I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I’ve had to fight to even believe I deserved to dream at all. I come from Newark, NJ, a city that taught me both resilience and responsibility early on. When my mother passed away, I became the legal guardian of my younger brother. I was only 21, still figuring out my own path, suddenly responsible for guiding his as well. There was no time to pause or process. I had to step into leadership while grieving, working full-time, and navigating adulthood with no blueprint. It was in this difficult and transformative moment that I found my purpose. Today, I am the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action, doing the work I once thought was impossible for someone like me. I advocate for the health and dignity of communities like mine, those too often ignored. I organize to make sure we are not forgotten. From safe water and clean air to beauty justice, I fight for a future that centers the well-being of Black women and girls. I do this not just as a professional, but as someone who knows the cost of injustice firsthand. I created the Tea on Toxic Beauty campaign to expose the environmental racism embedded in the beauty industry. I co-lead a community research project with Rutgers University called You Have the Right to Know, which educates women of color in Newark about harmful ingredients in everyday products. These projects were born from my own lived experience—watching my mother, my friends, and myself use products we assumed were safe, never knowing the risks. I believe that women like us deserve beauty without harm, and I’ve made it my mission to fight for that. My journey hasn’t been easy. I’ve navigated food insecurity, burnout, financial instability, and loss. I’ve cooked dinner through tears, worked through heartbreak, and continued showing up for my community when I didn’t feel like I had anything left. But I never stopped. I never let go of the belief that my story mattered, even when the world tried to convince me otherwise. Being a Bonner Scholar in college laid the foundation for my commitment to service. It gave me the space to understand the power of community-based change. But it has been everything since then—becoming a guardian, fighting for justice, showing up day after day—that taught me what true resilience looks like. I plan to pursue a master’s degree in Community-Based Research and Organizing, not because I need to prove anything, but because I want the tools to expand my impact. I want to build programs and campaigns that help other young Black women feel seen, heard, and protected. I want to create change from the ground up, informed by the very communities we are meant to serve. I want my work to reflect the truth that our lives are worthy of protection, and our futures worthy of investment. This scholarship would be more than financial support. It would be a vote of confidence in the future I am building for myself, my brother, and my community. I am worth the dreams I carry because I never stopped fighting for them. I’ve turned my pain into purpose. I have poured love and care into others, even when I was still learning how to give it to myself. And most of all, I have chosen hope, again and again. I am not asking for permission to dream. I am asking for support to keep going. Because I believe in the world I’m working to build, and I know I belong in it.

Serving my community is not a choice—it’s a responsibility rooted in love, justice, and survival. I was raised in Newark, New Jersey, a place often painted by its struggles but powered by its people. My mother, who passed away when I was in college, instilled in me a deep awareness of what it means to show up for others. Now, as the legal guardian of my younger brother and the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action, service is the thread that holds together every part of my life. Service, to me, means being accountable to where I come from. As a Bonner Scholar during college, I spent four years engaging in community-based research, policy advocacy, and direct service, learning not just about issues—but about people. That program taught me that being in service is about proximity: being close enough to the problem to understand it, and close enough to the community to work alongside—not above—them. It is in that spirit that I approach all of my work today. In Newark, environmental racism is more than a policy issue—it’s a daily lived experience. I organize campaigns that challenge the root causes of this injustice, like “The Tea on Toxic Beauty,” which educates Black women about the dangers of toxic beauty products. I also created “You Have the Right to Know,” a community research initiative in partnership with Rutgers University that investigates how environmental exposures affect the health of women of color in Newark. But it’s not just about data—it’s about giving people tools to fight for change and protect themselves and their families. Outside of my professional work, I serve my community in the most personal way possible: as a guardian and provider. My younger brother’s well-being is one of my biggest priorities. Navigating grief, household responsibilities, and his education has given me a deeper understanding of what it means to hold someone through transition. It’s reminded me that community care begins at home, and that service is often quiet, consistent, and unseen. Despite the challenges, I remain committed because I believe in our people’s brilliance. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you invest in your community with patience, care, and strategy. That’s why I’m building an internship program for Newark high school students to get hands-on experience in environmental justice organizing. I want them to see themselves as powerful changemakers, not someday—but now. Community is not just the place where I work; it’s where I grieve, heal, and grow. Serving my community means investing in a future where my brother can thrive, where our neighbors can breathe clean air, and where Black and Brown youth see pathways forward that don’t require them to leave their neighborhoods behind. This scholarship would support my pursuit of a graduate degree in organizing and justice so I can deepen my impact and build more sustainable, people-centered structures of change. My service is long-term. It’s grounded in love. And it’s driven by a belief that our communities already hold everything we need—we just have to keep fighting for it.

As a first-generation Afro-Guyanese college graduate raised by a single mother, my journey into social justice was never theoretical—it was survival. I watched my mother work herself to the bone, never able to afford college, and when she passed away, I became the legal guardian of my younger brother while still in my early twenties. Navigating grief, poverty, and responsibility sharpened my sense of injustice—and my desire to transform it. Today, I am the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action in New Jersey. My work is driven by the understanding that environmental issues are not just about the planet; they are about power, race, and who is deemed worthy of clean air, safe water, and a healthy life. Low-income Black and Brown communities across Newark and Elizabeth, where I organize, are surrounded by warehouses, highways, incinerators, and other pollution sources—many without their informed consent. The consequence is a public health crisis: asthma rates through the roof, heat islands worsening mental illness, and families without access to clean water. These are not isolated issues; they are structural and ongoing. And we are fighting back. One of the most important campaigns I lead is “The Tea on Toxic Beauty,” which examines how Black women are disproportionately harmed by beauty products filled with carcinogens and hormone disruptors. This campaign educates women of color on how to detoxify their personal care routines, while challenging systemic neglect in product regulation. It’s not just about changing consumer habits—it’s about reclaiming our right to safety, healing, and bodily autonomy. I also co-lead You Have the Right to Know, a community-based research initiative with Rutgers University focused on environmental health literacy and data justice. Together with community members, we’re gathering stories, mapping local pollution sources, and generating demands for accountability. Through this work, I’m not just collecting data—I’m helping communities reclaim narrative power. Social justice isn’t a side project—it’s my full-time job, my personal history, and my life’s work. Whether I’m planning town halls with incarcerated families through our Safe Water, Safe Lives campaign or mentoring high school students from underrepresented backgrounds, I believe deeply in building collective power and transforming systems from the ground up. Being first-gen means I’ve had to build a blueprint for myself and my family in real time. I’ve worked two jobs, cared for my brother, and organized protests, all while navigating professional spaces that often weren’t built for someone like me. But I’ve learned that my strength lies not in fitting in, but in showing up fully—in community, in truth, and in service. Receiving this scholarship would not only ease the financial pressure I still carry, but it would affirm that the kind of justice work I’m committed to is seen and valued. I plan to pursue a master’s degree in organizing and community justice, and eventually work toward policy change that’s grounded in lived experience, not detached academia. My goal is not only to build more equitable systems—but to ensure that the next generation of girls like me know that their voice, their story, and their leadership belong at the center.

Mental health isn’t separate from environmental and racial justice—it’s deeply intertwined. As a young Afro-Guyanese woman, full-time environmental justice organizer, and guardian to my little brother since our mother’s passing, I’ve felt the weight of grief, poverty, and responsibility all at once. And I’ve also felt the deep stigma around asking for help, especially in Black communities. Mental health care must be decolonized, demystified, and made accessible. That’s why I use community organizing as a form of health promotion. Through my campaign The Tea on Toxic Beauty, I educate women of color about the emotional and physical impacts of toxic products and empower them to heal their relationships with beauty and worth. I center healing in my work—not just policy wins. I’ve hosted events where we make clean beauty products, journal, share stories, and talk about grief, anxiety, and survival. These spaces act as accessible healing environments—no therapist’s office required. If awarded this scholarship, I would expand You Have the Right to Know, my community-based research project with Rutgers, to integrate more healing-centered workshops, trauma-informed education, and youth mental health peer support in Newark. We shouldn’t have to suffer in silence or navigate systems that weren’t built for us. I want to normalize emotional wellness as a community practice, not a luxury. I’m committed to helping young people of color know that they deserve peace, joy, and support—and that healing is not only possible, but a collective right.

