Smearing my ears against the pillows was my desperate attempt to occlude an insatiable feeling. Almost every night, I’d hear my mother silently weep in the next room. We lived in one of the most penurious parts of New York, and though life was hard, one thing always remained true: perseverance is survival. I’m a first-generation American from an immigrant family, and though I was young, I subconsciously knew that it was my duty to achieve a better future for my family’s sake. But homelessness was a storm we were barely capable of outrunning, and each time it happened, I questioned, "Was I even allowed to have a good future?" We eventually moved to Ohio for a fresh start, and though we were financially better off here, diversity was nonexistent. I was a brown speck in my white school, let alone my neighborhood. I had a taste of social rejection early, was ostracized at lunch, and got constant looks around the hallways. I thought it would be because I was new, but it had unraveled far past that. I’d hear snickers after my name whenever the teacher called for attendance, and racist jokes would be thrown across the room without repercussions. I would get called “T-Series” and get my skin compared to feces. I didn’t know what a Hot Pocket was, nor did I watch the same westernized shows as them, and naturally, I put up walls, with anxiety being my only comforter. I’ve witnessed the same parallels within my dad. He’d laugh it off, but he would tell me about how people would laugh at his accent or mock him at work. What I had failed to realize was how profound his struggle was until one evening, he asked me to help him pay a bill online. He wasn’t comfortable with technology, so I complied, and there I saw him up close and authentically for the first time. He was exhausted. I hadn’t embraced it before, but he had been working hard hours for longer than I was alive, and even through struggle, he kept his stoic figure. It showed me beauty through resilience, an inspiration; working hard with a smile on his face, because although it was strenuous labor, he provided for his family, giving me the opportunity he wasn’t able to dish out for himself. Both my mother and father dropped their pursuit of education after having me, deciding to prioritize my well-being before theirs, and I'm forever grateful for that. I learned the meaning of purpose. I didn’t let my situation be a burden to me but an opportunity, a fresh start like my parents intended when moving here. I now keep a positive outlook on life, maintaining a 4.0 GPA, taking extensive care of my siblings so both my parents could work, and volunteering at my local mosque whenever I can, as that was one of the places that didn’t care about where you came from. I study computer science, and I understand the influence of technology for the coming years. To achieve my goals, I plan to eventually pursue building my own educational platforms, specifically for children experiencing poverty in America who may lack resources. My dreams derive from that same little boy I once was, anxious in bed about my future as I watched the instability of my family’s finances. My experiences as a minority are exactly what drive me toward my dreams, and winning this scholarship wouldn’t just be significant financially but would be a testament to its worth and a reinforcement of my belief that opportunity belongs to all.

Shuffling around in bed, staring at the ceiling in a silent horror every night, I couldn’t sleep. My mother would weep in the next room, and it would be practically every night that I’d hear it in subtle echoes. I lived in one of the most neglected parts of New York: Jamaica, Queens. That thick tension in the air lived alongside us in our home, and homelessness was always on the verge. I was just eleven, but all I could ever think about was my future; would I even be able to pursue college at this rate?  I had major levels of anxiety develop since then, and with it came a sense of hopelessness. My family immigrated from Bangladesh, and though financially life was rough, it never succumbed to us fully. We just kept going. My father, at just twenty-one, was providing not just for us but for his ill relatives back home. That meant constant work hours, no time to evaluate his situation or hope for a better future, and maintaining a stoic figure in front of the family. The same predicament fell towards my mother; she was a strong lady, having to give up her academic pursuit to raise me and endure a surfeit of problems, still keeping her smile in front of me.  Looking back, that’s exactly what ignited that feeling in me. I was naive, but I wasn’t clueless. That look they gave me growing up, a feigned sense of positivity. I knew it wasn’t real. I’ve seen the eviction notices, the arguments they had in the other room, and the reasons we moved so frequently. The whole family was suffering, but all we knew was perseverance. The pain my parents went through is what motivates me the most. Seeing them try to raise me the best they could under their circumstances is something I could never neglect.  I come from poverty, and I’m no stranger to the outcomes of financial burden. There were plenty of children like me growing up, and a lot of them lost the opportunity my parents worked so hard for. Knowing this, with gratitude, I hold a 4.0 GPA, and to manage my anxiety or any feelings of depression, I meditate at least ten minutes daily, read about self-help, and even journal as frequently as I need. My mother has hinted at returning to school to make up for her lost years, so I insisted on teaching her math at the kitchen table whenever we have time. Healing is something that takes a process with some effort, and my way of cultivating that is through mindfulness and alleviation.  Currently, I’m studying computer science in hopes of being able to eventually create my own educational platforms that accommodate the youth currently battling economic penury. My dreams stem from my upbringing, and to be able to help the children who had the same experiences growing up but were not fortunate enough to overcome them would be everything to me. Though I’m from a low-income family, like my parents, my persistence is something I won’t falter on. With this scholarship, I’d be able to focus on my academics full-time, and winning this award would be proof of my endeavors to them, giving them relief. I’ll happily pursue my education, not just for me, but to help my family and all the children who grew up like me, giving them a chance at life if life won’t allow them a chance.

