The glow of the computer screen lit up our living room. It was late and the house was quiet. I sat alone, staring at the FAFSA form, trying to make sense of the questions. My mother had already gone to bed after another long shift. I did not fully understand what I was doing, but I knew it was important. I knew this moment was bigger than me. Filling out that form was my first real step toward college. I had no blueprint to follow and no one at home who had done it before. Every field I filled in felt like I was translating a foreign language. But with every answer, I pushed a little further into unfamiliar territory. That night, I realized what it meant to be a first-generation college student. It meant learning to trust myself even when the path ahead is unclear. Later that year, I walked onto a college campus for my first official tour. I remember looking up at the buildings, students rushing past me, and wondering if I belonged there. It felt surreal, almost like I was trespassing in someone else’s world. But then I thought of my mother and everything she worked for to get me to that moment. I realized I was not an outsider. I was the beginning of something new. That feeling returned when I chose to major in nursing. It was another world I had never stepped into before. I did not grow up around medical professionals. I did not know the terminology or what to expect in a clinical setting. But I knew I wanted to care for people the way my family always cared for me with empathy, strength, and presence. Choosing nursing was not just an academic decision. It was an act of courage. It meant stepping even deeper into the unknown and finding purpose in it. I am passionate about being a first-generation Mexican-American college graduate because this journey is not just about me. It is about honoring my family’s sacrifices and showing that our stories deserve to be part of higher education. It is about proving to myself that I can thrive in places I once only dreamed of. Being first-generation means facing systems and expectations that often assume you already know how it all works. I did not. But I figured it out piece by piece, sometimes through trial and error, sometimes by asking for help, and always by reminding myself why it mattered. My motivation comes from my heritage, my community, and a deep belief that education can change everything. I carry pride in being Mexican-American. It is in the way I approach challenges, in the values I was raised with, and in the strength I have learned from my family. I have seen what perseverance looks like. I have lived what it means to stretch every dollar, translate every form, and hold onto hope even when things feel uncertain. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education without the constant worry of how to afford it. It would give me the space to focus fully on learning, growing, and building a future that reflects where I come from and where I am going. I am proud to be a first-generation Mexican-American student. I know the weight and the privilege that comes with being the first. I know what it means to walk into unfamiliar rooms and claim my place. I am passionate about continuing this journey, not just for myself but for those who will come after me.

I spent hours on a crowded city bus, carrying books and the weight of being the first in my family to go to college. Those rides taught me how to keep moving forward, even when the path was unfamiliar and hard to navigate. They carried me to exams, volunteer shifts, and clinical rotations, and they carried the lessons that perseverance and patience are essential when forging a new path. Being a first-generation student means entering spaces where no one in my family has gone before. I remember staring at the FAFSA form late at night, unsure what half the questions meant, knowing no one at home could guide me. I navigated financial aid, college applications, and college-level exams on my own, learning to persevere when the path seemed unclear. It was overwhelming, but it also taught me that building a new legacy requires courage and persistence. I was raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly to give me a better life. She did not have the chance to go to college, but she gave me something just as valuable: grit, compassion, and the belief that helping others matters. Watching her push through challenges taught me that success is not about having all the answers; it is about showing up, staying committed, and never giving up. That mindset led me to nursing. I did not grow up with doctors in the family or a clear path to healthcare, but I found purpose in service. Volunteering at the Ronald McDonald House and community centers showed me how small acts of kindness could ripple outward. On a mission trip to Belize, I handed a boy a toothbrush and watched him hold it like a treasure. That moment reminded me that care is not just clinical, it is human. My dream is to become a pediatric or labor and delivery nurse, working with families during life’s most vulnerable moments. Being the first in my family to pursue college motivates me to be more than a nurse. I want to be a guide for others, forging new paths, advocating for families who feel unseen, and mentoring students who feel alone in uncharted territory. This scholarship would mean more than financial support. It would allow me to focus on learning, volunteering, and gaining clinical experience without worrying about tuition. It would help me continue paving a path of service and resilience, not just for myself, but for my family and communities I am called to serve.