The greatest adversity I’ve faced wasn’t just personal—it reshaped the entire course of my life. I was 21 when I became the legal guardian of my little brother, following the sudden loss of our mother. We were left with grief, financial instability, and an overwhelming amount of responsibility. I was in the middle of building my career as an environmental justice organizer, working full-time while learning how to parent, advocate, and survive—all at once. Being a young, first-generation Afro-Guyanese American woman trying to navigate systems that weren’t built for people like me was already hard. But being a 21-year-old raising a grieving Black boy in a city facing disproportionate environmental harm made the weight even heavier. My brother had just entered middle school. I had to figure out how to feed us, provide stability, and fight to get his IEP needs met in a school system that overlooked him. There were moments I didn’t know how we’d make it. But I never stopped showing up—for him or for my community. That same year, I launched The Tea on Toxic Beauty, a campaign focused on the toxic chemicals found in beauty products marketed to Black women. I saw how environmental racism shows up in the most intimate parts of our lives: what we put on our skin, what we breathe, what we drink. I partnered with Rutgers University to launch You Have the Right to Know, a community-based research and education project aimed at protecting Black women’s health and building pathways for community-led science. This work was happening while I was applying for SNAP benefits, navigating Medicaid for my brother, and managing my own grief. Despite everything, I rose. I was promoted to Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at 23. I’ve spoken on national panels, led campaigns across New Jersey, and organized workshops and events that empower women to advocate for clean beauty and safe environments. Through it all, my biggest accomplishment has been staying grounded in purpose—and never letting my circumstances convince me that I’m incapable of building something bigger. If I could give advice to someone facing the same kind of adversity, it would be this: let your truth anchor you. Let it inform your advocacy, your career, your commitments. Don’t shrink in the face of difficulty—let it stretch you. You’re not less qualified because your life is harder. You’re powerful because you’re still standing. This scholarship would help me continue pursuing my master’s degree in Organizing and Community Justice at Prescott College. It would ease the burden that so many of us carry—wondering how we’ll afford to both care for others and invest in ourselves. But more than that, it would be a symbol of what’s possible when young people from marginalized backgrounds are believed in. The adversity I faced didn’t define me—but it did shape me into someone who leads with compassion, resilience, and vision. And I’m committed to building a world where no one has to choose between survival and education—because we all deserve to dream, and to rise.

I want to build a future where Black women are not only protected from environmental harm but are empowered to lead the fight against it. That future starts with a bold commitment I’ve already made: launching You Have the Right to Know, a clean beauty research and education project I created to center the voices of Black women in Newark, NJ, and expose the dangerous chemicals hidden in everyday products marketed to us. As the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action in New Jersey, I’m already building this future through grassroots organizing, coalition-building, and policy advocacy. I’m also a proud Afro-Guyanese first-generation American who became the legal guardian of my younger brother at 21, after the loss of our mother. Raising him while leading statewide campaigns at 23 has shaped me into someone who doesn’t just have dreams—I take action to realize them. My organizing has already influenced statewide conversations about environmental justice, from prison water quality to diesel truck pollution in port-adjacent communities. But what I want to build next requires tools I don’t yet have. I want to deepen my capacity as a community-based researcher and eventually direct my own justice-centered nonprofit that trains the next generation of organizers, advocates, and scientists of color. I’ve already been accepted into Prescott College’s Master’s program in Organizing and Community Justice, and this scholarship would help make that next step financially possible. This isn’t just about career advancement—it’s about changing systems that were never built with us in mind. Through The Tea on Toxic Beauty, my clean beauty campaign, I work with researchers at Rutgers University to gather community-led data that will push for stronger product regulations and policies that protect Black women’s health. I also host public workshops and build trust with residents who’ve long been dismissed by institutions. I’m building a future where my little brother sees that leadership is about compassion, not ego—and where he knows that even in the face of loss, we can still build something beautiful together. I’m showing him, and my community, that justice is not an abstract concept—it’s built choice by choice, voice by voice. With this scholarship, I won’t just be investing in myself—I’ll be building something bigger than me: a movement rooted in knowledge, love, and collective power.

I’ve spent most of my life learning how to care for others. First as a daughter in a single-parent, Afro-Guyanese immigrant household. Then as a Bonner Scholar in college, where I committed 8–10 hours a week to community-based work while double majoring in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies. And now, as the legal guardian of my younger brother—after losing our mother—while serving as the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action in New Jersey. My life has always been shaped by service, but service for me isn’t just about giving back—it’s about transformation. It’s about identifying harm, shifting power, and healing the communities that have been asked to endure far too much for far too long. In my current role, I lead statewide environmental justice campaigns, organizing impacted communities around some of the most pressing public health crises in New Jersey. My work spans from prison water safety to warehouse truck pollution to toxic beauty products disproportionately marketed to Black and Brown women. One of the most meaningful ways I give back is through You Have the Right to Know: Empowering Black Women in Newark Through Clean Beauty Research and Education. This is my original community science and public health campaign, known publicly as The Tea on Toxic Beauty. I launched this project to educate and empower women about the dangers of toxic chemicals in beauty products and to fight for stronger policy protections in New Jersey. With full funding and research support from Rutgers University’s Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences Institute, I now lead a series of workshops and focus groups that center the lived experiences of Black women in Newark and generate data that will drive regulatory change. My guardianship of my younger brother has only deepened my commitment to service. At 23, I’m not just showing up to work each day—I’m also helping a 12-year-old navigate life after the loss of our mother, making sure he knows he's safe, supported, and deeply loved. I want him to see that leadership isn’t about titles—it’s about presence, responsibility, and consistency. He’s already thriving in school, and I know that’s because of the structure and care I’ve worked hard to provide. Through it all, I’ve never lost sight of the kind of world I want to help build—one where poor and working-class families don’t have to carry so much on their own, where our health isn’t sacrificed for profit, and where service isn’t seen as charity, but as solidarity. This scholarship would allow me to reduce financial burdens and prepare for graduate study in community-based research science. I want to continue investing in public health, gender justice, and environmental healing—not just as an organizer, but as someone who trains and mentors others to lead with both strategy and care. I serve because I know what it’s like to be left behind—and because I believe no one should have to walk through struggle alone. The work I’m doing is rooted in love, and I know I’m just getting started.

I grew up in a low-income, single-parent household in Newark, New Jersey. My mother, an Afro-Guyanese immigrant, held our world together with fierce love and determination. She never had the chance to go to college, but she instilled in me the belief that education could be a tool for transformation—not just for ourselves, but for our communities. When I was 21, my mother passed away, and I became the legal guardian of my younger brother. He’s now entering seventh grade, and I’ve spent the past two years learning how to parent, grieve, and organize for justice—all at the same time. Balancing financial strain with emotional responsibility hasn’t been easy, but I’m proud of the home and example I’m building for him. As the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action, I lead campaigns that center the health and dignity of marginalized communities. One of my proudest efforts is The Tea on Toxic Beauty, a participatory action research project in partnership with Rutgers University. We’re investigating the harmful chemicals in beauty products marketed to Black women and advocating for safer regulations. The campaign, titled “You Have the Right to Know,” is about reclaiming bodily autonomy and making public health accessible and just. Coming from a single-parent household shaped my resilience, my leadership, and my deep commitment to others. This scholarship would help ease the financial pressure I face as I prepare to pursue a master’s degree in community-based research science—an investment that will allow me to scale my impact and continue organizing at the intersection of race, gender, and health. I want my brother to know that where we come from does not limit where we’re going—and that we all deserve the chance to thrive.

I chose to pursue a path grounded in environmental science and community-based research because I believe science should be in service of the people—and because too often, it hasn’t been. As an Environmental Justice Organizer and a young Afro-Guyanese woman navigating systems not built for us, I’ve seen firsthand how scientific tools can be powerful weapons of change when they are placed in the hands of communities, especially Black and Brown women. My current work blends environmental justice, public health, and participatory research in a way that is deeply personal and profoundly political. I lead a project called “The Tea on Toxic Beauty,” a participatory action research campaign rooted in Newark, New Jersey, designed to expose and eliminate the toxic chemicals disproportionately found in beauty products marketed to women of color. The campaign includes hands-on community science, co-facilitated with the Rutgers University Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences Institute under the leadership of maternal and environmental health researcher Dr. Emily Barrett. Our workshops bring women together to test products, learn about ingredients, and demand safe regulation. The project is also a call for beauty to be reimagined—through science, justice, and joy. This work is inspired by the lived experiences of Black women who deserve to feel safe in their own skin and unburdened by environmental harm. It is also inspired by my late mother, who never had the opportunity to go to college and passed away while I was still in school. At 21, I became the legal guardian of my little brother. At 23, I’m raising him while working full-time, pursuing my master's degree, and building a future where both of us can thrive. He’ll be entering seventh grade this fall, and I want him to see his big sister not only surviving but setting a new standard—being a steward of justice, a protector of our communities, and an example of what's possible. I’m currently pursuing my Master's in Organizing and Community Justice at Prescott College. I chose this field because it gives me the tools to turn grassroots passion into institutional change, and to make sure that science doesn’t just stay in the hands of researchers, but reaches the neighborhoods it impacts the most. I’ve worked to hold industry polluters accountable for contaminating the air our children breathe and the water they drink. I serve on the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection’s Environmental Justice Advisory Council and co-lead statewide coalitions that center reproductive justice, racial equity, and community healing. Receiving the Kayla Nicole Monk Memorial Scholarship would allow me to continue this work without the financial weight that so often forces Black women to delay their dreams. It would help me continue my education in a STEAM field where our voices are still too often missing. More importantly, it would help me build out my campaign and research in a way that uplifts other women—women like Kayla, who had vision, joy, and heart. I think often about what legacy means—not just leaving something behind, but living in a way that uplifts those who come after us. Through this scholarship, I will carry forward Kayla’s legacy by continuing to dream, to build, and to work for a future where every young woman of color has the opportunity to thrive, create, and be safe in her body and her environment.

