My experience with mental health, specifically bipolar disorder, has shaped every part of who I am: my goals, my relationships, and the way I move through the world. It wasn’t a clean or linear journey. Before I even understood what bipolar disorder was, I lived inside its swings. I went from bursts of energy and confidence to weeks where I couldn’t get out of bed. At the time, I didn’t have the language to name these patterns, and I internalized each crash as personal failure. Then came homelessness, which made everything heavier. Losing my housing also meant losing almost all my friends. People I thought would be there simply disappeared; some out of discomfort, some out of misunderstanding, and some because they didn’t know how to support someone who wasn’t “the same” anymore. When you’re homeless, people treat you like your circumstances are contagious. It’s isolating in a way that words don’t fully capture. But in that emptiness, one person remained: my closest friend, the one person who never disappeared even when miles, time zones, and my instability made supporting me inconvenient. He wasn’t obligated to stay. He wasn’t nearby. He didn’t owe me anything. But he was there, whether it be through checking in on me through depression, talking me down from panic, encouraging me during manic spirals, and believing in my potential long before I did. While others drifted away, he became the one steady point in a world that felt like it was constantly collapsing. That kind of loyalty changed me. It also changed how I see relationships. I used to think connection came from having the same hobbies, classes, or routines. Now I understand that real relationships are built on consistency, emotional safety, and choosing to show up when it’s hardest. Mental health challenges filter your relationships. They reveal who’s willing to meet you where you are and who only liked the version of you that was easiest to love. My mental health journey also shaped my goals. When I was in shelters, surrounded by people fighting their own battles with trauma, addiction, and instability, I began to understand something clearly: productivity systems, mental health apps, and self-help tools are often made for people who are already functioning. They don’t accommodate fluctuation, exhaustion, cognitive overload, or emotional turbulence. They certainly don’t account for what it feels like to build structure from scratch while navigating survival. That realization is what led me to create Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity tool designed to adapt to users’ emotional and cognitive states in real time. I wasn’t trying to build a startup. I was trying to build something I desperately needed, a tool for people whose minds don’t operate on linear timelines or predictable energy levels. What’s meaningful is that the same friend who stood by me through homelessness and mental health crises is now my partner in building this future. We’re applying together to Antler, one of the most respected pre-idea accelerators, because we’ve already been through the hardest “accelerator” life could offer: instability, uncertainty, and resilience forged in circumstances far beyond entrepreneurship. We didn’t start as co-founders. We became co-founders because we learned how to survive together, solve problems together, and believe together in what we could build. Bipolar disorder also expanded my understanding of the world. It taught me that people’s inner realities rarely match what you see from the outside. It made me more empathetic to unpredictability, more patient with myself and others, and more aware of the invisible battles people carry. It pushed me to design tools, systems, and environments that acknowledge human fluctuation instead of penalizing it. Most of all, living with bipolar disorder made me redefine success. Success, to me, isn’t perfection. It’s persistence. It’s learning to rise after each fall. It’s building something meaningful not despite instability, but shaped by it. And it’s surrounding yourself with people who see your potential even when your symptoms try to convince you otherwise. Mental health challenges took a lot from me, but they also gave me purpose, empathy, and a clear vision for the future I want to build. And now, I’m building it with someone who has seen all versions of me and stayed. That alone has reshaped my entire understanding of the world.

As a half Bengali, half Andhra woman, I grew up between languages, traditions, and expectations. My identity never fit neatly into one category; an experience that, while isolating at times, became one of my greatest strengths. Living between two distinct South Asian cultures taught me adaptability, empathy, and perspective. It showed me that identity isn’t something fixed; it’s something we build through understanding, resilience, and purpose. From my Bengali heritage, I inherited creativity and curiosity; a love for ideas, expression, and imagination. From my Andhra roots, I learned discipline, pragmatism, and perseverance. Together, they taught me to balance emotion with logic and heart with strategy. That duality has shaped my path in education and entrepreneurship: blending innovation with empathy to solve human problems. Yet identity, especially as a South Asian woman, carries unspoken expectations. I grew up in a household marked by tradition and loss; my mother passed away when I was three, and my father never remarried. Grief and cultural norms coexisted, often teaching me to be quiet, agreeable, and self-sufficient. But over time, I realized that silence was not the same as strength. My voice, and the voices of women like me, deserved to be heard. That realization deepened when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a condition still stigmatized in many South Asian communities. Talking about mental health was often considered taboo, dismissed as weakness. There were moments when I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere; too emotional for one world, too analytical for another. But instead of hiding that complexity, I decided to turn it into action. I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to help people manage their emotional and cognitive well-being. Melo adapts to users’ moods in real time, providing structure, encouragement, and empathy. What began as a personal coping tool became a larger mission: making mental health support accessible and stigma-free. Today, Melo has over 700 users on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and impact. Being both Bengali and Andhra, and living with bipolar disorder, taught me to find strength in intersection. My identity has made me a bridge between cultures, ideas, and people. It allows me to approach business and technology with emotional intelligence and a deep understanding of the power of inclusion. As I pursue my degree in Finance and Data Analytics, I plan to use my education to design systems that make wellness and opportunity more equitable. I want to create solutions that respect cultural nuance and bring empathy into innovation. Representation, to me, means transformation; it’s not just about being seen, but about using visibility to open doors for others. My story is proof that from the intersection of identity, adversity, and ambition can emerge something powerful: the ability to turn every difference into a source of connection, and every challenge into a foundation for change.

