Lunch, March 7, 2026. People always said these four years go by fast, but I thought they weren't going fast enough. There was once a time I thought I had nobody, but now, looking up to see that I'm surrounded by people everywhere I go, I am ever much more comforted. These people, with whom I endured the conditions of life, of growth, of change, loved me without even knowing it- a smile, a compliment, a conversation. Though we are existing in our own lives, we’re also existing together. In my time of darkness, this was my glimmer of hope. This is my story time and time again: I am loved, and so I must love. For some people, home was a place of shelter, but for me, that place was school. School was where I learned confidence and where I was the most comfortable in myself and my abilities. It was where I equipped perfection as my shield and excellence as my sword. However, at home, I was fighting different battles. My father's addictions, arguments between my parents, and my attempts to numb my pain were the only 3 tracks playing in my life, and they were on an endless loop. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I didnt want ever to be the catalyst for any reactions, so I learned to shrink myself. Just as a seedling fights to break the surface of the soil, the more I fought to grow, the more adversity I faced. Then, a sunbeam pierced through our cloudy skies. My baby brother, the pride and joy of our family, was born, and everything changed. His arrival inspired my father to be the model parent he never had. Even at the discovery of my brother's cancer at eleven months old, his determination to show up as a loving father increased. Trevor brought such light and hope into our home- hope that even my mother hadn't seen before. But when he died the summer before junior year, grief reconfigured the dynamics of the family. My father's old habits returned, those 3 same tracks began to loop endlessly once again. The house grew still, lifeless, and hope was absent. Lacking the joy that once motivated him, the sunbeam in our cloudy skies, my dad wilted. He lost all faith in everything, for how could his only son, 3 years old, die in his arms? I had to be the stability in our home, addressing and mediating tensions while also assuring everybody of love, even though I lost hope myself. What I needed for myself, I became for everybody else. Everything around me reflected my mental position- my poor grades, my black clothes, my messy room. Through the hardest academic year of high school, I was navigating grief, a broken household, and the weight of responsibilities a teenager should never have to carry. I've never been one to be outwardly emotional, but one can only carry so much until something spills out. My body was a vessel, filling up with tears I couldn't cry and anger I couldn't express, until one day I reached maximum capacity and everything spilled out. It was messy in the moment, but it forced us all to face what we were avoiding. My expression of anger was the beginning of the revival of my family. While my Dad was discouraged and willfully isolated, people on my Mom's side of the family constantly visited. Where there is a custom of sharing everything- houses, children, resources- it also includes sharing burdens. It was her support system that kept us afloat when it was difficult for us to hold ourselves above deep water. This comfort solidified my yearning for community and helped me to realize the importance of collaboration. My mom always says, "Run by yourself, you'll go long, or run with others and you'll go far." It was the knowledge of not having to run the race alone that allowed me to pick my feet up again and continue the trek on my path of life. These experiences helped me solidify my values and desires, filling me with hope and encouraging me towards better. It eventually made me think, if the people who love me are pushing me, and I want to love myself, then how could I not desire the absolute best for my life? So, I decided senior year was not going to be the same. I had no choice but to fulfill all my capabilities and accomplish all my goals. I made the decision to get up every morning, charging at life with determination and positivity, and to do the right thing, not the easy thing. Love is a motivation that goes beyond myself, is bigger than myself, and extends past my life- that is why I can keep going. I'm not only working to give myself a better life, but also to make that life possible for all. Last year, I was in a sort of sunken place. There was probably not a day that I didn't make a poor decision. I didnt think I would make it to graduation or that my life would get any better. But here I am sitting at the end of it graduating in the top 5%, accepted in one of the most prestigious schools in Texas, and finally being able to say that I'm proud of myself. Through the ups and downs, love has been what sustained me, but it's not always produced by constant sunshine. Not just the sun grows a seed, the rain must fall as well. Now, my soil is rich, full of life, and filled with nutrients. My happiness, once fleeting and dependent on circumstances, has turned into joy. It is no longer shallow, but now rooted in something bigger than myself. For that reason, I am sure of my fortitude. I wasn’t buried, I was planted, and what came from that seed continues to grow.