Selflessness, for me, looks like showing up—even when it’s hard. It looks like knocking on doors in 90-degree heat to talk to families about air pollution, facilitating community meetings so mothers can speak out about water contamination, and taking on the role of legal guardian to my younger brother after our mother passed away. It’s never been about being a hero—it’s about love, responsibility, and the belief that a better world is possible if we build it together. At 23, I am the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action. I lead campaigns that protect some of the most vulnerable communities in New Jersey—those impacted by industrial pollution, incarceration, and environmental racism. But I started organizing much earlier. At nine years old, I passed around a petition in my fourth-grade class because I believed our teacher was being unfair. That may seem small, but it was the beginning of something lifelong: the instinct to act when something isn’t right. One of the most meaningful projects I’ve led is The Tea on Toxic Beauty—a campaign to expose and address the harms of toxic beauty products marketed to Black and Brown women. I work alongside the Rutgers Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences Institute, running participatory action research and hosting workshops across Newark. This work isn’t just scientific—it’s healing. It empowers women to demand safety and dignity in everyday products and reclaims beauty as a site of justice. Outside of work, I give back in quieter but just as meaningful ways. I’ve mentored youth navigating family trauma. I’ve shown up for friends in crisis. I’ve raised my brother through his grief, showing him—by example—that we can still lead lives filled with purpose, even when everything changes. We still play video games together, talk about his dreams, and make time for joy. My academic journey reflects that same commitment. I graduated from Guilford College in just three years with dual degrees in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies, serving as a TA for courses on Restorative and Transformative Justice. Now, I’m pursuing my Master’s in Organizing and Community Justice at Prescott College to deepen my impact and grow the tools I need to lead coalitions and movements with care and clarity. Receiving the Michael Rudometkin Memorial Scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of graduate school—it would carry forward a legacy I live every day. Like Michael, I believe life isn’t about grades or accolades—it’s about connection, service, and joy. I strive to embody those values in every room I enter, and I hope to continue honoring that mission for the rest of my life.

Adversity became my teacher earlier than I could have imagined. At 21, I became the legal guardian of my younger brother after losing our mother—the person who had held our family together. In that moment, I wasn’t just grieving. I was navigating the school system for a sixth grader, managing bills, and making sure dinner was on the table—all while organizing for environmental justice across New Jersey. I had a choice: let the weight of it all crush me, or rise to meet it. I chose the latter. Today, I’m 23 and the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action. I’ve led statewide campaigns on prison water access, toxic-free beauty products, and clean air protections for communities of color. I co-chair the New Jersey Environmental Justice Advisory Council and co-lead community research with Rutgers University. In each of these spaces, I show up not just as a professional—but as a big sister, a caretaker, and a community member who knows what’s at stake. Through my work, I’ve organized mutual aid efforts during the pandemic, helped families in incarceration facilities fight for clean water, and educated returning citizens on their environmental rights. I also created and currently lead a campaign called The Tea on Toxic Beauty, which brings workshops, research, and policy advocacy to Black and Brown women in Newark impacted by toxic personal care products. It’s more than just a project—it’s about making sure that the women in my community are seen, heard, and protected. Academically, I graduated from Guilford College in just three years with dual degrees in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies, serving as a Teaching Assistant in courses on restorative justice and systems of oppression. I am now pursuing my Master’s in Organizing and Community Justice at Prescott College to deepen my impact and expand my leadership. Despite everything I’ve faced, I’ve never allowed grief or hardship to define me. Instead, I’ve turned them into fuel. I work hard not just to survive, but to make space for others to thrive—especially those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in policy, research, or leadership. Receiving the Alger Memorial Scholarship would honor the spirit of resilience and service that I carry into every space I enter. Like the Algers, I have stepped into a role many would consider beyond my years, and I have done so with love, tenacity, and unwavering dedication to my community. I still have so much life ahead of me, but I know who I am: someone who fights for a better world, because I’ve lived through what happens when people are forgotten.

I was raised by a woman who gave up everything she knew to give me a shot at something she never had: a college education. My mother, an Afro-Guyanese immigrant, didn’t have the chance to pursue higher education—but she carried dreams big enough for both of us. She taught me that survival wasn’t enough; we were meant to create something lasting. When she passed, I inherited more than grief—I inherited her dreams, her struggles, and the responsibility to break cycles she never got to escape. Growing up, I was always aware that we were operating with less—less money, less access, fewer safety nets. But what we had in abundance was grit. My mother instilled in me a sense of responsibility not just to succeed, but to bring others with me. Still, there were moments when the weight of it all was nearly unbearable. From watching her navigate health systems that didn’t see her, to translating for her in school and housing meetings, I learned early on that survival in this country required more than hard work—it required code-switching, resilience, and a constant negotiation of identity. When I lost my mother, everything changed. I was 21 when I became the legal guardian of my younger brother, stepping into a role I never expected to take on so soon. I made a promise to myself—and to him—that I would become the kind of person he could look up to. That I would build something with the sacrifices we inherited. Today, I’m 23 and serving as the Lead Environmental Justice Organizer at Clean Water Action in New Jersey. I hold dual degrees in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies. I’m pursuing my master’s in Organizing and Community Justice. I serve on statewide coalitions, lead campaigns on prison water access and air pollution, and conduct participatory research focused on toxic beauty products marketed to Black women. I’ve made a life out of reimagining what justice can look like—especially for immigrant and first-gen families like mine. But none of this came easy. The cultural gap between my family’s Guyanese roots and my American upbringing left me constantly feeling like I had to prove that I belonged. I didn’t grow up with generational wealth, Ivy League networks, or a blueprint for how to do this. I had to make my own path—and I carry the weight of making sure that path leads somewhere meaningful. Receiving the Cyrilla Olapeju Sanni Scholarship would honor the journey of my mother and so many others like her—women who had the ambition but not the access. It would allow me to continue my education without carrying the crushing weight of student debt, and it would be a step toward building the future my mother always dreamed of: one where her children didn’t have to struggle just to survive, but had the chance to thrive. I still have a long way to go, but every step I take is in her name.

I’ve always believed that even if you don’t know exactly where the road leads, you still have the right to walk it—and to take others with you. I come from Newark, New Jersey, where public systems often fail Black communities and where beauty, resilience, and struggle exist side by side. I was raised in a city where one in four children has asthma and the poverty rate mirrors that same 25%. And yet, it’s the place that taught me how to care deeply for others and to fight for what hasn’t yet arrived. At 21, after my mother passed, I became the legal guardian of my younger brother. He was only ten years old then—he’s about to be a seventh grader now. Every decision I’ve made since has been with him in mind. I want him to see that you don’t have to wait until everything is perfect to lead, or to give back. You can begin where you are, with what you have. I earned dual degrees in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies in just three years at Guilford College while completing over 2,000 hours of community service as a Bonner Scholar. I tutored refugee and immigrant youth, coached an urban debate team, and eventually became a Teaching Assistant for courses on Restorative and Transformative Justice. These weren’t just résumé builders. They were how I learned to listen, build trust, and take action—with care and clarity. Today, I’m a full-time Environmental Justice Organizer for Clean Water Action. I work across New Jersey leading campaigns for clean air, water, and environmental protections in communities that have been overlooked for far too long. I serve on the NJDEP Environmental Justice Advisory Council, co-lead statewide coalitions, and help shape legislation to hold polluters accountable. But what I’m most proud of right now is The Tea on Toxic Beauty, a community research campaign I launched in partnership with Rutgers University to investigate and raise awareness about toxic chemicals in personal care products marketed to Black women. The research project’s formal title is You Have the Right to Know: Empowering Black Women in Newark, NJ Through Clean Beauty Research and Education. We host clean beauty workshops, collect survey data, and prepare community members with the tools they need to advocate for safer products. This project lives at the intersection of science, storytelling, and justice—and it’s deeply personal to me. I’ve watched too many Black women in my life carry the weight of toxic exposure without even knowing what they’ve been handed. I’m committed to changing that. I’m now pursuing a master’s degree in Organizing and Community Justice to expand my work in community-based research, sharpen my strategy, and build a stronger foundation for the nonprofit I hope to start one day. But my path isn’t just about degrees or titles. It’s about being someone my younger brother can look up to—someone who showed up for her people, even when things were hard. Receiving the Doc & Glo Scholarship would be more than financial support. It would be an affirmation of the values I carry with me every day: care, resilience, purpose, and the belief that even in a world that often tells you otherwise, you are enough—and you have the right to thrive.

