaped who I am today, and they continue to fuel my ambition to become a recording artist and performer, a voice for those who are often unheard. My journey into the world of music began at a young age. Music became a form of self-expression, a way to process the struggles of navigating both my cultural heritage and my sexual identity in a society that did not always embrace difference. While many nights were filled with uncertainty and isolation, I found solace in the rhythms and melodies that spoke to my soul. I immersed myself in the study of Recording Arts & Production, determined to turn my passion into a career. I believe that through music, I can challenge societal norms and create spaces where diversity is celebrated and every story is valued. One of my proudest accomplishments was interning as an elementary school music teacher assistant. This experience allowed me to see firsthand how music can inspire young minds. It was a powerful reminder of the transformative role education plays in imparting knowledge but also in shaping creative individuals. It is this intersection of music and education that motivates me to give back to my community. I aspire to use my skills to mentor other underrepresented youth, to help them find their voices and overcome the obstacles I once faced. Adam Montes, whose legacy as an LGBTQ+ educator and community advocate continues to inspire many, has had a profound influence on my journey. His dedication to empowering students and fostering inclusivity resonates deeply with me. I see my future not only as an artist but also as an advocate; someone who uses their platform to educate, uplift, and drive positive change. I plan to create music that challenges prejudice and unites people across diverse backgrounds, continuing Adam’s mission of inclusivity and empowerment. Receiving this scholarship would not only alleviate some of the financial burdens associated with pursuing higher education but would also serve as an affirmation of my potential. With this support, I will be better equipped to access the books, technology, and resources necessary to excel in my studies and artistic endeavors. Ultimately, I envision a future where my music becomes a catalyst for change, inspiring a new generation to embrace diversity, pursue their dreams, and create a more interconnected and compassionate world.

Growing up as a first-generation, low-income student, my journey toward higher education has been a path marked by challenges, resilience, and unwavering determination. I come from a family where financial resources were scarce, yet the value of education was held in the highest regard. My single mother, despite working tirelessly in low-wage jobs, instilled in me the belief that learning could transform my future. Although she was unable to provide the monetary support many of my peers received, her sacrifices and encouragement fueled my passion for knowledge to succeed. Throughout my academic career, I have encountered obstacles that often seemed insurmountable. In elementary school, I eagerly absorbed every book I could get my hands on, even if it meant borrowing outdated textbooks from the library or sharing a single copy with classmates. The absence of modern resources was a constant reminder of our financial limitations, but it also taught me resourcefulness. I learned to maximize every opportunity by seeking out free online courses, community workshops, and public library resources. These experiences not only enhanced my academic skills but also reinforced my belief that determination could overcome material shortages. During high school, I balanced a rigorous academic schedule with part-time work to help support my family. My job provided me with firsthand experience in budgeting and managing time effectively, but it also came with the harsh reality that every dollar counted. Despite these challenges, I remained committed to my studies and became actively involved in extracurricular activities. I volunteered as a mentor for younger students, organized study groups, and participated in community outreach programs. Each of these endeavors enriched my understanding of teamwork and community service. My goal in attending college is not only to fulfill my personal aspirations but also to serve as a beacon of hope for other young women facing similar hardships. I aspire to pursue a degree in Recording Arts & Production with the ultimate aim of becoming a recording artist and performer and then opening my own music school. A college education represents a transformative opportunity, a means to break the cycle of poverty and empower myself to make meaningful contributions to society. This scholarship is more than financial assistance; it is an investment in my potential to change lives. By easing the financial burden of purchasing essential books and other educational resources, it will allow me to focus wholeheartedly on my studies and community involvement. With your support, I will be better equipped to achieve academic excellence, pursue my career goals, and inspire future generations to overcome adversity. Thank you for considering my application and for supporting the dreams of bright, determined young women like me.

Music has always been my refuge. A way to turn struggle into rhythm and adversity into art. Growing up, my family and I faced the uncertainty of eviction more than once, and at times, we even experienced the instability of homelessness. Those challenging moments taught me resilience and sparked a determination to create something beautiful out of hardship. I am currently pursuing a degree in Recording Arts & Production, driven by a passion for music and pop culture. I channel my experiences into every beat and melody I write, using sound to tell stories that reflect real life. The struggles, the victories, and the hope that comes from overcoming obstacles. My work extends beyond the classroom; I also recently became involved in my campus’s Women in Recording, Engineering, and Sound (W.I.R.E.S) club. Our mission is to promote visibility and equal opportunities for women audio engineers, producers, and technicians by seeking events and professional opportunities through industry partners, organizations, and services. My dream is to build a career in music production, creating recordings that empower others and bring light to untold stories. I envision a future where my work not only entertains but also offers a voice to those who have been silenced by life’s hardships. This scholarship is crucial in helping me achieve that dream. It will ease my financial burdens, allowing me to invest in essential tools and technology, and enable me to focus on honing my craft without the constant worry of economic instability. By supporting my education, you are not only investing in my future but also in a vision where creativity transforms pain into progress. With your help, I will continue to turn every challenge into an opportunity to inspire and make a lasting impact; both personally and professionally.

