“Let me guess, you’re going to be the future judge?” asked Fanta, a newly naturalized U.S. citizen, as I handed her the naturalization certificate at the federal courthouse where I intern. "Hopefully," I responded, though I didn't always know a courtroom was where I belonged. I realized months earlier, filming a merchant interview for a neighborhood nonprofit in Queens, where I expected to hear about business and instead heard about survival. Imran explained that raising wages could jeopardize the staff he was trying to protect, and his employee Aisha described the multiple jobs and long commutes she needed to stay afloat. I understood their arithmetic immediately, because it was something my mother and I had learned after my father died, when every decision suddenly carried the weight of keeping a family from slipping. Their struggle was a pattern, repeated in nearly every storefront we visited, produced by systems that rarely account for immigrant families like theirs or like mine. I wanted to go beyond documenting these families and truly change the conditions I was documenting: that purpose that has organized everything since. It carried me from a Queens nonprofit into a federal courthouse, where the families I once filmed became the families I now watch become citizens, and it is carrying me toward a career in immigration law, so that the girl who learned her family's arithmetic at a kitchen table can spend her life helping families like Fanta's, and like her own, hold on to what they have built.

I heaved the bucket of hand-washed laundry up the stairs to our sunlit attic, my hands red and pruney. It felt like 80 pounds, but I couldn’t stop now. Ma was downstairs simmering curry, humming as she juggled a thousand other tasks. I had to take my dad’s place, just as he asked me to. “Take care of your Ma,” Baba told me ten days before he passed. I was 15. How was I supposed to care for my mom when I could barely care for myself? But it was his last request, and I planned to honor it. I started small—grabbing her bags after work, keeping the house spotless, asking about her students. Over time, our relationship deepened beyond small talk. I found myself not just taking care of her but learning from her resilience and sacrifices. When I turned 18 and started college, my dad’s Social Security benefits stopped. To support our household, I took on two jobs while juggling school. Now, I work as a contractor writer at an immigration law firm, gaining hands-on experience in the field I plan to enter. My struggles taught me perseverance and the importance of advocacy, which are lessons I plan to carry into my intended career in immigration law. I know what it feels like to navigate overwhelming challenges and I want to help others do the same. Every case I work on at the law firm today is a future step toward ensuring families don’t have to fight alone. I am actively learning the legal system, strengthening my skills, and preparing for law school. Each challenge is another stair climbed, another step toward securing my future and uplifting others. Despite the weight, I keep climbing, just like with my bucket of laundry. “Look, Baba,” I smile. “I’m doing it.”

My name is Wardah. A name that my mother chose for me: the person who is an integral part of answering all of these questions. Growing up, I was always aware of the sacrifices that Ma made for me. After leaving behind everything familiar in Bangladesh, she embarked on a new life here with a dream for a better future for both of us. Despite the challenges of being an immigrant and raising a child alone, Ma remained steadfast in her belief that education was the key to success. She often shared stories with me about her time at the University of Dhaka, where she had to travel across Bangladesh to attend. She would tell me tales of how she would often miss her family, since she left behind her village life to seek better education in the city. She showed me old photos of her with friends, the pride in her eyes reflecting the immense value she placed on her education. I remember being captivated by these stories, not just by the adventure of her travels but by the way her eyes would light up when she spoke about learning. This instilled in me a deep appreciation for the opportunities I had, knowing that my mother had worked so hard for me to have access to an education. As I grew older, Ma always encouraged me to explore different career paths, never pressuring me into one specific area. Her open-mindedness allowed me to understand that my passions were mine to discover. In high school, I developed a strong interest in helping others, especially those who were marginalized or facing unfair systems. I became drawn to the idea of law because I saw it as a way to advocate for those who couldn't always advocate for themselves, and I decided to work towards becoming a lawyer, with the goal of becoming an advocate for those who face barriers—just as my mother had done for me throughout my life. I entered college earlier this Fall, and since then, I have taken on two part-time jobs while balancing a full academic load. I do this not just out of necessity, but because I want to lessen the financial burden on my mother. I have also been working on my poetry, writing in my spare time, and submitting it to journals and magazines to earn extra money. Ma always taught me to be self-sufficient and to find ways to stand on my own two feet, and that’s exactly what I strive to do. Though I know that Ma would help me out more if I asked, I try to pay for my college tuition on my own, so she doesn’t have to dip into her savings. Beyond my academic and work commitments, I’ve taken up leadership roles in campus clubs and volunteer opportunities in my community. Ma taught me that giving back was just as important as pursuing personal success. Whether it’s organizing events or helping out at local shelters, I try to make a difference where I can. I believe that my time and energy are most meaningful when shared with others, and that the community that nurtures us should be nurtured in return. Through all of these experiences, my mother’s lessons have guided me every step of the way. Her resilience, her unwavering belief in the value of education, and her constant example of hard work and dedication have shaped who I am today. She is the reason I am pursuing my dreams, and it is because of her that I continue to strive to be the best version of myself.