What excites me most about being an entrepreneur isn’t the idea of success; it’s the process of turning something intangible, like pain or possibility, into something that can change people’s lives. For me, entrepreneurship isn’t about profit; it’s about purpose. It’s the act of seeing what’s broken in the world and daring to build something better. My journey to entrepreneurship began in the least likely place, during one of the hardest periods of my life. I was struggling with bipolar disorder, a condition that caused unpredictable mood swings and made stability feel impossible. I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and eventually faced homelessness. At one point, I was living in a shelter, attending classes during the day and studying late at night using borrowed Wi-Fi. It was there, in that uncertainty, that the seed of entrepreneurship first took root. I realized that I didn’t want my pain to end with me. I wanted to transform it into something useful, something that could help others facing similar struggles. That’s when I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to help people manage their emotional and cognitive well-being. Melo adapts to users’ real-time moods and energy levels, offering structure, support, and encouragement without judgment. Building Melo taught me that entrepreneurship is as much about empathy as it is about innovation. It’s about understanding human problems deeply enough to design solutions that meet people where they are. What excites me is the creative freedom; the ability to blend business, technology, and compassion to solve problems others overlook. Melo now has over 700 users on its waitlist and has received recognition from LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. But more than the accolades, what motivates me is knowing that something I built can make someone else feel seen, supported, and capable again. One of my greatest inspirations on this path has been Lisa Su, the CEO of AMD. She took a company that was on the brink of collapse and transformed it into a global leader through vision, resilience, and precision. Her story resonates deeply with me because, like her, I’ve learned how to rebuild from near failure. Lisa Su’s journey reminds me that leadership isn’t about dominance; it’s about discipline and belief in what others can’t yet see. She showed that innovation thrives not from certainty, but from conviction. My bipolar disorder once made me doubt my ability to lead, but entrepreneurship taught me that leadership can look different, and that vulnerability and persistence can coexist. In fact, my mental health journey gave me a kind of insight that no textbook could teach: how to build systems that balance efficiency with empathy, and how to turn personal challenges into shared solutions. As I continue my degree in Finance and Data Analytics, I’m excited to merge strategic thinking with social impact. I want to build companies and tools that make mental wellness, education, and opportunity more accessible. Entrepreneurship gives me the freedom to do that, to experiment, to fail forward, and to create things that matter. What excites me most is that entrepreneurship gives me a way to rewrite my story, not as one of struggle, but of transformation. It’s proof that innovation doesn’t just come from privilege or perfection; it often comes from perseverance. And that’s exactly what I hope to build my legacy on.

Adversity has been a defining constant in my life, but so has resilience. Living with bipolar disorder has shaped the way I approach challenges, success, and even self-worth. It’s the reason I once fell behind, but also the reason I’ve learned how to lead, adapt, and turn hardship into purpose. My struggles began in adolescence, long before I understood what mental illness was. I experienced intense mood swings; weeks of energy, creativity, and confidence followed by stretches of deep exhaustion and depression. I pushed myself to perform, to appear “normal,” but the instability eventually caught up with me. I failed a year of high school and later dropped out of college during my first attempt. At the time, I thought I was broken, incapable of keeping up with everyone else. It wasn’t until I received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder that I began to understand what was happening. That clarity changed everything. I finally knew that my challenges weren’t a reflection of weakness; they were symptoms of something I could learn to manage. Through therapy, medication, and structure, I began the long process of rebuilding my life. When I returned to college, I promised myself this time would be different. I created routines, built a support system, and learned to work with my mind instead of against it. Slowly, I began to thrive, maintaining a 4.0 GPA and earning a Business Development Internship at Siemens Energy. Those accomplishments represented more than academic success; they were proof that recovery and achievement could coexist. But the most meaningful part of my journey came from wanting to help others who struggled like I did. I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to help people manage their emotional and cognitive well-being. Melo adapts to users’ real-time moods and energy levels, offering structure and empathy without judgment. What began as a personal coping tool has evolved into a mission-driven platform with over 700 users on its waitlist and interest as well as recognition from LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. Running Melo while managing bipolar disorder and pursuing my degree hasn’t been easy. There are days when my energy feels boundless and others when simply getting out of bed is an act of discipline. But I’ve learned how to maintain progress by staying honest about my mental state, relying on structure, and grounding myself in purpose. Those habits, including therapy, journaling, and mindfulness, are what allow me to keep moving forward even when my emotions fluctuate. My experiences have not only shaped my resilience but also clarified my mission. I’m pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics to build sustainable mental health solutions that merge data with empathy. My goal is to scale projects like Melo into accessible systems that serve students, workers, and communities who often fall through the cracks of traditional care. What once felt like an obstacle has become the foundation of my ambition. Living with bipolar disorder taught me that strength isn’t about being unshakable; it’s about learning to stand again and again, no matter how many times life tests you. My journey hasn’t been linear, but it’s proof that adversity doesn’t end your story, rather, it refines it. Every challenge I’ve faced has led me closer to the person I’m meant to become: a builder, a bridge, and a believer in second chances.

