I have never been to an EDM concert or rave yet, but the music found me long before I ever stepped into a festival. My friends and I used to call it “onze-onze music,” for the way the beat moved through our bodies like a pulse — steady, open, full of possibility. From the first moment I heard it, something inside me felt free. As a Black woman in America, dance has always carried unspoken expectations. Rhythm is something we are assumed to have naturally, and performance is often expected from us — whether we choose it or not. Many Black people feel pressure to dance a certain way, to move in a way that looks “good” to others, to make sure our expression is polished, on rhythm, coordinated, and impressive. Even joy can feel like something we have to present rather than something we get to explore. But EDM changed that for me. In college, I had a small group of Black friends who felt exactly what I felt. We would talk about how fascinating it was to see white people dance with complete abandon — offbeat, loose, wild, unrestrained — and still be completely comfortable. We envied that freedom. We wondered what it would feel like to exist in a public space without feeling the weight of perception or the gaze of others shaping our movement. Then we found onze-onze music. The beat opened something in us. The sound gave us permission. With EDM, there was no routine to follow, no cultural expectation to uphold, no choreography to perform. The music didn’t ask us to “look good.” It asked us to feel. It asked us to be present. It allowed us to jump, sway, flail, spin, stomp, and move in ways that didn’t need to make sense to anyone but us. For the first time, dancing felt like liberation. It felt like being in our bodies without judgment. It felt like reclaiming joy outside of the limitations placed on Black expression. EDM taught me that freedom is not just something other people get to have — it is something I deserve, too. It showed me that movement can be healing, that rhythm doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful, and that my body is allowed to be fully itself in motion. And even without attending a festival yet, EDM already shifted something significant in my outlook: it reminded me that there is a version of me that is limitless, expressive, and uncontained. My friends and I are currently planning our first EDM festival together — maybe Lollapalooza, or whichever one aligns with our timing and energy. I know that stepping into that space will only deepen the freedom we’ve already discovered in private. I know it will expand the way I show up in the world, in my creativity, and in my sense of self. EDM gave me a glimpse of liberation, and I’m ready to step fully into it.

Being a first-generation student means stepping into rooms no one in my family has entered before and choosing to believe that knowledge can open doors far beyond the ones we’ve known. I am the oldest of four daughters, raised by a single father who immigrated with me to this country after the transition of my mother. My father spent years focused on building a stable foundation for us, and throughout my childhood he repeated one phrase with absolute consistency: “Knowledge is power.” Those words shaped me; they pushed me to be curious, and responsible for my own future. He always emphasized the value of education, but he also made it clear that if I wanted to go to college, I would have to figure out how to pay for it. Instead of discouraging me, it ignited something in me. I became even more driven to earn scholarships and funding so that I could attend school without placing additional financial strain on my family. By the time I graduated high school, I had earned enough scholarships to fully cover my education and living expenses. That support allowed me to focus entirely on learning and set the first footprints in fresh snow for my younger sisters to follow. Now, as I enter my path toward becoming a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine, I face a new challenge. Unlike undergraduate programs where scholarships for hard-working students were abundant, graduate and medical programs offer far fewer financial opportunities. The weight of tuition, books, and especially living expenses sits heavily on my mind. There are moments when the stress of figuring out how to pay rent collides with the pressure of preparing for exams, and the combination can feel overwhelming. But still, I continue. I continue because I know I am called to be a healer — not just for myself, but for my family and the world. I carry the strength of my father, the sacrifices he made, and the legacy of my mother whose life was cut short. I continue because I want my younger sisters to see that even when the path is steep, it is still possible to walk it with determination, faith, and purpose. This scholarship would give me more than financial relief — it would give me mental, emotional, and spiritual space to thrive. It would allow me to focus on my studies without carrying the constant fear of not having enough. It would free my mind so I can excel in my coursework, grow as a healer, and show up fully for the mission I know I am meant to fulfill. Being a first-generation student means being the first to climb the mountain so others can see the view. It means holding onto ambition even when the odds feel heavy. It means honoring where I come from by building something greater for those who come after me. And with support like this scholarship, I can continue that journey with clarity, strength, and the unwavering drive to make an impact.