The gut-wrenching feeling of getting into my seat on the plane, and preparing to leave my family behind after a summer visit to Bangladesh, is one I will never forget. As the flight attendants began to take their seats and my heart sank, I had to turn off the FaceTime call with my 7-year-old cousin, who looked at me with confusion and sadness in her eyes. She asked me, “Why don’t you stay with us? I don’t want you to leave.” I couldn’t promise when I’d be able to return, and all I could do was say goodbye and hope that the barriers standing between our family would one day crumble. For as long as I can remember, my mother and I have navigated the heart-wrenching process of trying to bring my family to the United States. After ending every phone call with my grandma, I felt empty. Looking to the audience at every event at school and wishing my aunts and uncles would be next to my mother, but those seats were empty. Months hoping that there would be an email from the USCIS soon, but our inboxes? Empty. The immigration system, with its complicated laws and seemingly endless paperwork, became an obstacle that I saw as both personal and systemic. The years of paperwork and waiting created a deep frustration, but it also fueled my desire to make a tangible difference in the lives of families like mine—families who are separated by borders but connected by love. I’ve seen firsthand the toll that the immigration process takes on individuals and families, both emotionally and financially. These experiences have shaped my aspiration to become an immigration lawyer. I want to use the power of the law to advocate for people facing the same barriers I encountered—those who are caught in the web of bureaucracy and struggling to reunite with their loved ones. I want to help create more accessible paths for families to be together, and I believe that as an immigration lawyer, I will be able to guide them through the legal maze, offering support and hope. In the future, I want to work with organizations and firms that focus on immigrant rights and provide affordable legal services to families who are trying to reunite. I also aspire to work on policy reform to make the immigration system more equitable and accessible to those who need it most. I want to be a voice for those who are voiceless in the legal system, and by doing so, I hope to help build a society where people aren’t defined by their immigration status, but by their dreams, resilience, and humanity. This is my ultimate goal—to be an advocate for the millions of families seeking to be together, as I have always wished to be with mine, and make every home a little less empty.

When I was two years old, my parents and I immigrated to the United States from Bangladesh, but my family’s journey extended beyond just the plane ride to New York. While I was too young to understand the complexities of an immigrant life, I grew up witnessing my parents’ resilience, which ultimately molded my beliefs and the person that I have become today. I am pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Psychology to fulfill my desire to understand the challenges that people face, specifically immigrants, like myself and my parents. With this foundation in Psychology, I plan to attend law school to become an immigration attorney and help individuals and families overcome obstacles as they search for new beginnings. My connection to this field began with seemingly simple moments of hope. When I was younger, my dad and I would fill out lottery tickets at the dining table, picking numbers carefully and imagining what life might look like if we won. Though we never did, those moments weren’t about luck, but about possibility: the idea that small actions could lead to something life-changing. For new immigrants, the stakes are much higher; their journey isn’t just about dreaming of better days—it’s about fighting for them. In addition to my family’s experiences, I was raised in a close-knit Bangladeshi immigrant community and was allowed to observe first-hand how mental health challenges often went unspoken. Stress, anxiety, and cultural disorientation were common in almost every family but rarely addressed. My studies in Psychology will allow me to approach legal advocacy with a broader perspective, ensuring I see my future clients as human beings with multifaceted stories, not just case files. I will do more than navigate legal processes; I will advocate for people at the heart of every case. Whether I am working to reunite families, support asylum seekers, or offer a voice to those struggling in silence, I want to help immigrants find stability and opportunity. I also plan to extend my impact beyond the courtroom through pro-bono work to educate immigrants about their rights and create partnerships with organizations to develop mental health resources for immigrant families. For me, my college and career choice is deeply personal. It is about honoring my family’s resilience and ensuring that others, too, have the chance to dream big and succeed. My degree in psychology and future in law will empower me to address both the emotional and legal challenges immigrants face, bridging the gap between policy and humanity. Just like the lottery tickets my dad and I used to fill out, the idea of hope drives me—but this time, it is a hope rooted in action. I want to ensure that every immigrant who bets on a new beginning has the resources, guidance, and support to succeed. This is not just a career path; it is a way to give back to my community and create a legacy of advocacy and opportunity for generations to come.