For most of my life, I never saw myself as the kind of person who could succeed in business; or even in college. My early experiences were defined by instability and loss. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. My father never remarried, and grief became a quiet but constant presence in our home. I grew up navigating emotional volatility, learning early how to read the moods of others and manage chaos by staying composed. By high school, I began to experience mood swings and emotional extremes that I didn’t understand at the time. I later learned they were symptoms of bipolar disorder. Before my diagnosis, I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and even experienced homelessness while trying to rebuild my education. I remember studying in shelters, completing essays using borrowed Wi-Fi, and wondering if I’d ever get another chance to prove myself. Those experiences shaped not just how I see the world, but how I see business, not as profit, but as problem-solving. When I eventually received a diagnosis and began treatment, I started to understand my mind in new ways. Through therapy, medication, and structure, I rebuilt my life piece by piece. When I re-enrolled in college, I approached it with both purpose and humility. I maintained a 4.0 GPA, earned a Business Development Internship at Siemens Energy, and discovered a love for strategic thinking, how small, intentional changes could create enormous impact. But the most transformative part of my journey came when I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to help people like me; those who struggle with emotional regulation, motivation, or focus. Melo adapts to users’ real-time needs, offering structure, empathy, and encouragement. It’s not just an app; it’s a bridge between technology and humanity. What began as a personal coping tool has grown into a mission-driven platform with over 700 people on its waitlist and recognition from LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. Pursuing a business degree is the next essential step in turning this vision into a sustainable, scalable venture. While my lived experience gives me empathy and creativity, my business education gives me the structure to turn purpose into strategy. Courses in finance, data analytics, and organizational leadership will help me manage growth, make evidence-based decisions, and build systems that can support long-term success. I’m not pursuing business for the sake of status or income; I’m pursuing it because I’ve seen what happens when good ideas die from lack of structure. My education will help me ensure that Melo, and future projects like it, can operate not just on compassion, but on efficiency, ethics, and sustainability. A business degree will also equip me to expand Melo’s reach to underserved communities, build partnerships with schools and nonprofits, and advocate for inclusive mental health initiatives at the organizational level. Beyond the professional impact, earning my business degree will symbolize something deeply personal, a reclaiming of my potential. I once believed that my failures defined me, that dropping out of college meant I had missed my chance. But education became my second chance. It gave me the tools to rebuild my life, the confidence to lead, and the courage to share my story. My goal isn’t just to graduate; it’s to redefine what success looks like for people like me. I want to show that mental illness, hardship, or unconventional paths don’t disqualify anyone from leadership; they can, in fact, be the very foundation of it. I’ve learned that empathy is the most powerful business strategy there is, and that systems built on compassion are the ones that last. Obtaining my business degree will impact my life in every way imaginable. It will allow me to turn adversity into opportunity, vision into impact, and lived experience into innovation. But more than anything, it will allow me to continue building what I needed most when I was struggling, a future grounded in stability, purpose, and hope.

Everyone deserves a second chance after high school, and community college became mine. My journey to higher education hasn’t been traditional. I failed a year of high school, barely graduated with honors, and entered college carrying ambition but little stability. At the time, I didn’t know I was living with bipolar disorder, a condition that affected my ability to stay consistent and focused. My untreated mental health struggles eventually led me to drop out of college during my first attempt. For a while, I believed I wasn’t capable of succeeding. But life has a way of offering second chances when you’re ready to see them. When I re-enrolled in community college, I was determined to start over. Community college gave me what I needed most; support, flexibility, and belief in my potential. It became a space where I could learn not just academics, but resilience. During my second attempt at college, I faced unimaginable hardship. I became homeless and spent nights in a shelter while attending classes during the day. I studied using borrowed Wi-Fi and wrote essays late at night, determined not to let my circumstances dictate my future. That experience taught me resilience, but it also deepened my empathy for others struggling with mental health or instability. It was in those quiet, difficult nights that I made a promise to myself: if I ever made it through, I would use my education to create tools that help others do the same. That promise evolved into Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app that helps users manage their emotional and cognitive well-being in real time. Melo adapts to each person’s mental state, offering structure and encouragement without judgment. What started as a personal coping mechanism became a mission to make mental health support accessible and human-centered. Today, Melo has over 700 people on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. Now, I’m pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics to combine empathy with innovation and design sustainable mental wellness systems. My goal is to expand access to mental health support, especially for underserved students and communities. Community college gave me the foundation to rebuild, not just my education, but my life. It taught me that failure isn’t final and that purpose often grows from the very places we once struggled to survive.