Some people discover their calling in a classroom. I found mine on a city bus, where patience and perseverance became my first lessons in care. The bus was always crowded, the kind of ride where people pressed shoulder to shoulder, clutching bags and staring out fogged windows. For me, that city bus was more than transportation. It was where I learned patience, resilience, and how to keep moving forward even when the path was not easy. I did not grow up with doctors in the family or a clear map to nursing school. I grew up with a single mother whose determination was our foundation. She worked tirelessly, teaching me that success was not measured by titles or wealth, but by grit, compassion, and the courage to help others even when you had little to give. Her resilience was my first lesson in care, and it became the blueprint for the nurse I want to be. That blueprint started taking shape through service. At the Ronald McDonald House, I watched how a simple presence, offering a meal or listening to a worried parent, could bring relief. At community centers, I saw how small acts of kindness could ripple outward. Healing, I realized, is not limited to medicine. It often begins with compassion. That lesson came alive on a mission trip to Belize. I will never forget the boy who clutched a toothbrush I handed him as if it were a treasure. His smile said more than words ever could. To him, it was not just a toothbrush. It was dignity, care, and hope. In that moment, I understood that nursing is about more than vital signs and charts. It is about restoring humanity in the smallest and most meaningful ways. Those moments, the crowded bus, my mother’s perseverance, and the boy in Belize, shape my vision of nursing. I see my future resting on three pillars: compassionate care, advocacy, and mentorship. Compassionate care means treating the whole person, not just their diagnosis. I am drawn to pediatrics and labor and delivery, where I can walk alongside families in their most vulnerable and transformative moments. I want to be the nurse who notices the silent fear in a parent’s eyes and answers with reassurance. Advocacy means using my voice for those who feel invisible in the system. Coming from a community where healthcare often felt out of reach, I understand those barriers. I want to bridge the gap between care and access, especially for underserved families and children, through outreach, education, and policy. Mentorship means carrying the torch forward. An instructor once told me my quiet presence carried deep care, and that compassion is strength, not weakness. Her words lit a spark in me, and I want to pass that spark on to future nurses who doubt themselves. Nursing is not just a profession. It is a legacy I want to help shape the next generation of caregivers. My Jewish faith deepens this vision. Tikkun olam (repairing the world), chesed (loving-kindness), and pikuach nefesh (saving a life) are more than words. They are daily practices. Proverbs 31:20 says, “She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy.” For me, nursing is that verse in action, faith lived out in service. This journey has required chutzpah, the courage to speak up, the confidence to lead, and the boldness to persist when the road was hard. From crowded buses to clinical floors, I have learned that perseverance is not just part of nursing. It is nursing. That is why the Sheila A. Burke Scholarship means so much. It represents mentorship, excellence, and positivity in nursing, the very values I strive to embody. With this support, I will grow into the nurse I envision: one who listens deeply, advocates fiercely, and serves with both skill and heart. My story may have begun on a crowded bus, but my vision is clear. I will be a nurse who heals with compassion, leads with integrity, and lifts others as I climb, one patient, one student, one moment at a time.