Attending Sabrina Carpenter's concert in 2019 at the Wellmont Theater was a pivotal moment in my life that left an indelible mark on both my personal and artistic journey. As a first-generation college student pursuing a degree in music recording and production, and as an immigrant navigating through the complexities of the U.S. education system, I have often sought sources of inspiration that not only motivate me but also help me define my artistic identity. Sabrina Carpenter, through her talent, authenticity, and unshakable confidence, became the beacon that illuminated my path toward becoming a performer and singer. Sabrina’s music, style, and stage presence transcended my expectations. I had admired her from afar for years, watching her grow from a Disney Channel star into a multifaceted artist with a clear vision and voice. But it was witnessing her live performance that truly solidified my admiration. There’s something incredibly powerful about watching an artist connect with their audience in such an intimate and genuine way. Sabrina’s energy on stage was magnetic; every note she sang and every move she made felt intentional, as though she was sharing a piece of her soul with the audience. This experience was more than just a concert; it was a masterclass in artistry and performance. Her career has shown me what it means to balance vulnerability and strength in both music and personal expression. As I reflect on her journey, I’m reminded that success in the music industry doesn’t just come from technical proficiency but from the ability to connect with others on a deeper level. Sabrina’s songs often deal with themes of self-discovery, resilience, and empowerment, and hearing her perform these pieces live made me feel seen, heard, and understood. I learned that music can be both a personal and universal experience, and that message has been a driving force in my own pursuit of a career in music. Seeing Sabrina Carpenter in concert also reaffirmed my passion for singing and performance. Her journey has shown me that success in the music industry isn’t always linear and that staying true to oneself is the key to long-term growth. Sabrina’s ability to evolve, experiment with different genres, and remain authentic to her core has inspired me to embrace my own unique voice and perspective as an artist. As I continue to study music, I strive to bring that same energy and authenticity to my performances, and I see Sabrina as a model of how one can navigate the complexities of the music industry while maintaining integrity. In conclusion, Sabrina Carpenter’s career has had a profound impact on me, shaping both my aspirations and my artistic development. She has inspired me to embrace my love for performance, to be unapologetically myself, and to trust that my voice, both literally and figuratively,has value in the world of music. I am proud to call myself a fan, and I hope to one day inspire others the way she has inspired me.

Why I Enrolled in My Current Program I chose to major in Recording Arts Production because music is my greatest passion. As an immigrant from Trinidad & Tobago and a first-generation college student, I have always viewed music as a universal language that transcends borders. My love for music started at a young age, but it was through production that I discovered the power of shaping sound and storytelling. I enrolled in this program because I want to develop the technical skills necessary to produce, record, and perform music at a professional level. I also want to help amplify the voices of artists, especially those from underrepresented communities like mine, who may not have access to the resources needed to share their talents with the world. How I Will Use My Knowledge to Benefit Society Music has the power to heal, unite, and inspire change. With my education, I plan to make a meaningful impact in the industry by creating opportunities for aspiring artists, particularly young musicians from immigrant and first-generation backgrounds who lack access to professional training. I want to establish a mentorship program that provides music education, production training, and career guidance to underserved communities. Additionally, I aim to use my skills to produce music that tells important stories; whether it’s shedding light on social issues, celebrating cultural heritage, or simply creating songs that bring people joy and comfort. By bridging the gap between artistry and accessibility, I hope to give back in a way that fosters growth and representation in the music world. Balancing Work and College Working while being a college student has been incredibly challenging, but it has also taught me valuable lessons in time management, discipline, and perseverance. As a student with significant loan debt, I have had to take on jobs to support myself, all while balancing coursework, rehearsals, and production projects. There have been times when exhaustion made it difficult to focus on my studies, but I’ve learned to push through and stay motivated because I know what’s at stake. One of the hardest aspects of working while in school is knowing that financial limitations sometimes prevent me from dedicating as much time as I’d like to my craft. Not having a car has also made it difficult to travel between classes, work, and potential networking opportunities. Despite these obstacles, working while studying has given me a deeper appreciation for the opportunities I do have. It has made me more resourceful, determined, and driven to succeed; not just for myself, but for my family and my community. Conclusion My journey as a first-generation college student and working musician has been tough, but it has reinforced my passion for my field. I know that every challenge I overcome brings me one step closer to achieving my dreams. Through my education, I hope to inspire, uplift, and create meaningful change in the music industry and beyond.