2 summers ago, I sat beneath the stars in my mother’s rural hometown of Panchagarh, Bangladesh. It was incredible: real stars in the sky. The only visible stars that we have in New York City are the ones used for Christmas decorations across Times Square in the winter. Yes, I grew up hearing about the importance of sustainability efforts, but to emphasize and to sympathize are two separate emotions — something I learned in that starry-eyed moment. Returning to New York later that summer, I became more intentional about reducing my environmental impact and encouraging others to do the same. Living in a bustling city poses challenges to sustainable living, but it also offers opportunities for creative solutions. Every morning, I rely on the subway to get to school and work, instead of driving, to try my best to do my part to cut down emissions by using an electric form of public transportation. At home, I recycle vigilantly, use energy-efficient appliances whenever possible, donate my clothing to “Pick Purple” every 6 months, and urge my family to do the same. One instance is during the autumn when the weather tends to be cold enough to have us shivering in our house, but the temperature is too warm for the heating to be turned on. A way that my mom would cope with this situation was to use an electric heater or turn on the gas stoves for warmth, but we have begun to use candles and layer our clothing instead. It can be tough at times to sacrifice efficiency, but I’ve familiarized myself with the idea that this is our mandatory duty. If we don’t look out for the environment, then who else will? I recently started at Fordham University and began to apply my sustainable habits at school too. For the past semester, I have been interning at the Office of Sustainability and actively working to implement policies that promote environmental responsibility on campus. I may not be consistently picking up trash or planting new trees around campus, but I have been researching methods for Fordham to increase its overall sustainability ratings on a tracking system called AASHE and increase our contribution to sustainability research as well. In high school, I also made environmental efforts within my community. As the vice president of my high school’s Model United Nations chapter, I convinced my fellow board members to initiate an Earth Month (because the Earth deserves more than just a day), where the club members built a hydroponic system to grow plants and vegetables. At the end of the month, 60 volunteer students joined our Beautification Project, where we cleaned up the school’s yard to build a garden instead. Despite my graduation, these are traditions that remain at my school, and I truly hope that my bigger environmental efforts will act as a cornerstone for future generations in the same manner. I believe reducing our carbon footprint is not just about individual actions but also about fostering a culture of accountability and change. These actions are driven by my belief that the health of our planet directly affects the well-being of every individual and community. Climate change disproportionately impacts marginalized populations, and by reducing my carbon footprint, I wish to contribute to a more equitable and sustainable future. The stars in Panchagarh taught me a valuable lesson: our planet’s beauty is a shared gift that deserves our respect and protection. By embracing sustainable practices in my daily life and encouraging others to do the same, I am trying to honor that gift and inspire positive change for future generations.

My mom scrolled down to a Facebook post about a Bangladeshi-Canadian family arguing against educating their child in an in-person elementary school because he would cry when it was time to go to school. The comments were filled with Bangladeshis agreeing, and angrily, my mom turned off her phone and asked me how I could explain to these families about the importance of education from a psychological viewpoint. As she continued ranting to me, I realized that people in our society—both back in Bangladesh and the Bangladeshis that live in America along with us—do not take psychology or mental health as seriously as they should. Luckily, I am a Psychology major in my first year of college; this was something that I could help tackle. Even outside Bangladesh, mental health is severely neglected around the world. The stigma, misunderstanding, and lack of access to resources for better mental health all act as barriers that daily touch people's lives. But it really grows when one is in the community like mine, where cultural values make the discussion about mental health so hard to bring in openly. They tell the depressed or anxious young person that these are only temporary conditions, which can be "fixed" by working harder, ignoring the problem, or praying. Unfortunately, these cultural barriers prevent people from getting help when they need it and only serve to exacerbate the very problems they are trying to deal with. Having gone through struggles with my mental health, I can personally speak to the importance that empathy, understanding, and proper resources play in well-being. I saw many of my friends silently suffering during my middle school and high school days because they feared discussing their issues with anyone. Experiences like these motivated me to take up psychology in college with a goal of breaking down the stigma surrounding mental health and increasing access to resources in communities where these conversations are generally not held. Aside from my academic goals, I have recently started a podcast in an attempt to destigmatize non-STEM career paths in Asian communities—careers in the humanities and social sciences, including psychology. By interviewing and having discussions with Asian immigrants and children of immigrants, my podcast tries to explain that following one's passion in any field, including mental health advocacy, is not only valid but also necessary in building a more inclusive society. The Kayla Nicole Monk Memorial Scholarship will enable me to do just that: continue the work with the resources I need to excel academically and build the foundation for a career focused on making a difference in mental health. Moreover, it will allow me to have the opportunity to further my education in psychology, provide support for my studies, and allow me to continue to find a voice in mental health awareness and advocacy. As a pre-law student committed to building a career in which I will drive mental health policy and reform, I am determined to make a tangible difference within my community and beyond. With a deeper understanding of human behavior and psychological dynamics, informed by my background in law, I hope to be able to tackle barriers—both systemic and cultural—that dissuade people from seeking help for their mental health. I am so grateful for the chance to apply to the Kayla Nicole Monk Memorial Scholarship and have no doubt that you will support me in reaching closer to making that vision a reality and helping those in silence find their voices.