I remember it clearly, lying awake in bed at night, listening to my father argue with the landlord. We went nearly homeless several times as a kid, and each time it happened, I would wonder if I would even be allowed a future. Legacy to me isn’t about continuing a cycle; it’s about creating my own, stemming from the struggles of my family, to not waste the opportunity my parents funded with twenty years of effort. It was clear to me what my mission was after one particular day, when my father asked me to help him pay a bill online, as he wasn’t comfortable with technology. That’s when I truly saw it up close. He was so exhausted, and since we’ve barely spoken beyond small talk, I was never able to see through his stoic demeanor. I saw him visibly count the hours of Uber he’d have to drive to make ends meet, and all I could feel was a subtle anguish. I sat in a lonesome silence for almost thirty minutes. I haven’t cried since I was a child, but that day, tears streamed down my face. He came to America at twenty-one through a lottery visa, and ever since then, he has been providing for his ill relatives back home. Naturally, the financial demand went up when he brought us. My father worked overtime most days, and my mother sacrificed her scholarly aspirations in order to raise me. This is what legacy is to me. I achieved my 4.0 GPA, babysat my siblings so my parents could pick up more hours to work, and volunteered at my local mosque to help my community. I even occasionally spend time with my mother at the kitchen table, teaching her math; she tells me how she dreams of pursuing higher education, so I insisted on helping her. All the things I do derive from them, and all my future goals spiral around accommodating the children who grew up like me. I plan to continue maintaining exceptional grades and to eventually graduate with a bachelor’s degree. After gaining experience inside the software industry, I want to launch my own educational platforms, with an emphasis on allowing children in economic penury to have a chance at life. Fulfilling those dreams would be like fulfilling my inner child. Not only that, but it’s also me honoring the leap of faith my parents took to raise me in this country. I’m the first person in my family to go to college, and I’ll use this opportunity to pivot our financial situation and fortify a new legacy embedded in our family’s efforts. Winning this scholarship would provide security to both my parents and me. I’d be able to focus on my academics full-time, and winning this award would be proof of my endeavors to them, giving them relief. I’ll happily pursue my education, not just for me, but to help my family and all the children who grew up like me, giving them a chance at life if life won’t allow them a chance.

As a first-generation student, I carry the weight of years of sacrifices made long before I was old enough to understand them. I hadn’t realized it growing up, but the opportunities presented to me were not something I could neglect. You see, my father immigrated to America at twenty-one and has been working overtime, driving for Uber on the side for many years, supporting his relatives back home. Eventually, he had us, so naturally, work hours went up. We lived on the brink of poverty, nearly going homeless in New York, which forced us to move to Ohio. My father never faltered, yet I always took it for granted; I didn’t see how hard he worked. One day, he came knocking on my door asking for my assistance to pay his bills online. He wasn’t comfortable with technology, so I helped him. And that’s when I saw him up close for the first time; the look on his face was too authentic to ignore—pure exhaustion. I told him the numbers and watched him pause, quietly calculating the amount of money he had left. Truth is, I knew it deep down. He worked so hard, barely sleeping, trying his best to keep us afloat. He thanked me and stoically proceeded with his day. I sat in silence for almost thirty minutes. I hadn’t cried since I was a child, but tears streamed down my face. My motives derive from my parents' efforts to keep me out of poverty and allow me to build a future. Today, I sit with a 4.0 GPA in college, which was a drastic change from my 2.6 in high school. I volunteer at my local mosque on Fridays and babysit my siblings while both my parents work. I occasionally help my mother learn mathematics, as she plans to return to school soon, now that she’s nearly done raising me. I may be from a low-income family, but I aspire to greatness. I have hopes of developing technology that accommodates the youth experiencing baseline poverty, giving access to advanced levels of education so that everyone has a chance at life. Being who I am, experiencing eviction at just eleven, I remember lying in bed that night, wondering if I would even have a future. To forsake my dreams is to forsake my younger self, so I tie my academic strides to my upbringing: a mission to combat inaccessibility to education among children. Majoring in computer science with plans to transfer for my bachelor's, this scholarship would be tremendous financially. I’ll continue proving my efforts, and being awarded this scholarship will accelerate the process. Not only is it both proof and relief to my parents of my success, but I’ll also be able to consistently enroll in full-time classes. My degree is for me, my family, and all the kids I’ll be able to help once I achieve it.

My father came knocking on my door one evening, asking me to help pay his bills online. He doesn’t know English very well, nor is he accustomed to technology, so I complied. And there I saw it, the exhaustion on his face. He came to America at just twenty-one, working overtime for decades just to provide for our family. Coming from a low-income family teaches you a lot, but one thing's for sure: perseverance is survival. He worked stoically, never complaining, never burdening us with worry ever since I could remember, and it inspired me to adopt the same mentality. I now keep a 4.0 GPA, majoring in computer science in hopes of cultivating a better future. Being nearly homeless in New York, my goals are to accommodate the distress I’ve gone through as a kid. I was just 11, but all I could worry about was my future. How was I going to get successful in life? It was some of the worst panic I’ve had to this day, and with newfound AI technology, I want to work toward creating advanced education that requires little to no cost, so even children at baseline poverty have a chance at life. Despite being low-income myself, I thrive off my consistency. I’m spending my free time helping my mother learn math again, as she plans to soon head back into school after raising me. I help at the local mosque when I can to try to get a taste of various people. I plan to couple my experience with helping others and the skills I learn through higher education together in hopes of creating a better future. My degree is for me, my parents, and the children who haven’t gotten as lucky as I did to overcome poverty.