Tell Us About Yourself My name is Shemia, and I am a first-generation college student majoring in Recording Arts and Production. Originally from Trinidad & Tobago, my mother and I immigrated to the United States in search of better opportunities. Music has always been a guiding force in my life, shaping my identity and giving me a sense of purpose. I aspire to make a meaningful impact in the music industry, not only as a performer but also as a producer who amplifies underrepresented voices, especially those of Caribbean artists like myself. How Will This Scholarship Help You? As a student with significant loan debt, financial stress is a constant challenge. Additionally, not having a car makes it difficult to access internships, networking events, and even day-to-day college life. This scholarship would help alleviate some of that burden, allowing me to focus on my education and career development without constantly worrying about finances. It would bring me closer to my dreams by providing me with the resources I need to succeed. What Are Your Academic and/or Career Goals? My goal is to establish myself in the music industry as both a performer and a producer. I want to create music that resonates with people while also helping other artists bring their visions to life. Beyond personal success, I aim to build a platform that supports young musicians, especially those from immigrant backgrounds, by providing them with mentorship, resources, and opportunities that they may not otherwise have. How Have You Contributed to Your Community? Giving back is deeply important to me. Throughout high school and college, I have used my musical talents to inspire and support others. I have volunteered to teach music lessons to younger students and have performed at community events that raise funds for important causes. Additionally, I have been a mentor to fellow first-generation students, sharing my experiences and helping them navigate the challenges of college life. I believe that small acts of kindness and guidance can make a significant difference, and I intend to continue giving back throughout my career. Tell Us About a Time You Failed and What You Learned From It One of my biggest failures was my first attempt at producing a song. I had a vision but lacked the technical skills to execute it properly. After spending hours on the project, I ended up with something that didn’t meet my expectations, and I felt discouraged. However, instead of giving up, I used that failure as motivation to improve. I dedicated myself to learning more about production, taking courses, and practicing relentlessly. Now, I can confidently produce my own music, and I view that failure as an essential stepping stone in my growth. Describe Your Greatest Strengths One of my greatest strengths is my resilience. Despite financial hardships and the challenges of being a first-generation college student, I continue to push forward. I am also highly creative, always finding new ways to express myself through music. Lastly, I am deeply empathetic, using my experiences to connect with and uplift others. These strengths fuel my passion and drive to succeed, not just for myself, but for my community as well.

As a Trinidadian immigrant, I feel a deep connection to Theresa Lord’s story. Like her, my mother left our small island in pursuit of better opportunities, believing, just as Theresa did, that education is the key to success. Her sacrifices are the reason I am here today, working toward my degree in Recording Arts and Production. My journey has not been easy, but my heritage and my family's resilience have given me the strength to keep pushing forward. Music has always been more than just a passion for me—it is my purpose. Growing up in Trinidad & Tobago, I was surrounded by the rich sounds of soca, calypso, and steelpan. These rhythms shaped my love for music and instilled in me the desire to tell stories through sound. Now, as a college student in the U.S., I am determined to carve out a space for myself in the music industry, where I can elevate Caribbean voices and bring more cultural representation into mainstream media. My ultimate goal is to become a producer and performer who creates opportunities for underrepresented artists, ensuring that the next generation of musicians, especially those from immigrant backgrounds, have a platform to share their art. One of the biggest obstacles I have faced is the financial burden of being a first-generation college student. My mother worked hard to give me a chance at higher education, but student loan debt has been an overwhelming reality. On top of that, not having a car has made navigating college life much more difficult, limiting my ability to attend networking events, internships, and even some classes. At times, it feels like the odds are stacked against me. However, my struggles have only deepened my resilience. They have taught me that while barriers exist, they do not define me. Like Theresa Lord, I believe in myself and the power of education to change lives. Through these challenges, I have learned the value of perseverance and adaptability. I have found ways to make the most of my opportunities, taking on every gig, mentorship, and learning experience that comes my way. Most importantly, I have realized that my success is not just about me; it is about honoring my mother’s sacrifices, uplifting my community, and paving the way for others who face similar struggles. This scholarship would alleviate some of the financial pressure weighing on me and allow me to focus on what truly matter—my education and my dreams. It would bring me one step closer to achieving my goals and, in turn, giving back to my community by creating opportunities for young Caribbean artists. Like Theresa Lord, I want to witness milestones. Not just my own, but those of the people I will help along the way.