African-American women in the U.S. are nine times more likely to spend on personal care products than any other group—yet we are disproportionately exposed to chemicals linked to cancer, fibroids, preterm birth, and reproductive harm. Up to 50% of the products marketed to us contain hazardous ingredients, compared to just 7% of products marketed to white women. These are not accidents. These are systemic choices embedded in policy failure, corporate profit, and medical neglect. My work exists at the intersection of that harm and the power to transform it. My name is X Braithwaite, and I am the Principal Investigator of You Have the Right to Know: Empowering Black Women in Newark, NJ Through Clean Beauty Research and Education, a participatory action research project in collaboration with Dr. Emily Barrett of Rutgers University’s Environmental and Occupational Health Sciences Institute. Through our campaign, The Tea on Toxic Beauty, we are conducting culturally grounded workshops in Newark that raise awareness about harmful chemicals in personal care products, provide hands-on experience with safer alternatives, and engage participants in community-based data collection. Our goal is not only to educate, but to build infrastructure for lasting health justice. This scholarship would directly support my pursuit of a graduate degree in Organizing and Community Justice, with a focus on expanding my work in community-based research science. I am deeply committed to bridging environmental health science with organizing practice—ensuring that the people most impacted by toxic exposures are not only informed, but equipped to lead. Through this program and with the support of this scholarship, I will be able to strengthen the research, advocacy, and policy impact of our campaign—and invest in a long-term career that centers women’s health at the core of environmental justice. Our work is not hypothetical—it is happening now. We’ve launched our first round of workshops, are collecting longitudinal data on knowledge, perceptions, and behaviors, and are preparing to release a Clean Beauty Advocacy Toolkit to support local and state-level action. Our final phase will culminate in a Clean Beauty Symposium that brings together researchers, policymakers, and community members. I am also serving as co-author on a peer-reviewed publication and helping to lay the groundwork for a future NIH R01 proposal that will build on our findings to reduce exposure and improve health outcomes among Black women. This work is personal. I was born and raised in Newark, where beauty is both ritual and survival. At 21, I became the legal guardian of my younger brother after our mother passed away. Now, at 23, I am raising him while building a career rooted in protecting communities like ours. I want him to see that science can belong to us—that it can be used to uncover truth, shift policy, and protect life. I want him to grow up in a world where beauty doesn’t come at the cost of our health. With the support of this scholarship, I will continue to build a research career that centers reproductive justice, racial equity, and the leadership of those most impacted. I don’t just want to contribute to women’s health—I want to change what’s possible for it.

My name is Simone Braithwaite. I’m a first-generation Afro-Guyanese college graduate, a full-time environmental justice organizer, and the legal guardian of my younger brother, who’s entering the seventh grade. At 21, after the passing of our mother, I stepped into a role most people my age aren’t prepared for. Now at 23, I’m raising him while continuing my community organizing work and preparing to enter a graduate program. There is still so much life ahead of me, but I’m already making decisions that lay the foundation—for both of us. I earned my dual degrees in Community & Justice Studies and African & African American Studies from Guilford College in just three years. As a Bonner Scholar, I completed over 2,000 hours of community service, tutored refugee and immigrant students, coached youth in debate, and served as a Teaching Assistant for courses on Restorative and Transformative Justice and Understanding Oppressive Systems. These experiences grounded me in both theory and practice, and shaped the values I now carry into every space I organize in. After graduating, I joined Clean Water Action as an Environmental Justice Organizer. Since then, I’ve led campaigns to address contaminated drinking water in New Jersey’s prisons, advance zero-emission legislation, and protect communities of color from industrial pollution and toxic beauty products. I serve on the NJDEP’s Environmental Justice Advisory Council, co-lead statewide coalitions, and work closely with researchers at Rutgers University on community-based studies. The work is demanding—but it matters. It has deepened my understanding of how environmental harm, systemic racism, and reproductive justice are intertwined—and it has reinforced my belief in the power of community to lead change. Still, like many first-generation students, I carry student loan debt. It is a constant weight that shapes financial decisions, delays milestones, and limits the kind of freedom I hope to one day offer my younger brother. Receiving this scholarship would ease that burden and give me the ability to invest in our future—from stable housing to savings, to eventually building a community-rooted nonprofit that carries forward the values I’ve committed my life to. I’m applying to graduate school to sharpen my skills, deepen my leadership, and grow into someone capable of building something lasting. But I know that my ability to lead starts at home—with the example I set for my brother, and the care I offer to my community. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. This scholarship wouldn’t just reduce debt—it would help me continue walking the path I’ve chosen with more stability, clarity, and intention.

In high school, I struggled with poverty, food insecurity, and housing insecurity. When it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I was marked with the scarlet letter of delinquency. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. College for me means having the ability to give back to vulnerable communities. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is a community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the Black children of color in my community after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, and I was given a need-based scholarship from the Bonner Foundation, an organization that contributes to changing the status quo through community service. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. My educational career as a college student will provide me with the knowledge that I need to be a leader and a community organizer. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. My education will further my ability to live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

The biggest problem facing the world right now is the lack of compassion people have for one another. That is the root of all social ills that affect marginalized communities, communities worth advocating for and empathizing with. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you through a career as a social worker. Compassion is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with a commitment to be against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any group of people. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. At my college, I am a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, I created my own book club open to all high school students that were focused on teaching them how to critically think about the world, and cultivated food to give out to the homeless. The change I want to see starts with the will to be of service to every place you feel needed. I want to be a social worker to see change in communities, countries, and the world, to be empathetic. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed and learn how to be a better person and activist.

My mother taught me that love started with care for your family, and family is everything. She lived with 15 other family members up until 1999 and three years later, she had me. With my younger brother, my mother had experienced pregnancy-related health complications during us being evicted from our apartment building. We lost everything and for two years rotated from short stays in hotels to staying with family to being in a homeless shelter. Even through this time though, I managed to hide from my school that I was experiencing housing and food insecurity. Because my mother was an undocumented immigrant, it was hard to access government assistance, but we managed to move to the sanctuary city I was born and went to school in, Newark, New Jersey. While I went to one of the most academically challenging schools in Newark, I aided my mother in caring for my younger brother and household. For most of my high school career, I watched my mother struggle financially. Yet, I would always try to think about how her philosophies about family could help our situation. it is the ties you create with your community and the social networks that support you when you need it. As a first-generation student, I sought out the community with those in my situation. I created a club-support group for first-generation students in my high school. It also gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated for communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to go back to my roots and work at Science Park High School as an assistant debate coach teaching advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. As a first-generation student, I was taught empathy at a very young age. I live in community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

Community work is the hallmark of change in this society. It is seen everywhere, thousands of people rallying together to support a cause or to help a certain demographic. What gives me hope for the future is the reason why I volunteer my time to help those who need it the most, compassion in community care. The ways in which we invest in each other shape the outcomes of the world, regardless of if it is intentional or not. When food insecurity is met with blame, when the school-to-prison pipeline leads to high levels of minority youth being incarcerated when the prison industrial complex strips away formerly incarcerated people, when mental health is ignored in minority groups, we lose as a society. What gives me hope is that the new generation of advocates, helpers, organizers, and rebels are coming together to transform the ways that oppression manifests now. There are people in organizations that may not even be ever heard of, doing the work that communities need to progress. Community compassion is the ability to aid groups of people to autonomy and agency. I worked at the Newark Youth Court in New Jersey during my time in high school and it has been one of the most rewarding service opportunities I have experienced to date. In the Newark Public School system, social workers within schools refer students to the youth court, instead of juvenile detention centers, for misconduct. These children of color have been ignored and abused by systematic factors beyond their control, but the Youth Court gives them an opportunity to thrive. The students have their voices heard by a group of their peers—other Newark students—and are referred to Big Brother Big Sister programs, community service, and/or counseling services in the area. This program has saved so many lives that could have been lost in the vicious cycle of poverty and incarceration. It is organizations like this and like so many other restorative and transformative justice efforts that guide society’s young people into fulfilling lives. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. I am now a second-year Bonner Scholar, where we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I volunteered at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. They were sold at our farmers' market and most importantly, used for our Crop Caravan, a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities. What gives me hope about the future is seeing community compassion that keeps society equitable and cohesive. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth rallying for and empathizing with. My hope is in the works of future helpers, advocates, organizers, and rebels to transform society into an equitable place for all.

In high school, I was a very inefficient student in the context of studying. I would use strategies of rote memorization, but for classes that you could not just commit to memory, like math or science, I did poorly. As a college student, I have learned that the best way to study is learning all of the perspectives on the topics you need to study for from all angles. Go further than just the study guide your teacher has given you and watch random YouTube videos about it, look up study guides online, any relevant information helps a lot. I know the feeling when you study for an important test and when you take it, none of what you have seen on the study guide is there. To combat that, just watching a video about microbiology or balancing chemical equations while you are eating dinner or on the way to school helps! Also, the more you invest your time into a topic, the more interested you get. I've caught myself rambling to my friends about Sigmund Freud, father of psychoanalytic thought when I was taking my Psychology 101 course just because I was so interested in it from what I learned outside of the class! Even the small things that you learn can help. Even if you're just taking a class because it is a requirement, that is more reason why you should learn to love it. It kept the information relevant, and it really helped me learn to love school, because it didn't come naturally to me at all, especially for STEM subjects. Now I know that with a bit of interest, I can take any class at my university and actually enjoy it.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. When we categorize people in terms of in-groups and out-groups, we can absolve ourselves from the responsibility of helping others, because they do not belong in our community. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Community is unification and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Community begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. With that, the changes I want to see in my community, country, and the world are revolutionary but simple; I want to create a reality where the motivation for service is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. I want to create a change that calls for innovative solutions for problems plaguing macro or micro-communities. Those who lie outside our positional views, lie outside our scope of justice. Creativity is imperative in problem-solving to keep the problems of accessibility relevant to those who can make the most change. Creativity helps me find my voice in solutions for those who are continuously silenced. The problems a lot of urban communities face in these places are accessibility and fostering solutions to inaccessibility becomes an important project of social work and service. Finding help for marginalized communities requires creativity thinking about solutions to best serve them.