Art and science are not in competition; they are in cooperation. Neuroscience, my field of interest, can be described as the scientific exploration of expressions- the study of the output of the brain. When art is understood as demonstration and illustration, the expression of the mind becomes an art of its own. The functions, reactions, memories, and tendencies tell a story of what occurs behind the scenes. While art is more intuitive, and science is more calculated, both are necessary to reach fair conclusions. Science reveals the mechanisms that influence our bodies, minds, and souls, and art is the experience & manifestation of these things working together. Neuroscience lives in the intersection of the two. I realized what I wanted to do at the lowest time of my life. My brother was somehwat of a miracle baby- the pride of our family. He had been diagnosed with cancer at 11 months old, but exhibited no symptoms at all and was full of joy. At the beginning of Trevor's life, my dad decided to become the father he never had. He got clean, kindly intentioned his words and actions, and more frequently sought out family and community. Trevor brought such light and hope into our home- hope that even my mother hadn't seen before. After Trevor's death, that hope disappeared. The house grew still and lifeless. Lacking the joy that Trevor brought into our lives, my dad would stay on the couch from the time I left for school to the time I got home. He would ask me questions like, "Do you think there really is a reason for the death of my son?" and talk to me for hours about the meaning of life. I, too, experienced the death of my brother, but instead of receiving comfort, I became his comfort- his rock, his primary confidant. With my parents arguing daily, I had to be the stability in our home, addressing and mediating their tensions while also assuring my sister of safety and love, even though I myself lost hope. Everything around me reflected my mental position- my grades, my clothes, my room. Through the hardest academic year of high school, I was navigating grief, a broken household, and the weight of responsibilities a teenager should never have to carry. Being that my mother is an immigrant, I had two very different experiences in the death of my brother. While my Dad was discouraged and lonely, people on my Mom's side of the family constantly visited without warning. It was her support system that warmed the house, helped us hold ourselves above what seemed to be drowning us, and helped me see past my misery, pulling me out of destructive thoughts. My passion for neuroscience comes from this exactly. My mom, embodying love, rose above, while my father, embodying seclusion, sank. Their mental positions, capacity, and tendency for or lack of neuroplasticity determined how they responded to turmoil. How much more, then, do our minds affect what is possible for us? If science influences reality, then reality can alter the present mental structures that influence everyday life. So, ultimately, my goal is to legitimize the importance of community, love, and involvement in each other's lives to change the minds and neurological patterns that many of us have adopted through unhealthy experiences. If a negative experience can alter brain chemistry, then so can a positive one. In every micro and macrocosm, it is the unseen that enables the seen. The truth is that feelings and intuition are not recognized as evidence, but these things motivate decisions and therefore shape society.

When my brother died of cancer, my household fell apart, and I lost my spark, it was my love for my sister that propelled me back on my feet and towards my goals. The most important and impactful determinants of the future are how we interact with each other and the level at which we choose to love each other. If we fail each other too often, our communities will fail, and if our community fails, society doesn’t function properly- the cycle then continues. While science is at the forefront of innovation, our intentions must be directed by love and compassion. In short, love should be the lens through which we filter the progression of society. It sounds contradictory, but my love for science is driven by my empathy towards humanity. My strength and influence are in the initiative I take in forming partnerships and in my dedication to encouraging and inspiring others. I am an aspiring neuroscientist striving to help individuals acquire a better, more complete understanding of themselves, other people, and our world. If psychology is the "what," then neuroscience is the "why". I am passionate about my work bringing an understanding amongst humans in which each person’s unique gifts and experiences are recognized and used to further our collective development. It has always been my stance in social and professional situations to represent unity, cohesion, and shared understanding- all things that are necessary to propel my generation into a successful, but love-filled future. As a deeply empathetic person who also respects science and clear evidence, it is my loving curiosity that drives me to discover tangible solutions to mental illnesses, further the research of neurodevelopmental differences, and find common ground around the internal struggles that every person faces. In every micro and macrocosm, it is the unseen that enables the seen. Experiences and perspectives, which dictate how people feel and therefore act, can be traced all the way down to the unseen chemical combinations and systems that power the body and the mind. The truth is that feelings and intuition are not recognized as evidence, but these are the things that motivate decisions, and therefore, the things that shape society. It is my goal to improve the emotional condition of the world, ensuring the representation of struggles that are usually disregarded or underemphasized. Especially going back to my country, Cameroon, I realized that ultimately, the reason that I am who I am is because I am loved. I am an intellectual, compassionate, generous, and personable- I am loved, so I continue to love. It is what my family is filled with, and the reason we prosper. Life will have its ups and downs, but your circle of people can either raise you up or drag you down. When I was battling my own mind, it was their love that kept me going. This is what we must continue to do for each other. Money, intelligence, and fame may carry you far, but it’s the love that you carry that will sustain you after all.

