For as long as I can remember, health has been more than a clinical definition in my life—it has been a daily practice of balance, resilience, and care. While some pursue medicine through traditional pathways, my calling led me to the field of Ayurveda. I am currently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Ayurveda Wellness and Integrative Health because I believe in the power of holistic care: addressing not only the body, but also the mind, spirit, and community. My dream is to bring these practices into spaces that have been overlooked—families and individuals who struggle to find accessible, compassionate healthcare. Much of this vision comes from my own lived experience as a caregiver. I am the full-time caregiver for my grandmother, a role that has shaped me more than any textbook could. Caregiving is both exhausting and rewarding; it requires a sharp eye for detail, endless patience, and the ability to balance medical routines with emotional support. It also reveals how broken our healthcare systems can feel for families who don’t have the resources, money, or outside help to navigate them. My grandmother’s struggles with chronic illness, medications, and mobility opened my eyes to the fact that wellness cannot be reduced to prescriptions—it requires a whole-life approach. Ayurveda provides that lens. Yet pursuing this dream has not been easy. Financial obstacles weigh heavily. As a full-time caregiver, my ability to work outside the home is limited. Bills pile up, and higher education feels like a luxury. Like many first-generation students of color, I have had to fight the feeling that perhaps these dreams aren’t meant for someone like me. But every time I learn something new in my program—whether it’s how circadian rhythms affect healing or how diet can be medicine—I bring it back to my family, to my community, and I see the difference it makes. That keeps me going. These difficulties have also given me perspective. If my journey had been smooth, I might not have developed the empathy I now carry for others who face barriers to health and education. I know what it feels like to be stretched thin financially, emotionally, and physically. I know what it’s like to go without sleep because a loved one needs you at 3 a.m. I know the frustration of trying to advocate for better care in systems that move too slowly. These experiences will not just inform my practice—they will ground it. When I guide someone through Ayurveda or integrative wellness, I will not just be speaking from theory. I will be speaking from lived truth. I want to be the kind of practitioner who sees people as whole beings, not just as patients. I aim to bring the wisdom of Ayurveda into practical, relatable, and accessible terms. I envision opening a practice where families like mine can come not only for treatment, but also for education—learning how to cook nourishing foods, create daily routines that support mental health, and use simple, sustainable practices to reclaim wellness. Becoming a medical practitioner of Ayurveda is not just about a career for me—it is about honoring my grandmother, my family, and my community. The financial support of this scholarship would help me carry forward a legacy of caregiving into a future where healing is holistic, inclusive, and deeply human.

When people ask me about my culture, I don’t launch into a history lecture. I tell them about my mom’s adobo. If you know, you know, adobo is supposed to be rich, savory, and balanced. My mom’s version somehow came out like salty chicken soup. We ate it anyway, because in my family, food isn’t just about flavor. It’s about effort, love, and laughing through the fails. Honestly, that’s probably the most Filipino-American way to describe resilience. Then there was my great-grandma. She could soothe me through a hurricane warning in Hawaii with the same calm voice she used when teaching me how to sew. But the second I talked back or pretended I didn’t hear her instructions, she had her trusty flip-flop ready to launch. Comfort and consequence in equal measure. And yes, that flip-flop was faster than lightning. Our gatherings were their own education. Cookouts never started on time; we were always on island time. You’d show up at noon, and the grill didn’t get lit until two. But nobody minded, because in the meantime, there was music, dance, and stories, all infused with Spanish influence that made our traditions feel both ancient and evolving. I never got my own debut, but I loved watching my cousins have theirs. It wasn’t about missing out; it was about realizing how much richness comes from sharing the stage as a family. My heritage isn’t a list of dates and names; it’s the mix of soy sauce and vinegar in a pot that may or may not work out, the sound of laughter while waiting for food to finally be ready, and the rhythm of dances that outlast generations. It’s also why I’m drawn to Ayurveda. I want to take ancient traditions, just like the ones passed down to me, and use them in modern ways to heal and connect. This scholarship would help me continue that journey. It would turn my mom’s adobo attempts, my great-grandma’s flip-flop lessons, and countless hours on island time into a future where I can share healing, culture, and humor with others. *AI for grammar assistance*