My dream life looks like being financially stable enough to fully support my community and give back to those who made me who I am today. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I am Bonner Scholar and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, and created my own book club open that focused on teaching how to critically think about the world. Training and volunteering invigorated me to advocate for those who were in my position; it presented an opportunity for me to reach the communities that need it most. A service that caught my eye though was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. I will be tutoring program to work as a teacher's aide in a transition school for refugee and immigrant students in grades K-5 that don’t know how to speak English. My dedication to educational equity inspired me to service a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the children of color, especially in the LGBTQIA+ community, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them to be themselves. My dream life is will be I can help others reach their dreams.

A characteristic of myself that I value most is my ability to empathize with other people. It drove me to the passions I have today: community activism and advocacy for marginalized groups. As a first-generation student, I was taught empathy at a very young age. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Allyship is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. I worked at the Newark Youth Court in New Jersey during my time in high school and it has been one of the most rewarding service opportunities I have experienced to date. In the Newark Public School system, social workers within schools refer students to the youth court, instead of juvenile detention centers, for misconduct. These children of color have been ignored and abused by systematic factors beyond their control, but the Youth Court gives them an opportunity to thrive. The students have their voices heard by a group of their peers—other Newark students—and are referred to Big Brother Big Sister programs, community service, and/or counseling services in the area. I committed to Guilford College as a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, and created my own book club open that focused on teaching how to critically think about the world. Training and volunteering invigorated me to advocate for those who were in my position; it presented an opportunity for me to reach the communities that need it most. It taught me the importance of mentoring and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to participate in the program. I was touching lives in powerful ways, and that’s all I could ever ask for. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the children of color, especially in the LGBTQIA+ community, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them to be themselves. As a sophomore, a service that caught my eye though was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. I will be tutoring program to work as a teacher’s aide in a transition school for refugee and immigrant students in grades K-5 that don’t know how to speak English. My dedication to educational equity inspired me to service a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I committed to Guilford College as a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, and created my own book club open that focused on teaching how to critically think about the world. Training and volunteering invigorated me to advocate for those who were in my position; it presented an opportunity for me to reach the communities that need it most. It taught me the importance of mentoring and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to participate in the program. I was touching lives in powerful ways, and that’s all I could ever ask for. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the children of color, especially in the LGBTQIA+ community, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them to be themselves. As a sophomore, a service that caught my eye though was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. I will be tutoring program to work as a teacher’s aide for math, social studies, English, and science in a transition school for refugee and immigrant students in grades K-5 that don’t know how to speak English. My dedication to educational equity inspired me to service a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year.

That is the root of all social ills that affect marginalized communities, communities worth advocating for and empathizing with. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Something that would make the world better is a bigger push for educational equity. Education equity gives citizens a fighting chance to be successful in areas of academics or their personal lives. It gives people the opportunity to climb the social ladder and presents an opportunity for them to be prepared for life outside of the educational system. The biggest problem facing the world right now is the lack of compassion people have for one another. I joined the Newark Students' Union to learn how to become a community organizer, a helper, and an advocate for silent voices by coming up with a unique solution to the education crisis we had. There was state control of the public schools, which led to problems with funding allocation, school regulation, and resources; the state body that had administrative power over the schools of the city was complacent in creating solutions to inaccessibility in our education system. There was lead in the school water, low retention, and graduation rates, and a scarcity of textbooks. At meetings, I proposed instead of protesting at school, we should go directly to the source of the problem. So, I organized a sit-in at our governor's, Phil Murphy, Phil Murphy's office, to demand a discussion about Newark Public Schools (NPS). Eventually, at the end of my junior year, we manage to successfully gain local control of the schools again and elected NPS's first superintendent in over 30 years. I committed to Guilford College as a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. While the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, and I created my own book club open to all high school students that were focused on teaching them how to critically think about the world. As a sophomore, I knew a lot of the service opportunities that would be open to me for the fall semester. One that caught my eye though, was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. I will be tutoring program to work as a teacher’s aide for math, social studies, English, and science in a transition school for refugee and immigrant students in grades K-5 that don’t know how to speak English. My dedication to educational equity inspired me to service a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year.

My favorite book is The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. It explains the social ills that plague society in the ways that it oppresses marginalized communities, especially in the prison system. She warrants that the prison system has become a new system of racism and xenophobia in the ways that its over-policing Black and brown bodies. From extra-judicial murders to longer sentences for similar crimes to white people and the unjust high rates of death penalties for African American men, the prison system has become a tool for mass incarceration, that strips the rights of millions of people in the US. Formerly incarcerated people are not allowed to vote, find it hard to get jobs, and are isolated from the rest of society. This is my favorite book because it fueled my passion for activism. I worked at the Newark Youth Court in New Jersey during my time in high school and it has been one of the most rewarding service opportunities I have experienced to date. In the Newark Public School system, social workers within schools refer students to the youth court, instead of juvenile detention centers, for misconduct. These children of color have been ignored and abused by systematic factors beyond their control, but the Youth Court gives them an opportunity to thrive. The students have their voices heard by a group of their peers—other Newark students—and are referred to Big Brother Big Sister programs, community service, and/or counseling services in the area. This program has saved so many lives that could have been lost in the vicious cycle of poverty and incarceration. It is organizations like this and like so many other restorative and transformative justice efforts that guide society’s young people into fulfilling lives.

A person who I want to embody in my life is Ella Baker. She was the backbone of the civil rights movement at its height. She organized peaceful protests for the voting rights of African Americans, and she even created some of the activism organizations that still exist today, like the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) headed by Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). She mostly worked behind the scenes in these organizations, filling the administrative roles that were needed for a good organization. She was a help, an advocate, and an organizer, which I aspire to be in my life. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, and I was given a need-based scholarship from the Bonner Foundation, an organization that contributes to changing the status quo through community service. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. Ella Baker was the catalyst for a movement that she worked in silence for. I don’t want to be the face of a movement, but I do want to be a backbone for communities in need.

The most helpful piece of advice I ever received came from my Honors English teacher my freshman year. As a popular teacher, many seniors came to him to get advice on their personal statements, scholarship essays, and to write recommendations for college applications. What he told me is that a dream school isn’t a school that you’ve always hoped to attend, but a school that has always wanted you to attend. Those who give you the most money care the most about your educational potential. I applied to schools that gave full merit-based scholarships, schools that gave scholarships for my special interests, and schools that accept my credits as an International Baccalaureate student. Coming from a family who has spent most of our years in homeless shelters, paying wasn’t an option, so I settled on the school with the least loans, until I was offered a full scholarship by Guilford College based on my special interest in community activism. At my college, I am a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, I created my own book club open to all high school students that were focused on teaching them how to critically think about the world, and cultivated food to give out to the homeless. The change I want to see starts with the will to be of service to every place you feel needed. I want to see the change in communities, countries, and the world, to be empathetic. Guilford is now my dream school because it’s an institution that supports my academic and career goals of being a social worker.

The biggest problem facing the world right now is the lack of compassion people have for one another. That is the root of all social ills that affect marginalized communities, communities worth advocating for and empathizing with. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Compassion is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with a commitment to be against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any group of people. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. At my college, I am a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, I created my own book club open to all high school students that were focused on teaching them how to critically think about the world, and cultivated food to give out to the homeless. The change I want to see starts with the will to be of service to every place you feel needed. I want to see the change in communities, countries, and the world, to be empathetic. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

The wisest words I have ever heard are from my 5th-grade teacher who paraphrased a quote for me when I wasn’t doing too well in school. He said that even if I may not be ready for the day, it cannot always be night. This meant a lot to me in my later years. I was being rushed through life and was not ready to encounter it. To not be ready for the day as it closely approaches represents time moving regardless of one’s stubborn refusal to stay in place. My grandmother had just passed away. Grief engulfed me and I felt a heaviness that I had not experienced before. The heaviness seeped into the first month of school. It took me a while to get back on track, but in this, I realized that feelings that may seem overpowering will continue while the world around them passes by quickly. The night was over, and I started to face the day with confidence. I used my experience as motivation to be perseverant in my goals. I focused my energy on making my days as fulfilling as possible, especially through community work. At my college, I am a Bonner Scholar, and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. I realized that the day was in my passion for community. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. That is my day, and in that, I am no longer anticipating the night.

Education equity gives citizens a fighting chance to be successful in areas of academics or in their personal lives. It gives people the opportunity to climb the social ladder and presents an opportunity for them to be prepared for life outside of the educational system. At my college, I am a Bonner Scholar and we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I worked as a debate coach for an urban debate league, teaching inner-city children from grades 7-12 advocacy and public speaking skills that they will need in college, and I created my own book club open to all high school students that were focused on teaching them how to critically think about the world. As a sophomore, I knew a lot of the service opportunities that would be open to me for the fall semester. One that caught my eye though, was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. I will be tutoring program to work as a teacher’s aide for math, social studies, English, and science in a transition school for refugee and immigrant students in grades K-5 that don’t know how to speak English. My dedication to educational equity inspired me to service a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina to be a Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. As a second-year Bonner Scholar, I already knew a lot of the service opportunities that would be open to me for the fall semester. The one that caught my eye though, was a service site that was added to our list of community-building opportunities in the last week of August. It was a tutoring program to work as a teacher’s aide in a transition school for refugee and immigrant elementary school children that don’t know how to speak English. My #Back2School moment was inspired by the will to help others and to be of service to a vulnerable community that may need guidance in adjusting to being in a foreign place. I can’t wait to start working with my students this year.