Growing up in a single-parent household has shaped nearly every aspect of who I am; my perspective, my perseverance, and my purpose. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. My father never remarried, and our home became one where grief filled the space that love once did. My father struggled to cope, and that struggle often took the form of emotional distance and volatility. I grew up learning to navigate that instability quietly, finding strength in independence and self-awareness. Without a mother’s guidance or a stable emotional foundation, I became my own caretaker early on. I learned to adapt, to anticipate, and to hold myself accountable in ways most children never have to. There were times when our financial and emotional resources felt stretched to their limits, and I often felt like I had to grow up faster than I should. But those experiences, however difficult, became the foundation for my resilience. They taught me that strength is not about control; it’s about persistence and compassion. In my teenage years, I began to experience mood swings and emotional intensity that I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t until later that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a revelation that reframed much of my early life. I had spent years thinking I was failing when, in reality, I was fighting battles I didn’t have language for. At one point, I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and even experienced homelessness. Yet through all of that, something inside me refused to quit. I eventually returned to college with a renewed sense of purpose and stability. I began therapy, managed my mental health with consistency and care, and found strength in structure. Today, I’m pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics, maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and working as a Business Development Intern at Siemens Energy. I also founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to support individuals navigating emotional and cognitive challenges. Melo helps users find structure, balance, and self-compassion through personalized technology because I know what it feels like to need that support and not have it. My experience growing up in a single-parent household taught me to see people beyond their circumstances. It taught me that everyone carries unseen struggles, and that even the smallest act of empathy can change someone’s world. I want to dedicate my life to creating systems, whether through technology, business, or advocacy, that make those small acts of empathy scalable. Even if I don’t know exactly where my career will lead, though I'm certain it's in the realm of entrepreneurship, I know what kind of impact I want to make. I want to help people find hope when they feel lost, structure when life feels chaotic, and dignity in the face of struggle, hopefully through Melo. My upbringing didn’t just teach me resilience; it taught me to use it for good.

My name is Soumya, and my story begins with loss, but it continues with purpose. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. My father never remarried, and from that point on, our home was defined by grief, silence, and emotional instability. He carried his pain inward, and I grew up trying to make sense of it while navigating my own. Love existed, but it was often overshadowed by volatility and tension. Living in a single-parent household came with more than financial strain; it came with emotional weight. I learned to read the room before I spoke, to take responsibility for peace in a home that often felt fragile. I became independent early, managing my emotions and ambitions without guidance. That independence would later become both my survival mechanism and my strength. As I grew older, I began to experience intense mood swings, periods of confidence and creativity followed by exhaustion and despair. I didn’t understand what was happening. By the time I reached my teens, my mental health had started to affect my academics and self-worth. I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and eventually experienced homelessness while trying to rebuild my education. At my lowest point, I was living in a shelter, studying at night on borrowed Wi-Fi. I often thought about my mother during those moments, how she faced her illness with grace, and how her love still shaped me even in absence. I imagined her reminding me that pain could be a teacher and that hardship didn’t define me, it refined me. That belief became my turning point. I sought help, received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and began treatment. For the first time, I understood that what I was facing wasn’t failure; it was a condition that required compassion, consistency, and care. Through therapy, medication, and structured routines, I rebuilt my life one step at a time. I returned to college with a renewed sense of purpose, determined to transform my experiences into something meaningful. I maintained a 4.0 GPA, earned a Business Development Internship with Siemens Energy, and most importantly, founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to help others like me. Melo adapts to users’ emotional and cognitive states in real time, helping them balance structure and well-being without judgment. What began as a personal coping tool has grown into a mission-driven platform with over 700 users on its waitlist, recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. Through these experiences, I’ve come to realize that my life’s purpose lies at the intersection of empathy and innovation. I’m pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics to build scalable, data-driven mental health systems that improve accessibility and support for underserved communities. My goal is to merge business and compassion; to use technology not just to solve problems, but to humanize them. Losing my mother and growing up with one parent taught me that strength isn’t about perfection; it’s about persistence. My challenges have shaped me into someone who believes deeply in the power of second chances. Through my education, I plan to create systems that help others find hope, structure, and belonging, especially those who feel unseen by traditional paths. In many ways, my mother’s absence became my greatest teacher. Her love, and the lessons born from loss, continue to guide me. I plan to honor her not just by succeeding, but by using my success to help others rise, too.

My journey with mental health has shaped every part of who I am; how I learn, lead, and live. I didn’t discover my strength in moments of success, but in moments when I was certain I wouldn’t make it through. Living with bipolar disorder has been both my greatest challenge and my most powerful teacher. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. My father never remarried, and grief filled our home. I grew up in an environment marked by emotional volatility, learning to stay quiet and composed in order to survive. That silence eventually became my definition of strength, until it began to break me. By high school, I was experiencing dramatic mood swings: weeks of intense energy followed by deep depression. I failed a year of high school and later dropped out of college during my first attempt. I blamed myself, not knowing I was living with an undiagnosed mental health condition. When I tried again, I faced an even deeper setback, homelessness. I lived in a shelter while attending college classes, using borrowed Wi-Fi at night to complete assignments. It was one of the hardest times of my life, but it was also where I made a promise to myself: if I made it through, I would use my pain to help others feel less alone in theirs. That promise became the foundation of my recovery and my purpose. When I finally received an accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder, I began treatment, therapy, and structured self-management. I learned to work with my mind instead of against it, developing habits that grounded me, consistent routines, mindfulness, exercise, and community support. I returned to college determined to build a new story. I maintained a 4.0 GPA, earned a Business Development Internship with Siemens Energy, and discovered a passion for using data and strategy to solve complex human problems. Out of this passion, and my lived experience; I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app that helps people manage their emotional and cognitive well-being. Melo adapts to users’ moods and needs in real time, providing structure, empathy, and motivation. What began as a personal coping tool has grown into a broader mission: Melo now has over 700 users on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and the Telora Fellowship for its innovation and social impact. Through this journey, I’ve learned that recovery isn’t about eliminating struggle, it’s about cultivating balance, resilience, and self-compassion. My plan for continued recovery is rooted in consistency and community: ongoing therapy, medication management, healthy routines, and mentorship. I make space for self-reflection, creative expression, and service to others; because healing deepens when shared. Today, I’m pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics to expand my ability to build data-driven mental health systems that are accessible, sustainable, and inclusive. My goal is to scale Melo into a global platform and to develop frameworks that integrate wellness into education and workspaces, especially for underserved populations. I no longer view my mental health condition as a limitation; it’s a lens through which I understand compassion and innovation. I’ve learned that strength isn’t found in perfection but in persistence, and that even from the hardest places, something beautiful can grow. My education, recovery, and mission are all connected by one truth: what once felt like a breakdown has become the blueprint for helping others rise.