I learned the fragility of life before I knew the meaning of the word “fragile.” Some of my earliest memories are shaped not by childhood milestones, but by sudden transitions — loved ones leaving their bodies without warning, without preparation, and without explanation. These experiences shaped my understanding of health, loss, and human resilience in the same way that sepsis shapes the lives of the families affected by it: abruptly and profoundly. My mother transitioned into non-physical when I was only a year and a half old. I grew up feeling her absence long before I understood the circumstances of her death. Around the age of twelve, I learned part of the truth from what was written on her death certificate: “drug injection.” Even now, the full story is not fully known, but what I do know is that someone she loved poisoned her. That kind of loss — unexpected, shocking, and rarely talked about — is something that leaves a permanent imprint on a child’s spirit. Years later, after reconnecting with my uncle (her brother), my sister and I finally had time to laugh with him, hear his stories, and rebuild a bond we had missed for years. A month after we left, he went into the hospital with chest pain and transitioned within a day. There was no long illness, no time to prepare, no opportunity to say goodbye. The following year, his wife — my aunt — suddenly collapsed and never regained consciousness. Another shock. Another moment that reminded me how quickly life can change. Another transition that no one saw coming. These experiences created the emotional landscape I grew up in — one marked by sudden loss, unanswered questions, and grief that arrived without warning. They taught me that the most devastating conditions are often the ones that do not receive enough attention, visibility, or understanding. Conditions that people don’t rally around. Conditions that don’t make headlines. Conditions, like sepsis, that take lives quietly and leave families shattered. When someone collapses suddenly, when someone transitions without explanation, when a family is left holding grief they never expected, the emotional and psychological impact is immense. It alters the course of a life. It shapes identity. It shapes purpose. For me, these losses ignited a lifelong devotion to understanding the human body and the forces that disrupt it. They pushed me to study naturopathic medicine so I could learn how to protect the body, prevent illness when possible, and support those who experience the trauma of sudden loss — the same trauma felt by so many families affected by sepsis. My background is not one defined by medical diagnoses on paper, but by the emotional truth that sepsis families know intimately: the shock of unexpected transition, the ache of losing someone you love before you’re ready, and the silence that follows when the world moves on while your heart does not. These experiences didn’t just shape me — they gave me purpose. They taught me compassion, presence, and the sacredness of life. They taught me that healing must include both the body and the spirit. And they are the reason I am committed to a path of healing — so that fewer families face sudden loss alone, and so that every person, regardless of circumstance, receives the care, attention, and understanding that every human life deserves.

The first time I saw a human heart, it was beating in an open chest. I was in college at The Ohio State University, shadowing a cardiothoracic surgeon. I moved from clinic visits to the operating room to post-operative rounds, studying the heart not just as an organ, but as a living symbol of life itself. I believed I was on the perfect path—learning how to protect and repair the heart through science. But while I was immersed in learning how to care for the heart in the operating room, cardiac disease was quietly taking a toll inside my own family. During a school break, I returned home and met my aunt at the airport. She told me, in complete shock, that another one of my aunts had just transitioned from heart failure. Her words took me back to the moment earlier that week when my cousin and my sister called me in a panic. They were at the hospital, unsure if she would make it. A few days later, the funeral arrangements began. Losing a family member to heart failure while I was studying the very organ that failed her was surreal. It was painful, disorienting, and deeply illuminating. Watching someone I loved leave this physical world because of a disease I knew to be preventable opened my eyes to an obstacle far greater than cardiac disease itself: the obstacle of limited knowledge. Standing beside my aunt at the airport, I listened as she expressed her confusion. To her, heart failure seemed sudden. But in my training, I had learned that heart failure rarely appears overnight. It unfolds over years. It sends quiet warnings—shortness of breath, fluid retention, fatigue—that many people do not recognize. I gently explained that even something as common as obesity is a significant risk factor for heart disease. She looked at me and asked, “Was she obese?” The fact that she did not know—and that I thought it was obvious—hit me harder than expected. That moment made something sink in deeper than any textbook or surgical observation ever could: people can only protect themselves from what they understand. And in my community, what we understand about cardiac health is often incomplete, misunderstood, or learned too late. I realized that my family’s loss was not just due to heart failure. It was due to a lack of education, a lack of awareness, and a lack of access to preventive knowledge that could have changed the outcome. This experience transformed my relationship with cardiac health. It shifted my passion from solely wanting to treat disease to wanting to prevent it—long before a scalpel, operating room, or emergency phone call is needed. It gave me a mission: to teach people what disease looks like before it becomes life-threatening, and to empower them with the tools to keep their bodies aligned, healthy, and strong. Today, as a future naturopathic doctor, I carry my aunt’s story with me. I am committed to educating communities about lifestyle, nutrition, obesity, stress, and the subtle signs that the heart is struggling. My obstacle became my calling: to prevent families from experiencing the same pain mine did, and to help people live the long, fulfilling lives they deserve.