My existence as a Black woman is paradoxical. I exist in excess yet am still not enough. I don’t know how to blend in, my body is a political playing field and I write in the margins of my body and the footnotes of my subjectivity for every instance in which I am footnoted. That is to say, adultification, neglect, and disregard marked what I would call my girlhood. To be a Black girl is to feign resilience. In my high school years, I struggled with abuse, undiagnosed mental health issues, body issues, and homelessness. Yet, when it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school, when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I blended in with the other pathologized delinquent children. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. I left feeling desolate and defeat by the time my adulthood snuck up on me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. That refuge in the absolute embracement of my subjectivity is all I need. To be a Black woman is to fake resilience to keep from falling apart. Black women fight for Black women because no one else will. Black women fight for Black girls in a society that refuses to legitimize their existence. I learned this early on in my girlhood, but as soon as I had the advocacy skills and the agency to do so, I set out on my own mission to be a community organizer for Black women. I created mutual aid funds for Black women experiencing financial instability, I am creating a Black girl-centered book club and mental health support group via Bonner Scholars program, a community service-based scholarship that requires 140 hours of service each semester and 240 hours for two summers. I volunteered at my city’s biggest women’s center, Shani Baraka Women's Resource Center in the Central Ward of Newark. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the Black girls of my city with self-care after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. My Black womanhood taught me that I will never let a Black girl or woman feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved. It taught me that the fight for Black feminism holds space for intergenerational Black mothering as well as a space for creating futures of community efforts to be affirmed.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, and I was given a need-based scholarship from the Bonner Foundation, an organization that contributes to changing the status quo through community service. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. I volunteered at my city’s biggest women’s center, Shani Baraka Women's Resource Center in the Central Ward of Newark. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the students of color in my city with self-care after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm. It was used in our farmers' market, dining hall, and our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We taught about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After, I decided that since virtual service is effective for the time being, I decided to go back to Science Park High School, my alma mater, as a debate coach. There I taught advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th graders understand policy and philosophy. The community represents a social network of love and compassion. It is what keeps society cohesive above all, it is what is needed to further the missions of justice in the status quo. When I think about what makes me want to be a public servant, it is because of all the times I was supported by a community when I needed it most. Throughout high school, I experienced housing, food insecurity, and family health issues; without the support, I receive from members of the community, I do not know where I would be today. The change I want to see starts with the will to be of service to every place you feel needed. Allyship is the ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Allyship is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. In my high school years, I struggled with abuse, undiagnosed mental health issues, body issues, and homelessness. Yet, when it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school, when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I blended in with the other pathologized delinquent children. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. I left feeling desolate and defeat by the time my adulthood snuck up on me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is a community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. That refuge in the absolute embracement of my subjectivity is all I need. To be a Black woman is to fake resilience to keep from falling apart. Black women fight for Black women because no one else will. Black women fight for Black girls in a society that refuses to legitimize their existence. I learned this early on in my girlhood, but as soon as I had the advocacy skills and the agency to do so, I set out on my own mission to be a community organizer for Black women. I created mutual aid funds for Black women experiencing financial instability, I am creating a Black girl-centered book club and mental health support group via Bonner Scholars program, a community service-based scholarship that requires 140 hours of service each semester and 240 hours for two summers. I volunteered at my city’s biggest women’s center, Shani Baraka Women's Resource Center in the Central Ward of Newark. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the Black girls of my city with self-care after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. My Black womanhood taught me that I will never let an underrepresented child or adult feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved. It taught me that the fight for equity holds space for intergenerational mothering as well as a space for creating futures of community efforts to be affirmed.

My mother taught me that love started with care for your family, and family is everything. She came to the United States from Guyana when she was twelve years old. She lived with 15 other family members up until she had me. With my younger brother, my mother experienced pregnancy-related health complications during our eviction from our home. For two years we rotated from short stays in hotels to stay with family to be in a homeless shelter. Even though this time, I managed to hide from my school that I was experiencing housing and food insecurity. Because my mother was an undocumented immigrant, it was hard to access government assistance, but we managed to move to the sanctuary city I was born and went to school in, Newark, New Jersey. While I went to one of the most academically challenging schools in Newark, I aided my mother in care for my younger brother and household. Then I realized. Family is not just your biological kin; it is the ties you create with your community and the social networks that support you when you need it. As a first-generation student, I sought out the community with those in my situation. I created a club-support group for first-generation students in my high school. We found that we all had similar life experiences and that provide solace in those I could relate to. It also gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. My mother had only gotten her GED, and now she tells me constantly how proud she is that I am a second-year Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, and most importantly, used for our Crop Caravan, a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities. I taught others about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. Then, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to go back to my roots and work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. I taught key advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. As a first-generation student, I was taught empathy at a very young age. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

My mother taught me that love started with care for your family, and family is everything. She came to the United States from Guyana when she was twelve years old. She lived with 15 other family members up until 1999 and three years later, she had me. I would be her only child for ten years. We had a stable home life until that time. With my younger brother, my mother had experience pregnancy-related health complications during us being evicted from our apartment building. We lost everything and for two years rotated from short stays in hotels to staying with family to being in a homeless shelter. Even through this time though, I managed to hide from my school that I was experiencing housing and food insecurity. Because my mother was an undocumented immigrant, it was hard to access government assistance, but we managed to move to the sanctuary city I was born and went to school at, Newark, New Jersey. While I went to one of the most academically challenging schools in Newark, I aided my mother in care for my younger brother and household. For most of my high school career, I watched my mother struggle financially. Yet, I would always try to think how her philosophies about family could help our situation. Then I realized. Family is not just your biological kin; it is the ties you create with your community and the social networks that support you when you need it. As a first-generation student, I sought out community with those in my situation. I created a club-support group for first-generation students in my high school. We found that we all had similar life experiences and that provide solace in those I could relate to. It also gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. My mother had only gotten her GED, and now she tells me constantly how proud she is that I am a second-year Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated for communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to go back to my roots and work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught key advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. As a first-generation student, I was taught empathy at a very young age. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

In high school, I struggled with poverty, food insecurity, and housing insecurity. When it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I was marked with the scarlet letter of delinquency. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. College for me means having the ability to give back to vulnerable communities. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is a community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the Black children of color in my community after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, and I was given a need-based scholarship from the Bonner Foundation, an organization that contributes to changing the status quo through community service. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. My educational career as a college student will provide me with the knowledge that I need to be a leader and a community organizer. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. My education will further my ability to live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

Vacation Nightmare 1. Bodies (Intro) - Jazmine Sullivan 2. Welcome to the Party - Pop Smoke 3. Gang over Luv - Brent Faiyaz 4. WUSYANAME - Tyler The Creator (feat. NBA Youngboy & Ty Dolla $ign) 5. Netflix and Dusse - Smino 6. Got Friends - Goldlink (feat. Miguel) 7. TOKYO - BROCKHAMPTON - The College Copout

My experience with mental health has taught me the value of community and that support networks can transform lives. What makes a support group authentically beneficial is its emphasis on empathy and parallelism. People feel most comfortable when they are understood, and support groups offer a unique opportunity for empathetic identification to occur. When I was younger and before I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, I attended a support group for adolescent girls with depression. Interpreting the world from a seemingly foreign perspective than your peers can feel like the worst type of ostracization for a teen. When I was in the group, the girls really made me feel like the mental health issues I struggled with were not felt in isolation. They contributed to my understanding and coping mechanisms to my manage my disorders and find ways to navigate the world with them. My mental health disorders have also taught me the importance of patience and kindness. One’ breaking point could be casually hurtful words, a mean look, or just feeling that others around them are annoyed by their presence. My experience with mental health taught me that I will never let an underrepresented anyone feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved. It taught me that the fight for equity holds space for intergenerational mothering as well as a space for creating futures of community efforts to be affirmed. In my network, discovered that we all had similar life experiences and that provide solace in those I could relate to. It gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. My mother had only gotten her GED, and now she tells me constantly how proud she is that I am a second-year Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After that, I took on my most important project to date; being a part of the Trevor Project in the role of a hotline operator. The Trevor Project is a nonprofit organization founded in 1998 as a suicide prevention program for LGBTQIA+ teens and children. Training and volunteering invigorated me to advocate for those who were in my position; it presented an opportunity for me to reach the communities that need it most. It taught me the importance of mentoring and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to participate in the program. I was touching lives in powerful ways, and that’s all I could ever ask for. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the children of color, especially in the LGBTQIA+ community, of my city with self-care after school programs and support groups, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them to be themselves. Support networks have only ever benefited my life and made me flourish in ways I didn't know I could. I would not be who I am today without the in-group relationships I made with people of common struggles. Support networks function as a place of refuge and community-building by nature. In every aspect of my identity, they equipped me with the tools to make friends, find help when I need it, rally for justice, and serve a community. For that, I will always support the missions that support groups uniquely offer because in no other space can you be authentically yourself. Support groups manifest in every safe space one may find in life, and that is why they make the most intimate difference to people's lives.