Being the first in my family to obtain a college degree is both an honor and a responsibility. As an immigrant from Trinidad & Tobago, I have watched my mother work tirelessly to provide me with opportunities she never had. Her sacrifices are the foundation upon which I am building my future, and earning a degree is not just for me;it is for her, for my family, and for every dream she put on hold so that I could chase mine. It represents breaking a cycle, proving that higher education is possible despite financial and systemic obstacles, and paving the way for future generations. The weight of being a first-generation student is heavy, but it fuels my determination to succeed. In college, I am pursuing a degree in Recording Arts and Production. Music has always been my passion, my escape, and my way of expressing myself. From a young age, I was captivated by the way sound could tell stories, evoke emotions, and bring people together. I want to master the technical and artistic aspects of music production so that I can contribute meaningfully to the industry. Whether it is through producing music, performing, or mentoring aspiring artists, I want to help create spaces where diverse voices are heard and celebrated. My long-term goal is to establish a career in the music industry where I can uplift underrepresented artists and provide opportunities for those who, like me, come from immigrant or first-generation backgrounds. I want to use my expertise to produce music that inspires and connects people across cultures. Eventually, I hope to open a recording studio that doubles as an educational space, where young musicians can learn about music production, songwriting, and the business side of the industry. Beyond that, I want to advocate for accessibility in the arts, ensuring that financial barriers do not prevent talented individuals from pursuing their creative dreams. Being a first-generation college student comes with immense challenges, from navigating student loan debt to balancing academic and personal responsibilities. Without a car, commuting to school and accessing networking opportunities is difficult, making the journey even more demanding. However, these struggles only strengthen my resolve. My education is more than just a personal achievement; it is proof that with perseverance, passion, and support, success is possible. This scholarship would be life-changing, allowing me to focus more on my studies and career development rather than the financial strain of student debt. It would also bring me closer to securing reliable transportation, making it easier to access internships, auditions, and industry events that are crucial to my growth. Ultimately, earning my degree is just the beginning. My journey is about more than personal success; it is about using my experiences to help others find their path in music and beyond. I want to honor my mother’s sacrifices by making the most of every opportunity and, in turn, creating opportunities for those who come after me.

The American Dream, to me, is about opportunity; the chance to build a life that reflects my passions, hard work, and aspirations, despite the challenges that come with being an immigrant. It’s about resilience, determination, and the pursuit of something greater than what was previously possible. For my family, the American Dream meant leaving behind familiarity and comfort in Trinidad & Tobago to seek better educational and career opportunities in the United States. My mother made immense sacrifices to provide me with a future full of possibilities, and now, as I navigate my own journey, I carry that same drive to make the most of every opportunity. Pursuing a college degree has not been easy. As an immigrant and a first-generation college student, I’ve had to learn how to navigate higher education with limited resources and financial strain. Student loan debt is a looming burden, and without a car, simple tasks like commuting to class, attending internships, or participating in networking events are incredibly difficult. Yet, despite these struggles, I am determined to push forward. My passion for music drives me to persevere, and I see my education as the foundation for a career that will allow me to uplift others, especially those who, like me, come from immigrant backgrounds and face systemic barriers. For me, the American Dream is not just about personal success; it’s about giving back. Music has been my refuge, my inspiration, and my way of connecting with the world. Through my studies in recording arts and production, I hope to carve a path in the music industry where I can amplify the voices of underrepresented artists, create meaningful work, and use my platform to mentor and support young musicians. I want to show aspiring artists,especially those from immigrant families, that their dreams are valid, no matter their circumstances. The American Dream is often portrayed as a destination, but I see it as an ongoing journey. One that requires persistence, adaptability, and community. It’s about breaking down barriers so that the next generation has an easier path forward. I aim to use my career to build opportunities for young artists who lack access to resources, providing them with the guidance, encouragement, and technical knowledge needed to succeed. Receiving this scholarship would be a critical step in my journey. It would ease my financial burden, allowing me to focus on my studies and future career without the constant worry of debt. It would also bring me closer to achieving independence by helping me save for a car, which would significantly improve my ability to seize educational and professional opportunities. At its core, the American Dream is about hope, the hope that with enough determination, anything is possible. My mother’s sacrifices have shown me the power of perseverance, and I intend to honor that by making the most of my education and using my career to uplift others. For me, the dream isn’t just about achieving success; it’s about making sure others can, too.

Music has always been more than just a passion for me. It’s been a source of healing, self-expression, and connection. From a young age, I found comfort in music, whether through singing, playing instruments, or experimenting with production. It became my way of making sense of the world, and as I grew older, I realized just how powerful music could be in shaping lives. That realization led me to pursue a degree in Recording Arts and Production, with the goal of building a career where I can use my skills to create meaningful music and uplift others. As a first-generation college student, I understand the impact that guidance and mentorship can have on a young person’s path. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the teachers, mentors, and musicians who took the time to encourage and inspire me. That’s why I’m committed to giving back to the next generation through my career. I want to provide young musicians, especially those from underprivileged backgrounds, with opportunities to explore their creativity and develop their talents. One of my biggest goals is to create accessible music programs that introduce kids to songwriting, production, and performance. Many young people have incredible talent but lack the resources to pursue music seriously. Through workshops, mentorship programs, or community outreach, I want to give them the tools and knowledge to grow as artists. I believe that by making music education more accessible, we can inspire a new generation of musicians and help them find their voices. Beyond education, I also want to use my career in the music industry to amplify the stories and struggles of youth. Music has the power to highlight important social issues and bring people together. I hope to work with young artists, helping them produce music that reflects their experiences and allows them to be heard. Whether it’s through producing albums, organizing community events, or collaborating with nonprofit organizations, I want to create spaces where young people feel seen and empowered through music. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to achieving my dreams. As someone with significant student loan debt and financial struggles, it’s not always easy to focus on my long-term goals. Every bit of support allows me to invest more in my education and future, so I can one day give back in the ways I envision. Music changed my life, and I want to use it to change the lives of others. I believe that every young person deserves the chance to explore their creativity, and I’m committed to making that possible. Through mentorship, education, and advocacy, I hope to inspire the next generation of musicians and show them that their voices matter.