My name is Soumya, and my story is one of rebuilding, of finding strength in struggle and purpose in pain. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. My father never remarried, and grief shaped my home life into one marked by instability and emotional volatility. I grew up learning to survive in chaos, becoming hyperaware of others’ emotions in an attempt to create peace where there was none. In my teenage years, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which brought extreme highs of energy and creativity followed by crushing lows of depression. The inconsistency made school and life difficult; I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and even faced homelessness while trying to rebuild my education. Yet, even in those darkest moments, I refused to give up. While living in a shelter, studying at night on borrowed Wi-Fi, I promised myself that if I ever found stability again, I would dedicate my life to helping others who struggled with mental health challenges and felt unseen by the systems meant to support them. That promise became the foundation of my purpose. That purpose evolved into Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed to meet people where they are. Melo helps users manage their emotional and cognitive states in real time, providing adaptive structure, encouragement, and compassion. It’s not just about completing tasks; it’s about helping people thrive through empathy-driven technology. For those of us living with conditions like anxiety, ADHD, or bipolar disorder, traditional productivity tools can feel punishing. Melo changes that by creating a personalized, judgment-free space for growth and balance. What began as a personal coping mechanism has grown into a broader movement: Melo now has over 700 users on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship (Honorable Mention), and the Telora Fellowship, which accepts less than 1% of applicants. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Finance and Data Analytics so I can pair empathy with innovation, building sustainable, data-driven mental health systems that are both accessible and scalable. The theme “Start Small, Dream Big” perfectly encapsulates my journey. I started with nothing; just a laptop, a dream, and a need to make sense of my pain. I built Melo one small step at a time: one line of code, one feature, one user. Each step was an act of resilience, each setback a reminder that dreams don’t require perfection; they require persistence. Now, I dream big: of a future where mental health support is as intuitive and universal as any other tool we use daily. I envision partnerships with universities, workplaces, and community organizations to integrate Melo’s adaptive framework into broader wellness initiatives. This scholarship would allow me to accelerate that vision; by funding product development, expanding user testing, and strengthening Melo’s AI capabilities to include multilingual and culturally responsive features. For me, “starting small” meant building from survival; “dreaming big” means transforming that survival into a legacy of hope. Melo represents more than an app; it’s the bridge between isolation and empowerment. It’s how I honor my mother’s memory, turning loss into leadership and struggle into service. With this scholarship, I can continue to scale that mission, empowering others to start small, dream big, and believe, like I once did in a shelter with borrowed Wi-Fi, that even from the smallest beginnings, something extraordinary can grow.

The most significant loss I have ever experienced happened before I was old enough to understand what loss truly meant. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. I don’t remember the sound of her voice or the warmth of her hands, but I’ve always felt the hollow space her absence left behind. Her death shaped not only my childhood but the course of my life; it changed how I understood love, resilience, and purpose. After her passing, my father became my sole parent. He never remarried, and grief settled into our home like a heavy fog that never lifted. My father struggled to cope, and that struggle often turned into anger and emotional volatility. Love existed, but it was fragile and unpredictable. I learned to navigate that instability quietly, trying not to make waves. From a young age, I became hyperaware of others’ emotions, trying to maintain balance in an environment that rarely offered any. For a long time, I thought strength meant silence. I believed I had to keep everything inside; to stay composed, to achieve, to endure. But as I grew older, that suppression became unbearable. By my teenage years, I began to experience extreme mood swings; periods of euphoric energy followed by crushing depression. I didn’t yet know I was living with bipolar disorder; I only knew my emotions felt bigger than I could control. Without support or understanding, I internalized my struggles as personal failure. I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and eventually experienced homelessness while trying to rebuild my education. During that time, I often thought about my mother. I imagined what she might say if she were still alive. I liked to think she’d remind me that loss, no matter how painful, can be a teacher; that even heartbreak can give birth to strength. That thought kept me going. Living in a shelter, attending classes during the day and studying at night using borrowed Wi-Fi, I promised myself that if I made it through, I would use my pain to help others feel less alone. When I finally received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, everything began to change. Through therapy, medication, and structure, I learned to work with my mind rather than against it. Slowly, I began to rise. I returned to college with renewed purpose, maintaining a 4.0 GPA and earning a Business Development Internship with Siemens Energy. Most importantly, I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health app designed to support people like me; those who struggle with consistency or emotional regulation. Melo now has over 700 users on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and considered for the Telora Fellowship which historically less than 1% of applicants are considered for. Losing my mother taught me that love and grief are two sides of the same coin; that to lose deeply is to have loved deeply. Her absence gave me empathy, resilience, and purpose. It shaped my dream to build mental health systems that bridge the gap between awareness and access, ensuring that well-being is treated as a foundation for success. Melo is how I honor my mother’s memory: by turning loss into leadership and pain into purpose. Her death taught me that even the deepest grief can plant the seeds of transformation, and that by nurturing what loss leaves behind, we can grow something enduring and good.