Healing begins in the mind long before it shows in the body. This truth is what led me to study naturopathic medicine and shapes the unique contribution I want to bring to the world: mental/emotional healing woven into everyday practices people already understand and value. My specialty is hair regrowth and holistic healing, a field I’ve researched for over five years. What I discovered is that the results my community desires cannot come from products alone. They must begin with the release of mental barriers—beliefs shaped by history, society, and trauma that limit what we think our bodies, and especially our hair, are capable of. True growth starts with shifting mindset. My work as a guided meditation instructor made this even clearer. I have watched people enter a space overwhelmed or in pain and leave feeling relieved and restored—all through intention, breath, sound, and an environment that supports healing. It showed me that mental wellness can be simple, affordable, and accessible when offered in a way people can relate to. My contribution is to merge these two worlds: culturally resonant haircare and accessible mindset healing. In the Black community, hair is deeply emotional and symbolic—it is identity, confidence, and history. By using haircare as the doorway, I can offer meditation, self-love rituals, and mental clarity practices that support emotional health without stigma. My goal is to help my community return to its natural state of being: empowered, healthy, and in love with themselves—starting in the mind, radiating through the body.

My inspiration for entering the medical field began long before I arrived on this earth. My story was written through the life and transition of my mother, Sithabile Mathwasa. When I was a year and a half old and my sister was only three months, my mother transitioned into non-physical. Her absence shaped every part of who I am today. Growing up without her physical presence, I found myself searching for the essence of love, nurture, and care. Over time, I became what I longed for most—the mother. Throughout childhood, different women entered and exited my life, each mothering me for a season. But the one constant mother I have always had is myself. From a young age, I learned how to care for others. At nine years old, I was responsible for watching my younger cousins—changing diapers, cooking, and keeping them safe—while I was still healing my own heart. At eight years old, I began saying that when I grew up, I wanted to be a pediatrician. What I really meant was that I wanted to heal children’s hearts, to be for them what I didn’t have—a nurturing presence that reminds them they are safe, loved, and whole. That desire to mother expanded beyond children to all people—the wounded, the forgotten, the spiritually weary. I realized the world needs more than treatment; it needs tenderness. My calling is to embody that tenderness through healing—to remind people of their inherent worth and help them return to harmony within body, mind, and spirit. My mother’s transition also inspired my fascination with how the body and spirit work together in healing. I’ve always been captivated by how the body knows how to restore itself—how wounds close and cells regenerate—yet how the spirit can prevent the body from healing when it holds pain. That understanding led me to pursue my Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine degree. My practice is guided by the principle do no harm, the foundation of naturopathic medicine. Everything I create, from my words to my products, begins with that intention—to heal gently and powerfully through love, which I believe is the highest medicine. I come from a lineage of healers. My grandfather was known for using herbs and spiritual wisdom to heal those who came from near and far. I see myself continuing that legacy in a modern way—integrating science, spirituality, and nature. My education is not for my benefit alone but so I can share this knowledge with others who may never have access to it. My intuition guides me deeply, and this education strengthens my ability to extend that healing into the world. Outside of medicine, I find joy and balance through writing and guided meditation. I am a published author, and my first book emerged from that same nurturing energy. I wrote it to help women—especially Black women—understand and care for their natural hair, a sacred expression of identity and culture. Growing up without my mother to teach me how to care for my hair, I learned through research and intuition. I wrote my book so no girl or woman would have to search as hard as I did for guidance. My goal was to heal not only hair, but also self-image and self-worth. I also teach guided meditation because I believe the body cannot heal what the spirit continues to hold. Meditation is where I connect with my mother’s presence, where I find balance, and where I help others do the same. It keeps me grounded so I can show up for the world in peace and love. To me, being a healer means being a mother to the world—creating spaces of safety, love, and restoration for everyone I encounter. Every aspect of my life, from my studies in naturopathic medicine to my writing and meditations, is an expression of that purpose. I am not here simply to practice medicine; I am here to restore wholeness, to teach love, and to remind others of the divine intelligence within them. Through love, we remember that healing was always ours to begin with.