I am a first-generation college student pursuing a degree in Recording Arts and Production, driven by my deep love for music and the power it has to connect people. Ever since I was young, music has been my escape, my passion, and my way of making sense of the world. Whether it was singing, playing instruments, or experimenting with production software, I found joy in creating and shaping sound. That passion led me to study music seriously, and now, I’m working toward a career in the music industry where I can bring stories to life through sound and production. Being the first in my family to attend college is both an honor and a challenge. While my family has always supported my dreams, finances have been a constant struggle. I rely heavily on student loans to afford tuition, and the weight of that debt is something I think about every day. On top of that, not having a car has made college life significantly harder. Commuting to class, attending music gigs, and getting to potential job opportunities in the industry is difficult when I have to depend on unreliable public transportation or expensive rideshares. Still, I push through because I know what’s at stake. I am determined to build a career doing what I love and to prove to myself and my family that all the sacrifices are worth it. Despite these challenges, I stay committed to my education and my community. I love collaborating with other musicians, mentoring younger students, and using my skills to help others express themselves through music. I believe that music is more than just entertainment; it’s a powerful tool for healing, connection, and storytelling. I want to use my degree not just to build a career for myself but also to uplift others by creating meaningful music and helping artists bring their visions to life. If I were awarded this scholarship, it would relieve a huge financial burden and allow me to focus more on my studies and career goals. Paying down my student loans would give me a little more breathing room, and more importantly, it would help me save for a car, which is something that would completely change my ability to access opportunities. With reliable transportation, I could take on internships, attend industry events, and work more efficiently toward my goals without the stress of figuring out how to get there. Music has always been my guiding light, and I know that with the right support, I can turn my passion into a lasting career. This scholarship wouldn’t just help me financially; it would give me the freedom to focus on what truly matters: honing my craft, building connections in the industry, and finding ways to give back through music. I’m committed to making the most of my education and using my talents to make a difference, and this support would bring me one step closer to making that dream a reality.

The Transformative Power of Music: My Journey and Aspirations Music has been the foundation of my identity for as long as I can remember. It is more than just a passion—it is a language through which I express myself, process emotions, and connect with others. From childhood, I was captivated by the way music could tell stories, evoke emotions, and create bonds between people. As I grew, this fascination turned into a deep commitment to mastering my craft and sharing it with the world. Music has profoundly shaped who I am today by providing both an escape and a sense of belonging. It has been my solace during difficult times and my greatest source of joy. Whether through singing, playing an instrument, or producing music, I have found a voice that allows me to communicate in ways words often fail to. My journey in music has been one of perseverance, and endless curiosity, and I am eager to continue developing my artistry through my music production degree and than through my performance career. The decision to pursue a performance degree is driven by my desire to refine my skills and immerse myself in an environment where I can learn from experienced mentors and collaborate with like-minded artists. Performing is not just about showcasing talent; it is about storytelling, evoking emotion, and creating moments that resonate with audiences. I aspire to bring music to life in a way that moves people and leaves a lasting impact. Through rigorous training, I aim to push my boundaries, explore new musical styles, and develop a voice that reflects my artistic vision. Beyond my personal growth, I am committed to sharing my love of music with others. Music has the power to heal, inspire, and unite people, and I want to be an advocate for its transformative potential. One of my greatest joys is teaching and mentoring aspiring younger musicians, helping them unlock their potential and find confidence in their abilities. Whether through private lessons, community workshops, or performances that bring awareness to social issues, I want to use my gifts to uplift and empower others. As I embark on this journey, I am aware of the challenges that come with a performance career, but I embrace them wholeheartedly. My goal is not just to be a performer but to be a storyteller, an educator, and an advocate for the power of music. With dedication, and an unwavering love for my craft, I am ready to make a meaningful impact in the world through music.