The most significant loss I have ever experienced happened before I was old enough to understand what loss truly meant. When I was three years old, my mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer. I don’t remember the sound of her voice or the warmth of her hands, but I’ve always felt the hollow space her absence left behind. Her death shaped not only my childhood but the course of my life; it changed how I understood love, resilience, and purpose. After her passing, my father became my sole parent. He never remarried, and grief settled into our home like a heavy fog that never lifted. My father struggled to cope, and that struggle often turned into anger and emotional volatility. Love existed, but it was fragile and unpredictable. I learned to navigate that instability quietly, trying not to make waves. From a young age, I became hyperaware of others’ emotions, trying to maintain balance in an environment that rarely offered any. For a long time, I thought strength meant silence. I believed I had to keep everything inside; to stay composed, to achieve, to endure. But as I grew older, that suppression became unbearable. By my teenage years, I began to experience extreme mood swings; periods of euphoric energy followed by crushing depression. I didn’t yet know I was living with bipolar disorder; I only knew my emotions felt bigger than I could control. Without support or understanding, I internalized my struggles as personal failure. I failed a year of high school, dropped out of college during my first attempt, and eventually experienced homelessness while trying to rebuild my education. During that time, I often thought about my mother. I imagined what she might say if she were still alive. I liked to think she’d remind me that loss, no matter how painful, can be a teacher; that even heartbreak can give birth to strength. That thought kept me going. Living in a shelter, attending classes during the day and studying at night using borrowed Wi-Fi, I promised myself that if I made it through, I would use my pain to help others feel less alone. When I finally received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, everything began to change. Through therapy, medication, and structure, I learned to work with my mind rather than against it. Slowly, I began to rise. I returned to college with new purpose, maintaining a 4.0 GPA and earning a Business Development Internship with Siemens Energy. Most importantly, I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health app designed to support people like me; those who struggle with consistency or emotional regulation. Melo now has over 700 users on its waitlist and has been recognized by LvlUpVentures, the F(Lux) Fellowship, and considered for the Telora Fellowship, which historically only 1% of applicants are considered for. Losing my mother taught me that love and grief are two sides of the same coin; that to lose deeply is to have loved deeply. Her absence gave me empathy, resilience, and purpose. It shaped my dream to build mental health systems that bridge the gap between awareness and access, ensuring that well-being is treated as a foundation for success. Melo is how I honor my mother’s memory: by turning loss into leadership and pain into purpose. Her death taught me that even the deepest grief can plant the seeds of transformation, and that by nurturing what loss leaves behind, we can grow something enduring and good.

My name is Soumya, and people often describe me as ambitious, intelligent, and emotionally grounded. I take pride in that, because those qualities weren’t developed in ease; they were created through struggle. I live with bipolar disorder, a condition that has shaped not only how I see the world, but how I move through it. Bipolar disorder can be unpredictable. It means that some days, I feel capable of taking on anything, and others, even simple tasks feel overwhelming. In my adolescence, before I understood what was happening to me, these fluctuations made it difficult to succeed in school. I failed a year of high school and dropped out of college during my first attempt. I wasn’t lazy or unmotivated; I was unwell, undiagnosed, and fighting a battle I didn’t yet have the words for. My mother passed away from stage IV stomach cancer when I was only three years old. Growing up without her left a lasting emptiness, and the emotional instability at home compounded my mental health struggles. My father, who never remarried, became my sole parent, but our relationship was strained and often marked by emotional abuse. There were many moments when I felt completely alone, including all mentally, emotionally, and financially. When I decided to return to college, I was determined to rewrite my story. It wasn’t easy. During my second attempt, I faced homelessness and lived in a shelter before eventually moving into low-income housing. Yet, even while battling mental illness and instability, I maintained a 4.0 GPA and earned a Business Development Internship with Siemens Energy. More importantly, I founded Melo, an AI-powered mental health and productivity app designed for people like me; those who want to succeed but need systems that understand how mental illness affects motivation, focus, and daily consistency. Creating Melo has been one of the most healing experiences of my life. What began as a personal coping mechanism evolved into a mission to help others who feel unseen or misunderstood. Through this journey, I’ve been honored by several organizations for the impact of my work: LvlUpVentures recognized Melo as one of the most exciting early-stage startups they’ve encountered; I was considered for the highly selective Telora Fellowship (which accepts less than 1% of applicants); and I received an Honorable Mention from the F(Lux) Fellowship for innovation and social impact. Living with bipolar disorder has taught me resilience, compassion, and the importance of designing systems that honor human complexity. I’ve learned to treat my mind not as an obstacle, but as something to understand and work with. Managing mental illness has given me a deep sense of empathy for others who are struggling silently; it’s why I’m committed to building technology, communities, and opportunities that make life a little more forgiving for people who think, feel, and live differently. I may have bipolar disorder, but it does not define me. What defines me is how I choose to use it, to create meaning, help others, and prove that strength and sensitivity can coexist.