When I was a year and a half old and my sister was only three months, our mother transitioned from this world. My father raised us, often working long hours to provide, while my sister and I learned to take care of ourselves and each other. Losing my mother so early shaped me in ways words can hardly describe—it taught me the value of time, the importance of connection, and the necessity of living life on purpose. Growing up without a mother’s physical presence was never easy. There were moments in school when classmates spoke about their moms, and I couldn’t relate. Yet, through that absence, I learned how to nurture myself and others. I found my mother’s spirit within me—in the way I care, in the way I create, in the way I love. Her transition made me understand that life is fragile, and that I must use mine meaningfully. One of my greatest challenges came when I moved to Chicago to pursue my Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine degree. My younger sister was pregnant at the time, and I struggled with leaving her, knowing that our mother wouldn’t be there to help her. Choosing myself in that moment required faith. I didn’t know how I would afford everything, but I trusted that God would provide. That faith carried me then, and it carries me now. Today, I am committed to helping others heal—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I believe love itself is medicine. Through my studies and my future practice, I will restore love to individuals and communities, reminding them that healing begins within. My life’s purpose is to help people remember their wholeness and to live in alignment with peace, purpose, and love.

The first time I saw an open-heart surgery, I thought I was witnessing healing in its highest form. The precision of the instruments, the dedication of the surgeons—it all looked like the work of miracles. But as I began to observe more, I realized that most of those patients would return to the same operating table again and again. The procedures were saving lives, but not necessarily restoring them. That moment changed everything for me. I knew I didn’t just want to extend life—I wanted to heal it. My name is Thembekile Dube, and I am pursuing a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine degree because I believe that true healing begins where medicine and spirit meet. At one point, I imagined myself becoming a pediatric cardiovascular surgeon. I wanted to repair hearts—literally. But what I came to understand is that the heart doesn’t just need surgery; it needs peace. The body cannot heal what the spirit continues to carry. I wanted to be in a field that addressed not only the physical symptoms but also the emotional, spiritual, and environmental roots of disease. Naturopathic medicine does exactly that. It views each person as a whole being and recognizes that health is not just the absence of illness—it is the harmonious alignment of body, mind, and soul. My motivation comes from a deep fascination with the human body and my reverence for the divine intelligence that created it. We live in a world that marvels at artificial intelligence, but nothing is more intelligent than the human body. It knows how to mend broken bones, how to fight infections, and how to create life itself. I am in awe of that design. My calling is to remind people that healing is not something external to chase, but an innate power that already lives within them. My future patients will not leave my care believing that I healed them—they will leave understanding that they were always capable of healing themselves. This scholarship represents far more than financial support. It represents the opportunity to study without the constant worry of survival. It means being able to pay my rent, buy food, and focus wholeheartedly on my coursework without having to divide my energy between my passion and my finances. I am fully committed to my education, and I know that with this support, I will be able to dedicate my time and energy to mastering this craft and becoming a physician who restores not only health, but hope. My dream is to open a holistic healing center that combines naturopathic medicine, meditation, herbalism, and community education. It will be a sanctuary where people rediscover the strength of their bodies, the clarity of their minds, and the peace of their spirits. I envision a space where science and spirituality coexist—where healing feels sacred again. I believe that every human being deserves the chance to return to their natural state of harmony. Through naturopathic medicine, I will spend my life helping others remember that healing is not something to be earned—it is something we are born with. This scholarship will not only help me continue my education; it will allow me to continue walking the path I was divinely called to follow: one that honors both the science of nature and the spirit of humanity.