The performing arts field I am pursuing is music recording and production. Music has always been more than a passion for me. I believe it’s a way to express myself, heal, and connect with others. I’ve been formally studying my craft for the past three years, but my journey with music began much earlier. As a child, I was captivated by the way music could tell stories and evoke emotions, and I would spend hours singing along to my favorite songs, dreaming of one day creating my own. When I first started studying music production, I faced many challenges. Learning the technical aspects of recording and production was overwhelming at first, but I was determined to push through. My breakthrough moment came when I completed my first cover song, Ariana Grande’s “Into You.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was a milestone that proved to me that I was capable of bringing my artistic vision to life. That moment solidified my decision to pursue music production as a career. Beyond the technical skills, music has been a source of healing and self-discovery for me. It’s helped me navigate difficult times, giving me a safe space to process my emotions and turn them into something beautiful. I’ve also found peace and inspiration through journaling, which often serves as the foundation for my lyrics and creative ideas. Music has also allowed me to use my creativity in fashion. Since I’ve been studying music, I’m able to express myself physically as well. My long-term goals in music are deeply rooted in creating art that resonates with people and breaking barriers within the industry. I want to produce music that inspires, heals, and connects audiences worldwide. I also hope to empower other aspiring musicians, particularly those from underrepresented communities, by providing them with access to resources and opportunities in music education. Winning this scholarship would mean the world to me. It would allow me to continue refining my skills and pursuing my dream of making a lasting impact in the music industry. I also want to use my platform to show others that with hard work and determination, it’s possible to turn your passion into a career. Music has the power to bring people together and change lives, and I am committed to being a part of that change. With your support, I know I can achieve my goals and make a meaningful difference in the world of music.

The performing arts field I am pursuing is music recording and production. Music has always been more than a passion for me. I believe it’s a way to express myself, heal, and connect with others. I’ve been formally studying my craft for the past three years, but my journey with music began much earlier. As a child, I was captivated by the way music could tell stories and evoke emotions, and I would spend hours singing along to my favorite songs, dreaming of one day creating my own. When I first started studying music production, I faced many challenges. Learning the technical aspects of recording and production was overwhelming at first, but I was determined to push through. My breakthrough moment came when I completed my first cover song, Ariana Grande’s “Into You.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was a milestone that proved to me that I was capable of bringing my artistic vision to life. I believe that moment solidified my decision to pursue music production as a career. Beyond the technical skills, music has been a source of healing and self-discovery for me. It’s helped me navigate difficult times, giving me a safe space to process my emotions and turn them into something beautiful. I’ve also found peace and inspiration through journaling, which often serves as the foundation for my lyrics and creative ideas. Music has also helped me unleash my creativity in fashion. Since I’ve been started studying music, I’m able to express myself physically as well, in outfits that scream ME. My long-term goals in music are deeply rooted in creating art that resonates with people and breaking barriers within the industry. I want to produce music that inspires, heals, and connects audiences worldwide. I also hope to empower other aspiring musicians, particularly those from underrepresented communities, by providing them with access to resources and opportunities in music education. Winning this scholarship would mean the world to me. It would allow me to continue refining my skills and pursuing my dream of making a lasting impact in the music industry. I also want to use my platform to show others that with hard work and determination, it’s possible to turn your passion into a career. Music has the power to bring people together and change lives, and I am committed to being a part of that change. With your support, I know I can achieve my goals and make a meaningful difference in the world of music.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at William Paterson University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Digital Music Creation at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships/working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at William Paterson University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Digital Music Creation at Montclair State University, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships/working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

On a crisp March evening in 2019, the Wellmont Theater in New Jersey became the stage for a magical experience that would linger in my memory like a cherished dream. The anticipation in the air was almost tangible, a palpable buzz that hummed through the crowd as they gathered in the historic theater, which itself seemed to have been wrapped in a cocoon of excitement and anticipation. As you entered the Wellmont Theater, its grandeur enveloped you. The ornate architecture, with its sweeping curves, whispered tales of countless performances that had come before. You could feel the whispers of history mingling with the electric energy of the night. The scent of popcorn and the faint echo of the audience’s excited chatter painted the scene. When the lights dimmed, an expectant hush fell over the crowd. The once-familiar space transformed into a dreamscape of vibrant colors and dynamic visuals. Sabrina Carpenter emerged from the shadows like a star awakening from a slumber, her presence commanding immediate attention. The spotlight illuminated her in a halo of light, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. Her performance was a mesmerizing symphony of sound and sight. As she moved across the stage. Her choreography was a fluid dance of grace and energy. Each song she performed felt like a chapter in a fantastical storybook. The visuals that accompanied her set were nothing short of spectacular; they painted the space with swirling hues and sparkling constellations. The stage itself seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. Giant screens displayed dreamlike patterns, while lasers cut through the air like ribbons of light. The effect was transformative, as though the theater had transcended its physical boundaries, merging with the dreamscape of the performance. The crowd moved in unison. Every note sung and every beat dropped was met with cheers and applause, creating a wave of sound and emotion that surged through the venue. There was a collective sense of exhilaration, a shared experience that bound you and the rest of the audience together in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. In between songs, Sabrina's interactions with the crowd were warm and personable. Her genuine smiles and heartfelt thanks felt like a touch of magic. The intimacy of the Wellmont Theater allowed for these moments to resonate deeply, making her every word and gesture feel like a personal gift. As the concert drew to a close, the final notes reverberated through the theater, and the lights gradually dimmed, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder. The audience, though slowly making their way out, was still awash in the afterglow of the evening's enchantment. The experience left an indelible mark on you, like the echo of a beautiful dream that you never wanted to end. Leaving the theater, you carried with you not just the thrill of a first concert, but the magic of a night where reality had intertwined with fantasy, and where Sabrina Carpenter’s performance had painted the evening with strokes of brilliance that would remain in my heart forever.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at William Paterson University is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Digital Music Creation at William Paterson, I plan to join the Management and Leadership Club to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships/working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