My name is Soumya, and I am a student, entrepreneur, and mental health advocate with a deep commitment to turning personal adversity into meaningful impact. My path to where I am today has been anything but easy, but every setback has shaped my purpose and strengthened my resolve to help others who face similar struggles. When I was just three years old, I lost my mother to stage IV stomach cancer. Since then, I’ve been raised by my father in a household marked by emotional instability and abuse. Growing up without nurturing support, I struggled with my mental health and was later diagnosed with bipolar disorder. These challenges led me to fail a year of high school, drop out of college during my first attempt, and experience homelessness during my second. Despite these obstacles, I’ve fought to reclaim my life through education and innovation. Today, I am proud to be a full-time student with a 4.0 GPA. But beyond academics, I’m also the founder and CEO of Melo; an AI-powered mental health and productivity app built for people like me: those who don't fit neatly into systems designed for consistency and linear progress. Melo adapts to the user’s emotional and cognitive state in real time, helping them stay productive without feeling punished for their mental health challenges. It combines AI with psychology to create personalized plans, supportive journaling prompts, and intelligent scheduling tools that align with how a person actually feels, not how they’re expected to perform. Melo isn’t just an app; it’s my way of giving others the understanding and support I once lacked. Building Melo has already begun to make an impact. We’ve grown a waitlist of over 700 users, validated the idea with 1,000+ survey participants, and gained recognition from leading startup programs and venture groups. I was one of fewer than 1% of applicants historically considered for the Telora Fellowship, a prestigious opportunity for rising founders. I also received an Honorable Mention from the F(Lux) Fellowship, recognizing both the innovation and social impact of my work. LvlUpVentures called Melo “one of the most exciting early-stage brands” they’ve come across, an acknowledgment that affirmed the importance of designing tools for people often left behind by conventional systems. Through these experiences, I’ve realized that the most powerful change comes from lived experience. I’m not building from theory, I’m building from survival, empathy, and vision. I understand how it feels to be unsupported, and I’m determined to create systems that don’t just accommodate difference, they embrace it. With my degree in finance and data analytics, I plan to continue scaling Melo and build other solutions at the intersection of mental health, tech, and accessibility. I want to partner with schools, workplaces, and health organizations to integrate emotionally intelligent tools that help people not just survive their challenges, but grow through them. In everything I do, my mission is simple: to ensure that no one has to choose between their mental health and their potential. I want to create a world where support is proactive, compassionate, and built into the systems we use every day. This isn’t just my career path, it’s my life’s work.

The Art of Being Purposeful, Responsible, and Productive—With Flair To be a purposeful, responsible, and productive community member is to be the kind of person who doesn’t just show up—but matters. It’s the difference between being a background extra in the movie of life and being the protagonist who actually moves the plot forward (preferably with a compelling soundtrack). So, what does this trifecta of virtues really mean, and how do I plan to embody them? Let’s break it down—with a little wit and wisdom. Being purposeful means living with intention—not just sleepwalking through life, fueled by caffeine and vague aspirations. A purposeful community member asks: Why am I here? What can I contribute? They don’t just attend meetings; they bring ideas. They don’t just follow trends; they question whether those trends actually lead somewhere worthwhile. My plan? Stay relentlessly curious. Purpose isn’t a one-time discovery; it’s an ongoing conversation with the world. Whether it’s mentoring someone, advocating for a cause, or simply listening when others speak, I want my actions to have weight. And if I ever feel adrift, I’ll remind myself of the wise words of Seneca: “If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.” (Or, in modern terms: “If you don’t have a GPS, you’re just driving in circles.”) Responsibility often gets a bad rap—associated with taxes, chores, and resisting the urge to buy a third unnecessary gadget. But true responsibility is about ownership. It’s recognizing that your choices ripple outward, affecting others. A responsible community member doesn’t just recycle because it’s trendy; they do it because they grasp their role in a larger ecosystem. How will I embody this? By treating commitments like promises, not optional to-dos. If I say I’ll lead a project, I’ll follow through—not just for my sake, but because others are counting on me. I’ll also embrace accountability, meaning I’ll own my mistakes (preferably before someone else has to point them out). And when faced with ethical gray areas, I’ll ask: “Would the person I want to be do this?” (Spoiler: That person probably wouldn’t cut in line or take the last donut without offering to share.) Ah, productivity—the most misunderstood of the three. In a world obsessed with hustle culture, being “productive” often gets reduced to cramming more tasks into fewer hours. But real productivity isn’t about doing more; it’s about doing what matters. A productive community member doesn’t just check boxes; they ask: “Is this actually making things better?” My strategy? Work smarter, not just harder. I’ll prioritize impact over activity—focusing on projects that create real value, whether that’s organizing an event, writing something meaningful, or simply being present when someone needs support. I’ll also embrace the power of no—because spreading yourself too thin helps no one. And, of course, I’ll remember that rest isn’t laziness; it’s the necessary recharge for sustained contribution. (Even superheroes take naps.) Ultimately, being purposeful, responsible, and productive isn’t about perfection—it’s about direction. It’s about showing up with integrity, adding value, and occasionally laughing at the absurdity of it all. So here’s my pledge: I’ll strive to be the kind of community member who builds rather than just consumes, who listens as much as speaks, and who—when faced with challenges—asks not “Why me?” but “What can I do?” And if I ever forget, I’ll trust my community to nudge me back on track. After all, the best members aren’t just contributors; they’re co-creators of something greater than themselves.