In high school, I struggled with poverty, food insecurity, and housing insecurity. When it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I was marked with the scarlet letter of delinquency. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. College for me means having the ability to give back to vulnerable communities. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is a community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and serve the Black children of color in my community after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, and I was given a need-based scholarship from the Bonner Foundation, an organization that contributes to changing the status quo through community service. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours for each. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of neglected communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. My educational career as a college student will provide me with the knowledge that I need to be a leader and a community organizer. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. My education will further my ability to live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

Generosity is compassion, empathy, and advocacy for communities or individuals that face issues that one can aid them with. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Allyship is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. Generosity is the motivation for service is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. I want to create a change that calls for innovative solutions for problems plaguing macro or micro-communities. Gen is imperative in problem-solving to keep the problems of accessibility relevant to those who can make the most change. Creativity helps me find my voice in solutions for those who are continuously silenced. The problem a lot of disadvantaged communities face in these places is accessibility and fostering solutions to inaccessibility becomes an important project of social work and service. Finding help for marginalized communities requires generosity to best serve them.

Community work is the hallmark of change in this society. It is seen everywhere, thousands of people rallying together to support a cause or to help a certain demographic. What gives me hope for the future is the reason why I volunteer my time to help those who need it the most, compassion in community care. The ways in which we invest in each other shape the outcomes of the world, regardless of if it is intentional or not. When food insecurity is met with blame, when the school-to-prison pipeline leads to high levels of minority youth being incarcerated when the prison industrial complex strips away formerly incarcerated people, when mental health is ignored in minority groups, we lose as a society. What gives me hope is that the new generation of advocates, helpers, organizers, and rebels are coming together to transform the ways that oppression manifests now. There are people in organizations that may not even be ever heard of, doing the work that communities need to progress. Community compassion is the ability to aid groups of people to autonomy and agency. I worked at the Newark Youth Court in New Jersey during my time in high school and it has been one of the most rewarding service opportunities I have experienced to date. In the Newark Public School system, social workers within schools refer students to the youth court, instead of juvenile detention centers, for misconduct. These children of color have been ignored and abused by systematic factors beyond their control, but the Youth Court gives them an opportunity to thrive. The students have their voices heard by a group of their peers—other Newark students—and are referred to Big Brother Big Sister programs, community service, and/or counseling services in the area. This program has saved so many lives that could have been lost in the vicious cycle of poverty and incarceration. It is organizations like this and like so many other restorative and transformative justice efforts that guide society’s young people into fulfilling lives. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. I am now a second-year Bonner Scholar, where we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester. I volunteered at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. They were sold at our farmers' market and most importantly, used for our Crop Caravan, a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities. What gives me hope about the future is seeing community compassion that keeps society equitable and cohesive. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth rallying for and empathizing with. My hope is in the works of future helpers, advocates, organizers, and rebels to transform society into an equitable place for all.

Support groups often are the foundation of the intimate relationships people of minority groups find solace in; they hold space for those with common hardships or struggles and are an important part of understanding one's place in the world writ large. The most important area in which they are best at is bringing people together to quell feelings of loneliness and isolation, connecting people with resources that they would not have been able to access otherwise, and fostering a community in which they can most relate to. What makes a support group authentically beneficial is its emphasis on empathy and parallelism. Support groups offer a unique opportunity for empathetic identification to occur. When I was younger and before I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, I attended a support group for adolescent girls with depression. Interpreting the world from a seemingly foreign perspective than your peers can feel like the worst type of ostracization for a teen. When I was in the group, it was a relief that I didn't struggle in isolation. They contributed to understanding my disorders and finding ways to navigate the world with them. Support groups members and facilitators have valuable knowledge of resources to with your experiences. I would not be who I am today without the in-group relationships I made with people of common struggles. Support groups function as a place of refuge and community-building by nature. They equipped me with the tools to make friends, find help when I need it, and serve a community. For that, I will always support the missions that support groups uniquely offer because in no other space can you be authentically yourself. Support groups manifest in every safe space one may find in life, and that is why they make the most intimate difference to people's lives.

The quote that I follow to guide me in life is in a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. In it she writes “Say to them, say to the down-keepers, the sun-slappers, the self-soilers, the harmony-hushers, ‘Even if you are not ready for day it cannot always be night.’” This was especially influential for me when I discovered it at 17; I was being rushed through life I and was not ready to encounter it. To not be ready for the day as it closely approaches represents time moving regardless of one’s stubborn refusal to stay in place. My grandmother had just passed away. Grief engulfed my summer, and I felt a heaviness that I had not experienced before. It was at that time, that I learned the meaning of true resilience. The heaviness seeped into the first month of school. I could barely keep track of my racing thoughts, let alone last night’s homework assignment. “Even if you are not ready.’” It took me a while to get back on track, but in this, I realized that feelings that seems overpowering keeps one at a standstill, while the world around them passes by quickly. The night was over, and I started to face the day with confidence. I used my experience as motivation to be perseverant in my goals. I focused my energy on making my days as fulfilling as possible, especially through community work. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. I am now a second-year Bonner Scholar, where we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. I realized that the day was in my passion for community. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. That is my day, and in that, I no longer anticipate the night.

My experience with mental health has taught me the value of community and that support networks can transform lives. What makes a support group authentically beneficial is its emphasis on empathy and parallelism. People feel most comfortable when they are understood, and support groups offer a unique opportunity for empathetic identification to occur. When I was younger and before I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, I attended a support group for adolescent girls with depression. Interpreting the world from a seemingly foreign perspective than your peers can feel like the worst type of ostracization for a teen. When I was in the group, the girls really made me feel like the mental health issues I struggled with were not felt in isolation. They contributed to my understanding and coping mechanisms to my manage my disorders and find ways to navigate the world with them. My mental health disorders have also taught me the importance of patience and kindness. One’ breaking point could be casually hurtful words, a mean look, or just feeling that others around them are annoyed by their presence. My experience with mental health taught me that I will never let an underrepresented anyone feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved. It taught me that the fight for equity holds space for intergenerational mothering as well as a space for creating futures of community efforts to be affirmed. In my network, discovered that we all had similar life experiences and that provide solace in those I could relate to. It gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. My mother had only gotten her GED, and now she tells me constantly how proud she is that I am a second-year Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After that, I took on my most important project to date; being a part of the Trevor Project in the role of a hotline operator. The Trevor Project is a nonprofit organization founded in 1998 as a suicide prevention program for LGBTQIA+ teens and children. Training and volunteering invigorated me to advocate for those who were in my position; it presented an opportunity for me to reach the communities that need it most. It taught me the importance of mentoring and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to participate in the program. I was touching lives in powerful ways, and that’s all I could ever ask for. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the children of color, especially in the LGBTQIA+ community, of my city with self-care after school programs and support groups, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them to be themselves. Support networks have only ever benefited my life and made me flourish in ways I didn't know I could. I would not be who I am today without the in-group relationships I made with people of common struggles. Support networks function as a place of refuge and community-building by nature. In every aspect of my identity, they equipped me with the tools to make friends, find help when I need it, rally for justice, and serve a community. For that, I will always support the missions that support groups uniquely offer because in no other space can you be authentically yourself. Support groups manifest in every safe space one may find in life, and that is why they make the most intimate difference to people's lives.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Allyship is unity and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Allyship begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Those who lie outside our subject position, lie outside our scope of justice. Fostering solutions to inaccessibility in urban communities has become an important project of social work and service. In my high school years, I struggled with abuse, undiagnosed mental health issues, body issues, and homelessness. Yet, when it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning and I ran late for school, when I was absent because I didn’t have transportation, or when I would come to school bruised, no one would say a word. I blended in with the other pathologized delinquent children. I had to depend on myself for things adults in my life failed to provide for me. I left feeling desolate and defeat by the time my adulthood snuck up on me. Being a Black girl was hard and when I turned 18, I made a promise to myself that I would never let anyone make me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved again. I have only been a Black woman for a year, but it has taught me that I don’t have to be helpless, that there is a community in kinship ties for me, and that I don’t have to be resilient to survive. That refuge in the absolute embracement of my subjectivity is all I need. To be a Black woman is to fake resilience to keep from falling apart. Black women fight for Black women because no one else will. Black women fight for Black girls in a society that refuses to legitimize their existence. I learned this early on in my girlhood, but as soon as I had the advocacy skills and the agency to do so, I set out on my own mission to be a community organizer for others. I created mutual aid funds for those experiencing financial instability, I am creating a people of color-centered book club and mental health support group via Bonner Scholars program, a community service-based scholarship that requires 140 hours of service each semester and 240 hours for two summers. I volunteered at my city’s biggest women’s center, Shani Baraka Women's Resource Center in the Central Ward of Newark. I am a Community and Justice Studies major so I can go on to a Social Work master’s program and go back to serve the children of color in my city with self-care after school programs, juvenile detention diversion programs, and developing a community for them. My Black womanhood taught me that I will never let an underrepresented child or adult feel uncomfortable, unworthy, or unloved. It taught me that the fight for equity holds space for intergenerational mothering as well as a space for creating futures of community efforts to be affirmed.