Science and leadership are not as unrelated as many people think they are. People think the two are unrelated, but in reality, they work together to solve problems in an ethical way. Together, they determine what humanity can achieve and how we can achieve it. In the same way passion needs discipline, science needs leadership. Passion, just like science, would be an aimless energy without the direction of discipline and leadership. Science reveals the mechanisms that influence our bodies, minds, and even souls, while leadership decides where it is directed: to divide, exploit, or heal. As an aspiring neuroscientist, I believe that understanding the brain is beneficial to understanding ourselves and society. If psychology is what people do, then neuroscience uncovers why. Beneath the face value of our actions, beliefs, and emotions lie invisible systems- chemical signals, neural pathways, and biological responses- that shape physical manifestations. The understanding of those systems gives us the jurisdiction to be able to address mental illness and neurodevelopmental differences with clarity and not taboos. Leadership is what directs science's impact. Advancement without guidelines based on empathy risks detachment and leads to the insatiable thirst for power or convenience. On the other hand, empathy without evidence lacks the frame necessary to make a lasting impact. The most balanced and influential philosophy of leadership lives at the intersection of structure and sensitivity. While I am deeply empathetic, the principles of science ground me. This balance demands respect and acknowledgement, and that is the perspective I want to bring to the scientific world. Science and leadership are one thing, but more broadly, STEM and the humanities can and must be paired. A successful future depends on leaders who understand that evidence guides progress, but also that experience motivates change and intentions. Intuitive practices and factors of life are often dismissed despite their direct correlation to behavior, decision making, and connection. Neuroscience provides the tools to study those unseen forces responsibly, while leadership ensures a respect for the practice and the maintenance of morality. My goal is to contribute to a future where innovation helps us improve our mental and physical well-being. By pairing research with compassionate leadership, we can cultivate a culture in society that prioritizes understanding over judgment and that advances for the benefit of all. This is my commitment.

The Art of Becoming: a concept that emphasizes growth, development, and transformation; prioritizes process over perfection. This is not something that can be given or inherited; it must be crafted over time. As a Cameroonian American 2nd generation immigrant, a black woman, and an older sibling who has navigated grief, I'm well aware of the power that words, actions, and online spaces can hold- the power to both harm and to heal. My exposure to life's challenges has revealed a special commitment and passion for preventing bullying, protecting teens, and helping them understand and love themselves to the fullest extent. The place I thought would provide me with rest actually gave me worry: home. My mother was cold, distant, and a workaholic, while my stepfather was unstable and immature. I had no place of refuge, nobody to confide in, and no way to defend myself. Especially at school, I struggled to find a place of belonging. I was teased about my skin tone, accent, and cultural background. Though it wasn't always outright, it cut deep into my soul- it was subtle: hidden in jokes, woven in questions, and illustrated in exclusion. The ridicule I received from my own peers heavily impacted my sense of self-worth and identity, and I began to hate everything about myself. Fourth grade was when I began at my new school. A predominantly white, Christian, private school, where I was the odd one out. Nobody looked like me. My skin was too dark, my hair too nappy, my food too stinky. Their comments chipped away at the little that was left of my confidence, reducing it to almost nothing. It was no comfort that even the black students, the ones who thought would defend me, joined in the teasing. I eventually started to think, well, if everybody thinks these things of me, maybe it's true. I learned early how isolating it can be to be the butt of every joke. My mind became my armor. My wit became my swords and my intelligence my shield. I thought if I could perform better than everybody else, I could win. I was mistaken. The experience was painful, but fundamental to my drive for academic achievement. However, no amount of accomplishments could fill the desire I had to be valued and accepted for who I am, not how well I perform. When I transferred to a predominantly black high school, the process of my becoming launched. I found honest friends who loved to laugh and learn, who boosted my confidence enough to help me pursue clubs and student organizations. Through their encouragment, I gained my footing and stepped into leadership roles everywhere I went, overtaking my school ,and establishing my name. These clubs, in which I hold official positions now, help me to actively combat bullying and help people find their place. I provide a space that allows for diversity and inclusion, one where bullying is seen not only as wrong but also cowardly. Instead of the negative connotation being on the victim, it's on the bully. On my personal and club pages, I promote positivity and self-love, and in person, I prioritize going out of my way to brighten people's days. I strive to help people recognize how special they are and how valuable their contributions to society are. People often assume that my life is "perfect" because I am kind, composed, and optimistic. However, they weren't there for the process, the journey. By sharing my story and leading by example, I hope to inspire people to evolve, heal, and elevate.