I am, at my core, a survivor turned innovator—a testament to what resilience and resourcefulness can achieve even in the face of overwhelming adversity. My journey took a defining turn at 19 when I found myself homeless, kicked out with nowhere to go. Yet, in that chaos, I not only maintained a 4.0 GPA but also began building MindYourBusiness, an AI-powered productivity platform designed for neurodivergent brains like mine—ADHD and bipolar disorder aren’t just challenges I navigate; they’re the lenses through which I’ve redefined productivity. This scholarship would be transformative, allowing me to shift funds from textbooks and lab fees toward critical startup expenses like cloud hosting and UX testing, bridging my academic growth with tangible, real-world impact. My greatest test came during those six months of homelessness, where the physical toll—constant exhaustion, hunger-induced tremors during exams—was eclipsed only by the emotional weight of relying on strangers for shelter. But survival demanded resourcefulness. I messaged 87 Facebook Marketplace listings before securing an unconventional lifeline: a no-rent housing exchange where I cleaned and organized for a hoarder in return for a place to sleep. That experience distilled three life-altering lessons. First, dignity is non-negotiable—I chose housework over handouts because it preserved my sense of agency. Second, systems beat willpower—I thrived by creating non-negotiable routines, like 3-hour library study blocks, even when every ounce of energy was depleted. Third, pain fuels purpose—watching fellow shelter residents struggle with untreated mental health issues became the driving force behind MindYourBusiness, shaping features like adaptive scheduling and burnout prevention tools. My long-term vision is ambitious but grounded in lived experience. Over the next decade, I aim to scale MindYourBusiness into the gold standard for neurodivergent productivity tools, clinically validated through university partnerships. Beyond the tech itself, I want to disrupt systemic barriers, lobbying insurers to recognize adaptive tools as mental health necessities. And because no one should have to choose between stability and education, I plan to launch a foundation providing free app access to low-income students. This scholarship isn’t just financial aid—it’s rocket fuel for a mission forged in adversity. Every dollar invested will compound through lives changed, systems disrupted, and a fundamental truth proven: the most resilient survivors often make the most revolutionary builders. If there’s one thing my journey has taught me, it’s that resilience isn’t just about bouncing back—it’s about launching forward. This scholarship represents more than financial support; it’s an accelerator for turning my lived struggles into systemic solutions. With this investment, I won’t just be building an app—I’ll be pioneering a new standard for how society supports neurodivergent minds. The kid who once coded in shelters isn’t just chasing success; she’s redefining it, proving that the most powerful innovations often come from those who’ve had to rebuild themselves from the ground up. Together, we can transform survival into strategy, hardship into healing, and most importantly—potential into proof.

My story begins with a paradox that defined my early adulthood: I was simultaneously too "disordered" to function in traditional systems, yet precisely disordered enough to reimagine them completely. Diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder by age 19, I became intimately familiar with what I call "productivity purgatory" - those stretches of time when my manic coding sprints convinced me I could revolutionize tech overnight, only to be followed by depressive episodes where getting out of bed felt impossible. When this vicious cycle eventually left me homeless during college, clutching my laptop like a life preserver, I made a crucial discovery: most mental health and productivity tools were designed for neurotypical people having bad days, not for neurodivergent people with fundamentally different brains. So I did what any stubborn, sleep-deprived entrepreneur would do - I built my own solution. MindYourBusiness wasn't so much born as it was forged in the crucible of my struggles. It took shape in library bathrooms where I coded between classes, in homeless shelters where fellow residents became my first beta testers, and during those 3 AM moments of clarity when I realized my brain's so-called "flaws" were actually extraordinary competitive advantages. My time blindness transformed into hyperawareness of cognitive rhythms. My hypomania revealed itself as an unparalleled ability to spot patterns in chaos. My depressive realism gave me an unflinching understanding of human limits that "positive thinking" gurus couldn't fathom. These weren't disabilities - they were superpowers in disguise, waiting to be harnessed. What began as a survival tool has evolved into a revolutionary vision: technology that bends to people, not the other way around. MindYourBusiness isn't just another productivity app - it's the foundation of a movement to redefine success on neurodivergent terms. My dream extends far beyond coding sessions; I'm fighting to force insurers to recognize adaptive tools as medical necessities, to create the understanding community I never had, and to prove that the minds we often medicate into submission can actually pioneer the solutions we desperately need. The raw fuel for this mission comes from moments like when a college student with PTSD messaged me to say my prototype had stopped her suicide attempt, or when a shelter resident told me the app's gentle reminders were the first thing that made him feel capable in years. These stories reveal the heartbreaking truth: millions are struggling because the world refuses to accommodate different kinds of minds. But they also show the incredible opportunity - when we create tools that honor neurodiversity rather than punish it, we don't just improve productivity; we save lives. Every all-nighter spent coding, every investor who dismissed me as "too niche," every family member who insisted I just "try harder" - they all feed the fire of this mission. I'm not just building a company; I'm proving that the very traits that make traditional success difficult can become our greatest assets when properly channeled. The minds we've been taught to hide might just hold the keys to solving problems "normal" people can't even see. And that possibility - that revolutionary potential - makes every obstacle worthwhile.