The first time I saw an open-heart surgery, I thought I was witnessing healing in its highest form. The precision of the instruments, the dedication of the surgeons—it all looked like the work of miracles. But as I began to observe more, I realized that most of those patients would return to the same operating table again and again. The procedures were saving lives, but not necessarily restoring them. That moment changed everything for me. I knew I didn’t just want to extend life—I wanted to heal it. My name is Thembekile Dube, and I am pursuing a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine degree because I believe that true healing begins where medicine and spirit meet. At one point, I imagined myself becoming a pediatric cardiovascular surgeon. I wanted to repair hearts—literally. But what I came to understand is that the heart doesn’t just need surgery; it needs peace. The body cannot heal what the spirit continues to carry. I wanted to be in a field that addressed not only the physical symptoms but also the emotional, spiritual, and environmental roots of disease. Naturopathic medicine does exactly that. It views each person as a whole being and recognizes that health is not just the absence of illness—it is the harmonious alignment of body, mind, and soul. My motivation comes from a deep fascination with the human body and my reverence for the divine intelligence that created it. We live in a world that marvels at artificial intelligence, but nothing is more intelligent than the human body. It knows how to mend broken bones, how to fight infections, and how to create life itself. I am in awe of that design. My calling is to remind people that healing is not something external to chase, but an innate power that already lives within them. My future patients will not leave my care believing that I healed them—they will leave understanding that they were always capable of healing themselves. This scholarship represents far more than financial support. It represents the opportunity to study without the constant worry of survival. It means being able to pay my rent, buy food, and focus wholeheartedly on my coursework without having to divide my energy between my passion and my finances. I am fully committed to my education, and I know that with this support, I will be able to dedicate my time and energy to mastering this craft and becoming a physician who restores not only health, but hope. My dream is to open a holistic healing center that combines naturopathic medicine, meditation, herbalism, and community education. It will be a sanctuary where people rediscover the strength of their bodies, the clarity of their minds, and the peace of their spirits. I envision a space where science and spirituality coexist—where healing feels sacred again. I believe that every human being deserves the chance to return to their natural state of harmony. Through naturopathic medicine, I will spend my life helping others remember that healing is not something to be earned—it is something we are born with. This scholarship will not only help me continue my education; it will allow me to continue walking the path I was divinely called to follow: one that honors both the science of nature and the spirit of humanity.

The life of my dreams begins with water- I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the ocean waves crashing against the rocks of the coast from my windows. I make my way outside, hand in hand with my husband. We take 15 minutes in silence just breathing and being one with all that is. We pray together and share what we are grateful for before making our way back into the house to get our days started. Before long, the crisp morning breeze is brushing swiftly across my face as I make my way down our street surrounded by the other early risers in the community. Bodies jumping up and down, mouths beginning to dry out from a long run, we finally reach our destination and are able to remove our shoes and place our toes into the cool sand. I reach for a bottle and am relieved to feel the cool water making its way down my throat and into my body. Once my breath has returned to a normal rhythm, I invite the large group to form a circle and I lead us in a short, gentle movement meditation. With stillness radiating in my body, I make my way home and dress for the day ahead. "Mommy," "Mommy," "Mommy," are the words I hear as I walk into the kitchen. My husband and children are gathered around the island, or what we call our alter. In our home, it is understood that our bodies are temples and the kitchen is our alter where we prepare healing for our bodies. We share a nutritious and love filled meal together and then I bring my three youngest into the car with me. Belting out this week's new favorite tune in disorganized unison, the four of us enjoy the drive with the wind blowing through our hair. We have arrived. A huge smile crosses my face as I see the words "Trust in Love," at the top of my building. We walk into this familiar place and the children run towards the back, where there are games and of course snacks. "Grand Rising Dr. Dube," my receptionist greets me. "Grand rising Ciza," I say in response. Still grinning I am greeted by the bright orange and purple walls of my office. I see a number of patience at the start of my day and after lunch, I lead 2 healing workshops for the community that my children are also able to participate in. Before heading home, I take a few calls with physicians I consult for on natural alternatives for their patients. My children and I arrive home before 4pm and scurry into our swimming costumes before diving into our pool. Dad arrives with the older children and a meal made by grandma. We spend the duration of the evening cuddling together on the sofa as we share the best moments of our days. "I am grateful for the best part of my day which was pulling up into the parking lot of Trust In Love with my children there beside me; it never gets old to me," I say with a grin on my face and eyes filled with love. - The life of my dreams is one filled with light, love and pleasure at the little things.