I still remember the boy in Belize clutching the toothbrush I handed him as if it were a treasure. To us, it was a simple tool for hygiene. To him, it was hope. That moment changed me. It showed me that nursing is more than medicine, it is reaching out to the vulnerable with both skill and heart. My path to nursing began closer to home. I grew up in a community where healthcare often felt out of reach. When a clinic and training center opened nearby, I enrolled in their medical assistant program. I was quiet and uncertain until one instructor pulled me aside. She told me that compassion was not weakness, but strength, and that my quiet presence carried deep care. Her words lit a spark in me. For the first time, I began to see myself not just as a student, but as someone with the capacity to make a real difference. When I stepped into my first clinical rotation as a medical assistant, I felt what it truly meant to be at the patient’s side. Taking vitals, offering reassurance, and listening to patients gave me a sense of purpose I had never felt before. I wanted to do more than assist. I wanted to advocate, to heal, and to take on the responsibility of a nurse. That decision led me to complete my prerequisites and enroll in Loma Linda University’s nursing program, where my passion deepens with every clinical experience. Alongside academics, service has been the heartbeat of my journey. At the Frazee Center, I handed out meals and supplies to families in need. At the Teddy Bear Clinic, I helped children take their first brave steps into healthcare through play. At a Women’s Health Conference, I supported education and screenings for women who often had little access to preventive care. And in Belize, I stood face-to-face with the resilience of communities living with limited resources. Each moment taught me that nursing is not just about charting vitals or administering medication. It is about meeting people where they are, honoring their dignity, and walking alongside them in their healing. That child in Belize, holding a toothbrush like it was gold, reminded me that healing begins with human connection. Compassion, humility, and service are not extras in nursing. They are the foundation. I carry that lesson with me into every patient interaction, striving to see the person behind the diagnosis and to offer care that restores both health and hope. It also takes courage. The kind that pushes you to speak up, lead with confidence, and persevere through challenges. For me, that meant choosing this path even when I doubted myself. It meant riding buses across the city to reach clinical rotations, showing up tired but determined. It meant finding my voice as a leader in settings where it once felt easier to stay quiet. Now, as I continue my journey, I see nursing as both a profession and a calling. It is not just about what I will do, but who I am becoming. With each patient I meet, I strive to live out the values that brought me here: listening deeply, advocating fiercely, and serving with both skill and heart. I am ready to step into this calling, knowing that every patient I meet is an opportunity to listen, to heal, and to offer hope.

I still remember the boy in Belize clutching the toothbrush I handed him as if it were a treasure. To us, it was a simple tool for hygiene. To him, it was hope, a sign that someone cared enough to see his need and meet it. That moment changed me. It reminded me that nursing is more than medicine. It is the act of reaching out your hand to the vulnerable and giving with both skill and heart. My path to nursing began closer to home. I grew up in a community where healthcare often felt out of reach. When a clinic and training center opened nearby, I enrolled in the medical assistant program. I was quiet, uncertain, and filled with self-doubt until one instructor pulled me aside. She told me that compassion was not weakness, but strength, and that my quiet presence carried deep care. Her words lit a spark in me. I began to see myself not just as someone learning tasks, but as someone called to serve. Clinical rotations as a medical assistant gave me my first taste of patient care. Taking vitals, offering reassurance, and listening to patients gave me a sense of purpose I had never felt before. I wanted to do more than assist. I wanted to advocate, to heal, and to take on the responsibility of a nurse. That decision led me to complete my prerequisites and enroll in Loma Linda University’s nursing program, where my passion continues to deepen with every clinical experience. Alongside academics, service has been the heartbeat of my journey. Locally, I volunteered at the Frazee Center, the Teddy Bear Clinic, and a Women’s Health Conference, helping to provide education, support, and care to underserved populations. Internationally, my mission trip to Belize brought me face-to-face with the resilience of communities living with limited access to healthcare. Each experience affirmed what I knew: nursing is not just about charting vitals or administering medication, but about meeting human beings where they are, honoring their dignity, and walking alongside them in their healing. My Jewish faith has been the foundation of this calling. The values of tikkun olam, chesed, and pikuach nefesh are not abstract teachings to me. They are daily practices. Proverbs 31:20, “She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy,” is a verse I carry with me into every patient encounter. It reminds me that nursing is a sacred act of service, one that reflects faith in action. Looking back, I see that every step I took towards nursing was guided by Hashem, turning moments of doubt into opportunities for growth and service. It also takes chutzpah, the courage to speak up, confidence to lead, and boldness to pursue this path despite challenges. Nursing requires advocating for patients when they cannot, leading with confidence in the face of uncertainty, and persevering when obstacles arise. For me, chutzpah has meant choosing this path even when I doubted myself, navigating public transit to reach my clinical rotations, and finding my voice as a leader in a setting where it once felt easier to stay quiet. Now, as I continue my journey, I see nursing as both a profession and a calling. To me, nursing is the modern embodiment of the Woman of Valor: a life of service, faith, compassion, and dedication to healing. It’s not just about what I will do, but who I am becoming. With each patient I meet, I strive to live out these values by listening deeply, advocating fiercely, and serving with both skill and heart.