I step out of the plane, a strange world sits before me, with buildings that tower over my 4 year old body. Surrounded by lots of fair-skinned people with small metals going through their noses and inappropriate music blasting out of huge vehicles. Granny covered my little ears. I was like Dorothy in Oz, overwhelmed by blinding color and strange dialects. My mind was racing, my face getting hot as I panickedly looked around, “Granny, we’re not in Trinidad anymore, are we?” I was born in Trinidad & Tobago where I lived in a little farm house with my mother, aunts and 4 siblings. It was always at least 80 degrees with a refreshing beach breeze. I can still taste my favorite dish as I write this, chutney. The intense spices that were soaked into mangoes and oranges that my aunt made every week. Our neighbors loved it too. I was obliged to offer the chutney up even if I wanted more. A child saying no to an elder was like picking a flower from the Deadly Poppy Field. It was down right sinful. This close knit God-fearing community I grew up with taught me everything I thought I needed to know. Then my tornado suddenly appeared and landed us in the US, with only my mother and twin brother and everything we knew was uprooted. In the movies, America was portrayed as the Land of Free. However, free speech didn’t apply to me. Every time I spoke, classmates would laugh and ask me why I don’t pronounce my r’s or why my t’s sounded like h’s. I felt defeated and silenced. This prompted me to stop speaking altogether. And the further South we moved the more cruel the kids got. This all changed when I moved to New York. It was the first time I saw a Trinidadian flag hanging outside a window that wasn’t ours. In Brooklyn I was surrounded by kids like me for once. No one talked the same way and everyone had a story of how they got here. I was surprised to learn there was a Culture Day at my school. Everyone brought in their favorite dishes from their culture. I was elated to feel supported by my classmates. This time I wasn’t mad to offer up my chutney. After finally fitting in there, my freedom was once again revoked when I moved to New Jersey. I didn’t understand the slang used by the community. I never knew what clothes were in or out of style. This caused me to feel alone and confused. I had to resort to tactics like watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians every night just to understand American culture. Eventually my time and research helped me interpret the American way of life. Knowing how to speak to my peers after years of struggle made me feel strong, helping me master how to adapt to my new surroundings. This allowed me to recognize differences between two major cultures. I felt powerful for being able to understand two completely different countries that have had immensely impacted who I am today. I believe my tornado came with incredible opportunities. Though my yellow brick road was long and filled with obstacles, I faced each one head on. It introduced me to a whole new lifestyle. Even though I still find myself confronted by obstacles, both Trinidadian and American cultures flow through me. I strive to continue my adventure in this mystical world.

I step out of the plane, a strange world sits before me, with buildings that tower over my 4 year old body. Surrounded by lots of fair-skinned people with small metals going through their noses and inappropriate music blasting out of huge vehicles. Granny covered my little ears. I was like Dorothy in Oz, overwhelmed by blinding color and strange dialects. My mind was racing, my face getting hot as I panickedly looked around, “Granny, we’re not in Trinidad anymore, are we?” I was born in Trinidad & Tobago where I lived in a little farm house with my mother, aunts and 4 siblings. It was always at least 80 degrees with a refreshing beach breeze. I can still taste my favorite dish as I write this, chutney. The intense spices that were soaked into mangoes and oranges that my aunt made every week. Our neighbors loved it too. I was obliged to offer the chutney up even if I wanted more. A child saying no to an elder was like picking a flower from the Deadly Poppy Field. It was down right sinful. This close knit God-fearing community I grew up with taught me everything I thought I needed to know. Then my tornado suddenly appeared and landed us in the US, with only my mother and twin brother and everything we knew was uprooted. In the movies, America was portrayed as the Land of Free. However, free speech didn’t apply to me. Every time I spoke, classmates would laugh and ask me why I don’t pronounce my r’s or why my t’s sounded like h’s. I felt defeated and silenced. This prompted me to stop speaking altogether. And the further South we moved the more cruel the kids got. This all changed when I moved to New York. It was the first time I saw a Trinidadian flag hanging outside a window that wasn’t ours. In Brooklyn I was surrounded by kids like me for once. No one talked the same way and everyone had a story of how they got here. I was surprised to learn there was a Culture Day at my school. Everyone brought in their favorite dishes from their culture. I was elated to feel supported by my classmates. This time I wasn’t mad to offer up my chutney. After finally fitting in there, my freedom was once again revoked when I moved to New Jersey. I didn’t understand the slang used by the community. I never knew what clothes were in or out of style. This caused me to feel alone and confused. I had to resort to tactics like watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians every night just to understand American culture. Eventually my time and research helped me interpret the American way of life. Knowing how to speak to my peers after years of struggle made me feel strong, helping me master how to adapt to my new surroundings. This allowed me to recognize differences between two major cultures. I felt powerful for being able to understand two completely different countries that have had immensely impacted who I am today. I believe my tornado came with incredible opportunities. Though my yellow brick road was long and filled with obstacles, I faced each one head on. It introduced me to a whole new lifestyle. Even though I still find myself confronted by obstacles, both Trinidadian and American cultures flow through me. I strive to continue my adventure in this mystical world.