There is a thin line between love and hate, but the line between love and grief is even thinner. What is love without grief, without loss, or without trial? It felt like I was being buried, but now I know that I was planted. Who would I be without my soil? Upon my arrival in America, my roots were immediately tested. Being a dark-skinned African girl, comments about my appearance and culture were encrypted into jokes and woven into questions. I began to make myself small in the midst of people. Perfection and poise became my shield, and excellence helped me stay afloat. It was testing, sure, but in hindsight, it provided me with the materials that have always helped me flourish- patience and composure despite the expectation to fail. I eventually transferred to a primarily Black high school and immediately felt a sincere sense of belonging- I felt seen. I began to flourish into the person I didnt know I could become. My blossoming was afoot, but the instability at home threatened to uproot me. Addiction overtook my stepfather. Paired with that addiction, the arguments between my parents created a constant atmosphere of tension at home. My belief was that my invisibility would reduce the burden on my family, so I began to carry my struggles alone- not with intentions of isolation, but of love. Then, a sunbeam pierced through our cloudy skies. My baby brother was born, and everything changed. His arrival inspired my father to be the model he never had. Even at the discovery of my brother's cancer at eleven months old, his determination to show up as a loving father increased. For some time, it felt like healing- for all of us- was possible. The summer before junior year, my brother died. Grief reconfigured the dynamics of the family. My father's old habits returned, the weight in the house grew heavier, and hope was absent. Nevertheless, something shifted in me, and my heart brightened. I refused to allow my little sister to experience and absorb the despair that surrounded us. I decided that all my love would be poured into her. I decided to nurture her through physical things, such as braiding her hair and doing her nails, and through emotional and spiritual things, like having difficult conversations and praying over her. While my grades were temporarily slipping, my heart was growing fuller and my purpose stronger- my pain was my fuel. The weight of carrying everybody else's emotions eventually broke me down. In a moment of raw honesty, I confronted my father about the damage that his addiction and lack of participation caused in the family. I knew it hurt him, but I called him out not to destroy him, but to help him see that not only did he need to heal for himself, but also for us. This adversity shifted my perspective on life. I thought love was silence, self erasure, and complaince- it isnt. In reality, love requires presence, honesty, and compassion.- especially when it's difficult, that's when it counts the most. These lessons fuel my passion for health and family services. Supporting people navigating illness, loss, and instability would help me share encouragement in the same places my life was shaped. My soil is now rich, full of life, history, and purpose. My happiness, once fleeting, has turned into joy- no longer shallow, but now rooted even through storms. College doesn’t intimidate me, for I am a person of fortitude. I wasn’t buried, I was planted, and what came from that seed continues to grow.

