Every day after school, I’d climb into the backseat, buckle up, and sit quietly while my mother finished her work calls. She didn’t ask, “How was your day?” and I never expected her to. Not because she didn’t care, but because she was carrying the weight of an entire household on her own. My mother built a business from the ground up with no safety net, no partner to rely on, and no time to waste. Her love was shown in action—in late nights, early mornings, and sacrifices that I didn’t fully understand at the time. I learned to be resourceful, independent, and observant. By seven, I packed my own lunches. At eight, I began staying home alone. I figured out how to navigate life not because she taught me step-by-step, but because I watched her do it all with determination and grace. Growing up in a single-mother household gave me an early understanding of what resilience truly means. Since my mom couldn’t afford childcare, I accompanied her everywhere—client meetings, late-night errands, business dinners. I sat quietly, listening, soaking it all in. While other children were entertained with screens or toys, I was absorbing the cadence of conversations, the strength in her voice, and the quiet power of being prepared. I came to understand that strength doesn't always show up as bold declarations or outward emotion. Sometimes it’s a tired mother who shows up and never lets her exhaustion stop her from moving forward. My mother didn't have the luxury of slowing down, and because of that, I learned what it truly means to keep going. There were no grand speeches in my home, no traditional routines or predictable schedules. But there was always love. It was in the way she’d let me sit beside her during long work-from-home afternoons, never asking me to leave the room. It was in the background music of old films and Latin jazz, and in the way she welcomed my presence in her world, even when she was overwhelmed. As I got older, I began to see just how much she had given up to give me a better future. She showed me that strength can be quiet and unglamorous, and that love doesn’t always need to be spoken to be deeply felt. Because of her, I became the first in my family to attend college and the first to pursue a career in healthcare. But more importantly, I carry her spirit into every room I enter. Her example taught me to lead with empathy, to listen deeply, and never underestimate the power of perseverance. Now, I’m committed to using that foundation to make a meaningful impact. In many places, especially throughout Texas, those in communities of lower socioeconomic status, minorities, or rural areas, struggle to access proper healthcare. My goal is to bring healthcare resources to these underserved communities—where people go without help simply because no one has shown up for them. Whether it’s through mobile clinics, community-based education, or policy advocacy, I plan to use my skills and education to ensure families don’t have to choose between survival and wellness.

Age 12 1:15 AM Flight 2465 The lights flickered on and the air chilled as all havoc set in. Sitting across the aisle I froze in shock. “Is there a doctor on board?” the attendant stereotypically called out. Two individuals ran over to help; The man grabbing the attendants shoulders in reassurance, while the woman begins to assess the scene. As they lay the patient on the aisle of the cabin, he would begin to endure thirty minutes of CPR, before everyone recognized the unspoken fate. While no one truly knew what caused such unfortunate circumstances, the whispers of nearby passengers, who were more informed than I, would speak of a stroke. I scurried to the computer the moment we arrived back home. Typing in the search bar “stroke,” I would be met with a definition: a cerebrovascular accident where blood is blocked off from the brain, often referred to—as a brain attack. His head had betrayed him. I had never feared death until I realized the mind I came to so highly value could turn on me at any moment. Ruminating on this fact, my mind spun, but my curiosity refused. I reflected back on the methods of my mother, in striving to learn something new each day, and applied this to my life as well. That evening on the plane, from my adolescent view filtered by Pixar and Disney classics, I couldn’t describe the civilians who helped as anything less than superheroes. As I became determined to learn everything possible to achieve this level of knowledge, I gathered my tools. That Christmas I wished for a suture kit, and the upcoming birthday a stethoscope. My hands, no longer just fingers I would use to meticulously paint my nails. My ears, no longer only tuned to the Latin Jazz station my mother plays while cooking dinner. But most importantly my head was no longer limited to its anatomical function. My head—had found its true purpose. A few months ago I obtained an internship with an obstetric surgeon, who has only reaffirmed my love for the medical field. While attending several times a week, I am able to help with minor activities in a clinical setting and learn more about patient care. Similarly, I have had the privilege of witnessing several surgical procedures, and look forward to seeing more. I plan to use this research to conduct a spoken presentation at the end of the school year, where I will present my findings as well as a real-world product I am currently creating to benefit my field. In the end, witnessing death was not merely an end, but a beginning. This reminder of the stark impermanence of life made me appreciate the uniqueness and variety of humanity, while presenting me with my one true passion. It gave me my ultimate goal of attending Columbia University to pursue their Medical Humanities major, attend medical school, and become a surgeon.