I step out of the plane, a strange world sits before me, with buildings that tower over my 4 year old body. Surrounded by lots of fair-skinned people with small metals going through their noses and inappropriate music blasting out of huge vehicles. Granny covered my little ears. I was like Dorothy in Oz, overwhelmed by blinding color and strange dialects. My mind was racing, my face getting hot as I panickedly looked around, “Granny, we’re not in Trinidad anymore, are we?” I was born in Trinidad & Tobago where I lived in a little farm house with my mother, aunts and 4 siblings. It was always at least 80 degrees with a refreshing beach breeze. I can still taste my favorite dish as I write this, chutney. The intense spices that were soaked into mangoes and oranges that my aunt made every week. Our neighbors loved it too. I was obliged to offer the chutney up even if I wanted more. A child saying no to an elder was like picking a flower from the Deadly Poppy Field. It was down right sinful. This close knit God-fearing community I grew up with taught me everything I thought I needed to know. Then my tornado suddenly appeared and landed us in the US, with only my mother and twin brother and everything we knew was uprooted. In the movies, America was portrayed as the Land of Free. However, free speech didn’t apply to me. Every time I spoke, classmates would laugh and ask me why I don’t pronounce my r’s or why my t’s sounded like h’s. I felt defeated and silenced. This prompted me to stop speaking altogether. And the further South we moved the more cruel the kids got. This all changed when I moved to New York. It was the first time I saw a Trinidadian flag hanging outside a window that wasn’t ours. In Brooklyn I was surrounded by kids like me for once. No one talked the same way and everyone had a story of how they got here. I was surprised to learn there was a Culture Day at my school. Everyone brought in their favorite dishes from their culture. I was elated to feel supported by my classmates. This time I wasn’t mad to offer up my chutney. After finally fitting in there, my freedom was once again revoked when I moved to New Jersey. I didn’t understand the slang used by the community. I never knew what clothes were in or out of style. This caused me to feel alone and confused. I had to resort to tactics like watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians every night just to understand American culture. Eventually my time and research helped me interpret the American way of life. Knowing how to speak to my peers after years of struggle made me feel strong, helping me master how to adapt to my new surroundings. This allowed me to recognize differences between two major cultures. I felt powerful for being able to understand two completely different countries that have had immensely impacted who I am today. I believe my tornado came with incredible opportunities. Though my yellow brick road was long and filled with obstacles, I faced each one head on. It introduced me to a whole new lifestyle. Even though I still find myself confronted by obstacles, both Trinidadian and American cultures flow through me. I strive to continue my adventure in this mystical world.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.

Black women. They are hardly ever seen as talented, respected or accomplished. Instead they are deemed aggressive, lazy and unmotivated. Specifically in the music industry. However, Black women have been the masterminds behind influential music for decades. Including today. As a Black woman, to even be considered in the music industry, it's necessary they dress appropriately and act accordingly. And if they don’t, they get dismissed. An example of this concerns Jhene Aiko; she appeared on several popular boy-band's 2002 releases with vibrant R&B tracks. She was then set to release her debut album but there were tensions within her record label because of her “style and manner”. She was later released from the label. This outrageous flaw in the music industry makes it very difficult for Black women to showcase their talents and abilities. Spectators, however, crave their sound, soul, and passion. Just not their race or gender. This creates an extreme disadvantage to Black women while simultaneously creating an advantage to white and male musicians. What often happens is, white and/or male musicians will take a Black woman’s unique piece of work and change it slightly to then claim a whole new creation. A great example of this is Big Mama Thornton being the blueprint to Elvis Presley's greatest songs. Thornton wrote and originally recorded Presley’s Hound Dog. She gained very little recognition or profit for Hound Dog. The song’s origins as a female empowerment tune disappeared after Presley’s version was released. Spectators adore this because it still gives them the quality of a Black woman’s work without having to give them credit. This system is very difficult to overcome but there have been some tremendously talented Black women who have fought. Such as, SZA, Billie Holiday, Alicia Keys. What I want to do at The New School is to become an exception. Not only an exception but hopefully a precedent too. Just like the women I mentioned before. They set the path for aspiring Black, female artists like me. In addition to majoring in Music Production at Rider University, I plan to minor in Management and Leadership to ensure I will make change in the music industry. This will give me opportunities to collaborate with students and work towards our goals. I plan to invest in my future with internships and working on campus. With the help of this scholarship, I can beat the statistics and inspire others.