My mother taught me that love started with care for your family, and family is everything. She came to the United States from Guyana when she was twelve years old. She lived with 15 other family members up until 1999 and three years later, she had me. I would be her only child for ten years. We had a stable home life until that time. With my younger brother, my mother had to experience pregnancy-related health complications during us being evicted from our apartment building. We lost everything and for two years rotated from short stays in hotels to stay with family to be in a homeless shelter. Even though this time though, I managed to hide from my school that I was experiencing housing and food insecurity. Because my mother was an undocumented immigrant, it was hard to access government assistance, but we managed to move to the sanctuary city I was born and went to school in, Newark, New Jersey. While I went to one of the most academically challenging schools in Newark, I aided my mother in care for my younger brother and household. For most of my high school career, I watched my mother struggle financially. Yet, I would always try to think about how her philosophies about family could help our situation. Then I realized. Family is not just your biological kin; it is the ties you create in your community and the social networks that support you when you need it. As a first-generation student, I sought out the community with those in my situation. I created a club-support group for first-generation students in my high school. We found that we all had similar life experiences and that provide solace in those I could relate to. It also gave me a passion to serve communities and being an activist for underserved populations. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. My mother had only gotten her GED, and now she tells me constantly how proud she is that I am a second-year Bonner Scholar. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to go back to my roots and work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught key advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. As a first-generation student, I was taught empathy at a very young age. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in a community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.

The that I follow to guide me in life is in a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. In it she writes “Say to them, say to the down-keepers, the sun-slappers, the self-soilers, the harmony-hushers, ‘Even if you are not ready for day it cannot always be night.’” This was especially influential for me when I discovered it at 17; I was being rushed through life and was not ready to encounter it. To not be ready for the day as it closely approaches represents time moving regardless of one’s stubborn refusal to stay in place. My grandmother had just passed away. Grief engulfed my summer, and I felt a heaviness that I had not experienced before. It was at that time, that I learned the meaning of true resilience. The heaviness seeped into the first month of school. I could barely keep track of my racing thoughts, let alone last night’s homework assignment. “Even if you are not ready.’” It took me a while to get back on track, but in this, I realized that feelings that seem overpowering keep one at a standstill, while the world around them passes by quickly. The night was over, and I started to face the day with confidence. I used my experience as motivation to be perseverant in my goals. I focused my energy on making my days as fulfilling as possible, especially through community work. I committed to Guilford College in North Carolina, on a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively leads missions of social justice. We are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated communities. It was this opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm. It was used in our farmers' market, and most importantly, our Crop Caravan. This is a program where we donate fresh food to homeless communities. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club. We taught about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy options in underserved communities. I took training sessions on how I could be a better environmental activist. Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. That is my day, and in that, I no longer anticipate the night.

In the excess of the five centuries of anti-blackness, disenfranchisement, and oppressive conditions leave a deep scar in Black communities that are often addressed by being ignored. The scarring represents the goal of white supremacy; to mentally and emotionally exhaust, drain, and exhort the Black community. Trauma becomes a generational cycle where those who need mental health resources the most are the least likely to receive it. The Black community writ large, especially Black children, face barriers to diagnosis and treatment of mental health or neurobehavioral disorders because of the ignorance of a society that thrives off marginalization and benefits from leaving these communities without access to resources. With, my utopian vision for optimal mental health care in the Black communities looks like an ethic of empathy and advocacy, not for performative quick fixes like emergency mental health programs, but long-term networks that keep the Black community thriving despite anti-Blackness. Community is unity and togetherness and begins and ends with a commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community. It is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. Fostering solutions to mental health crises in Black communities has become an important project of social work and service. The lack of mental health resources isn’t just an example of racism, but the driving force of it. Awareness of what Black communities need in context to mental health would improve every aspect of social life. My utopia looks like an intervention for Black neurodivergent people before it is too late. Throughout high school, I struggled with undiagnosed mental health issues because my counselors and my school social worker didn’t see me as a Black girl needing help; they saw me as a delinquent, like everyone else failing in their junior or senior year, even though I was the valedictorian of my middle school. Mental health services are the impetus of transforming the ways in which we view young Black children. I was pathologized at an early age and being characterized as loud, angry, bad because inside and outside of my community, there was no framework to accept that Black children can have complex emotions absent the ways they are stereotyped. When society adopts a safe space for which Black people can get adequate access to healthcare, we are not only saving individual lives but quite literally the health outcomes for an entire race. According to the Kaiser-CDC study, people who experience trauma at a young age are the most at risk for heart disease and other health problems, not because of their actions, but solely because of experiences. Trauma is a social justice issue because it is a health epidemic. Every time a counselor misses a symptom of ADHD, a psychotherapist misdiagnoses a Black person with a conduct disorder instead of PTSD, a Black parent writes off the behaviors of their children as disrespect and not depression, we lose as a community. Social justice in ensuring that the most vulnerable populations get the resources they need to thrive. When broken mental health systems are leading children to unnecessary placement in special education programs, the school-to-prison pipeline, and a litany of health problems, we need to step in. There needs to be mental health professionals trained to be ethnically aware and in control of their biases. There needs to be community and school support systems, so children and adults don’t feel ashamed or hopeless when trying to find help. Most of all, there needs to be a genuine dedication to undoing generational harms and rebuilding broken Black communities in the light of acceptance and empathy.

Where there is a need for solutions to issues such as poverty, homelessness, and food insecurity, there is a community worth advocating for and empathizing with. When we categorize people in terms of in-groups and out-groups, we can absolve ourselves from the responsibility of helping others, because they do not belong in our community. I want to challenge the notion that community starts and ends with those in the closest proximity to you. Community is unification and togetherness, which drives social change whether it is in small towns, or whole continents. Community begins and ends with your commitment to pushing back against oppressive systems that continue to dehumanize and disadvantage any community, regardless of their geographical location. With that, the changes I want to see in my community, country, and the world are revolutionary but simple; I want to create a reality where the motivation for service is driven by compassion, the type that saves lives. I want to create a change that calls for innovative solutions for problems plaguing macro or micro-communities. Those who lie outside our positional views, lie outside our scope of justice. Creativity is imperative in problem-solving to keep the problems of accessibility relevant to those who can make the most change. Creativity helps me find my voice in solutions for those who are continuously silenced. The problems a lot of urban communities face in these places are accessibility and fostering solutions to inaccessibility becomes an important project of social work and service. Finding help for marginalized communities requires creativity thinking about solutions to best serve them. Before college, I was a part of the Newark Students' Union (NSU) in order to find solutions to the problem facing our school system. We advocated for change in administrative practices for schools in the city of Newark which has been marked by poverty and disadvantage. There was state control of the public schools, which led to problems with funding allocation, school regulation, and resources; the state body that had administrative power over the schools of the city was complacent in creating solutions to inaccessibility in our education system. There was the lead in the school water, low retention, and graduation rates, regular school closings in June because the classrooms have no air conditioning and a scarcity of textbooks. I joined the NSU to learn how to become a community organizer, a helper, and an advocate for silent voices by coming up with a unique solution to the education crisis we had. We had to find ways to grab the attention of the local grassroots groups, the city of Newark, and the State government in order to make it known we urgently needed change. At meetings, I proposed that instead of protesting at school, we should go directly to the source of the problem. So, I organized a sit-in at our governor's, Phil Murphy, Phil Murphy's office, to demand a discussion about Newark Public Schools (NPS). Eventually, at the end of my junior year, we manage to successfully gain local control of the schools again and elected NPS's first superintendent in over 30 years. This revolutionary accomplishment empowered me to be the change I want to see in the world writ large. I committed to Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina, on the condition that I will be rewarded a need-based scholarship under the Bonner Foundation, an organization that actively contributes to changing the status quo. I am now a second-year Bonner Scholar, where we are required to do 140 hours of service each semester and two summers of service as 240 hours each time. This was especially difficult, as I was admitted into the freshman class at the height of the pandemic. But, while the COVID-19 pandemic has caused a laundry list of health and political forms of destruction, it also made politicians and activists realize the fragility of most underdeveloped and un-advocated for communities. It was this unique opportunity for me to help people from hundreds of miles away, that caused me to have the service outreach of those people my locational scope of community-building. I did most of my service hours online, but I was able to serve multiple communities at once, including my home city. The first service was working at the Guilford College Farm, where I picked and packaged organic fruits and vegetables. These are used to be sold at our farmers market, used in the salad bar of our cafeteria, and most importantly, to be used for our Crop Caravan. It is a program where we deliver and donate fresh food to homeless communities around Greensboro. It taught me the value of farm work and food justice, which led to my administrative role in the Food Justice Club at Guilford. We held meetings to teach people about food insecurity, food deserts, and programs that promote healthy food options in underserved communities. I also took training sessions to learn how I could be a better environmental activist for those who face food insecurity. After I took that role, I decided that since virtual service is efficient and effective for the time being, I decided to go back to my roots and work at Science Park High School, my alma mater, as an assistant debate coach. There I taught key advocacy and public speaking skills in an Urban Debate League, volunteering my time to help the 7-12th grade students understand policy and philosophy. The change I want to see starts with the will to be of service to every place you feel needed. I want to see the change in communities, countries, and the world, to be empathetic. The ability to feel for one another, regardless of your social position, is the important drive for greatness for each other. I live in community with others, not only to help where I am needed but to learn how to be a better person and activist.