My brother was a miracle baby- the pride of our family. He had been diagnosed with cancer at 11 months old, but exhibited no symptoms at all and was full of joy. At the beginning of Trevor's life, my dad decided to become the father he never had. He got clean, changed how he spoke, and most surprisingly, sought out family and community. Trevor brought such light and hope into our home- hope that even my mother hadn't seen before. After Trevor's death, that hope disappeared. My father acknowledged the comforting rituals involved in death, but with the loss of his son, he lost all direction. The house grew still and lifeless. Lacking the joy that Trevor brought into our lives, my dad would stay on the couch from the time I left for school until I got home. He would ask me questions like, "Do you think there really is a reason for the death of my son?" and talk to me for hours about the meaning of life. I, too, experienced the death of my brother, but instead of receiving comfort, I became his comfort- his rock, his primary confidant. With the tension and arguments, I had to be the stability in our home, addressing and mediating their arguments while also assuring my sister of safety and love, even though I myself lost hope. Everything around me reflected my mental position- my grades, my clothes, my room. Through the hardest academic year of high school, I was navigating grief, a broken household, and the weight of responsibilities a teenager should never have to carry. I've never been one to cry or confide in others, and it's not that I intended to open up, but that year broke me open. One day, I lost my sanity (literally) and spiraled into an episode of rage, saying what I had held in for months. It was rough and messy in the moment, but it forced us all to face what we were avoiding. My fit of rage was the beginning of the revival of my family. Junior year taught me about the ups and downs of life- that growth doesn't always come from peace, but it often comes from pain. I have experience in being the one to decide to make a change, learning to take initiative in finding balance in chaos. Being that my mother is an immigrant, I had two very different experiences in the death of my brother. While my Dad was discouraged and unpursued, people on my Mom's side of the family constantly visited without warning. It was her support system that warmed the house and provided for us when it was difficult for us to hold ourselves above what seemed to be drowning us. It was that community that lifted me when I couldn't uphold myself. Witnessing the way my community functions truly has shaped me into the person I am. Love is what inspires and influences me to make every decision that I make. Though I've always adored my mother's circle, it's only through hard times that one can fully appreciate the love that's always been there. That year grew my capacity to love, my understanding of people, and my experience of just how kind people can be. Even in my pursuit of neuroscience, my passion derives from my absolute love of the human race. I am young, but have been in many positions. To have felt the pain I have and received the love I have, I owe it to the world to be of service and to do it well.

When I began high school, I was ecstatic for where I would be taken throughout the four years, not knowing what those years had in store for me. Sometime into my freshman year, my 11-month-old brother was diagnosed with cancer. He had shown no signs of being even a bit sick, but one day a daycare teacher of his noticed a lump on his back and imbalance in his steps. Long story short, after a few days oh testing and hospital stays, it was confirmed that he had cancer. As I write this story today, it's been a year since he died, and I'm still amidst cycles of change, for worse and eventually better. To understand my development is to understand the dynamics of my family after he died, which was dependent on this: my dad was an alcoholic and drug addict on and off for years before he was born. That being said, he viewed my brother's birth as a chance to rebrand himself, and he decided that he would live life well for his son. So, after my brother died, he went back to his vices. I am the oldest child in a house where one adult is extremely busy and the other is always basically willingly disabled, so it therefore is my duty to lead and manage my household to some degree, especially because I have a sister that's eight years younger than me. Everything my parents take on, I too have to take on, address, and make better for the sake of the house. This death happened right before 11th grade, ultimately wrecking my family and my own emotional wellbeing for the rest of the most academically important year of my high school career. I thought that my brother's death would motivate me to strive for the best, but the complete opposite happened. In all my years of schooling, including my first two years of high school, I never received anything lower than an A on my report card. Academic validation was my life, despite the fact that home wasn't always the best place. But this death really put it over the edge, and I stopped caring about academic validation. My priorities consisted of making sure of my sister's safety and my parents happiness and peace. Everything I did that year was in efforts to diffuse situations or to be very cautious to not trigger them. My dad would vent to me for hours on end every day, so I listened. This was such a bittersweet situation because while I was getting to understand my father more, it meant i was doing less of the things I knew would be essential for my future. I was happy to be of help to him, but that meant I had to neglect myself. One day I was coming down the stairs and my dad began talking to me, and I completely lost it. I honestly can't even recall what he was saying, but upon hearing it, fury rose in me, and I started yelling- something I would never dare to do before. I was absolutely fed up with his behavior and told him all the ways he was failing me- I think he needed to hear it. Through the year, I learned about my capacity to nurture the emotions of other people, but from that day, I realized how little i invest in myself. As I come up on my senior year, I no longer live just for my family, but for the potential I know is stored in me and that I'm determined cultivate.