I heaved the bucket of laundry that I had just hand-washed up the stairs to our sunlit attic so the clothes could air-dry, my hands bright red and pruney. There was no way my mom and I had worn 80 pounds worth of clothes in the past week, but that’s what it felt like carrying that load. I finally understood why doing laundry was my mom’s most dreaded chore, but I couldn’t stop now. I could hear Ma simmering a pot of curry in the kitchen, humming a tune, and doing a thousand other jobs at the same time; I couldn’t possibly put this burden on her too. After all, I had to take my dad’s place, just as he asked me to. Baba never asked me to do anything for him, but ten days before his passing, he told me, “Take care of your Ma.” As a 15-year-old, it sounded backward for someone to tell a daughter to look after their mother, especially their dad. I was barely old enough to have my driver’s permit, how would I know how to tend to my mom and do whatever it was that adults did? I was terrified. My parents never asked me to take responsibility in our household, and I didn’t think I was capable of adopting such a major role. Yet, I knew Ma would need me, and it was my dad’s last and only request of me, so I planned to honor it. I began with small services: everyday after school, I would run to the front door when my mom came home from work, grab her bags, and surprise her with our shining, spotless house. “How were your students this week?” I would ask her as we oiled each other’s hair every Saturday night, and we’d laugh about the things her preschoolers said during circle time. As I took on more responsibilities, my conversations with my mom evolved from casual small talk to heartfelt discussions. I found myself not only taking care of her but also communicating with her in a way I hadn’t before. However, there were times when my mom’s frustration got the best of her, like when I would forget to water the plants or dust the bookshelves, and she lashed out at me: a reminder of the isolated relationship we had in the past. Before my dad’s diagnosis, Ma and I would occasionally see each other around, despite living together: once in the morning, a few times in the evening, and most frequently when I messed something up and was scolded for it. I gradually developed a fear of disappointing my mom’s expectations, but now, Baba’s words always echo in my head, leaving a newfound sense of bravery in me. Instead of retreating, I sought ways to improve, to be the ideal caregiver and daughter. I couldn’t be afraid. I took note of Ma’s most arduous chores, keeping reminders in my planner to do them before she attempted to. I ran our businesses, made sure my mom was treating her arthritic pain, and washed our laundry, giving Ma plenty of time to watch TV, snore on the couch with her heating pad, and simply breathe. Completing each task was like climbing another stair towards the sunshine of our attic: a step closer to supporting my parents and a step farther away from my self-doubt, despite knowing there would be another challenge when I reached the final destination. I used all my strength to pull the laundry bucket up the final stair and drag it into our sunlit attic where my dad’s old room was. All I had left to do was hang up the clothes to dry: my final challenge. Letting out a heavy sigh, I could hear Ma chuckling at my annoyance from the hallway. I couldn’t help but smile too, as if I were to say, “Look Baba, I’m doing it.”

I've won many awards and intangible academic achievements in my life, but my greatest achievement is learning how to do laundry by hand. I heaved the bucket of laundry that I had just hand-washed up the stairs to our sunlit attic so the clothes could air-dry, my hands bright red and pruney. There was no way my mom and I had worn 80 pounds worth of clothes in the past week, but that’s what it felt like carrying that load. I finally understood why doing laundry was my mom’s most dreaded chore, but I couldn’t stop now. I could hear Ma simmering a pot of curry in the kitchen, humming a tune, and doing a thousand other jobs at the same time; I couldn’t possibly put this burden on her too. After all, I had to take my dad’s place, just as he asked me to. Baba never asked me to do anything for him, but ten days before his passing, he told me, “Take care of your Ma.” As a 15-year-old, it sounded backward for someone to tell a daughter to look after their mother, especially their dad. I was barely old enough to have my driver’s permit, how would I know how to tend to my mom and do whatever it was that adults did? I was terrified. My parents never asked me to take responsibility in our household, and I didn’t think I was capable of adopting such a major role. Yet, I knew Ma would need me, and it was my dad’s last and only request of me, so I planned to honor it. I began with small services: everyday after school, I would run to the front door when my mom came home from work, grab her bags, and surprise her with our shining, spotless house. “How were your students this week?” I would ask her as we oiled each other’s hair every Saturday night, and we’d laugh about the things her preschoolers said during circle time. As I took on more responsibilities, my conversations with my mom evolved from casual small talk to heartfelt discussions. I found myself not only taking care of her but also communicating with her in a way I hadn’t before. However, there were times when my mom’s frustration got the best of her, like when I would forget to water the plants or dust the bookshelves, and she lashed out at me: a reminder of the isolated relationship we had in the past. Before my dad’s diagnosis, Ma and I would occasionally see each other around, despite living together: once in the morning, a few times in the evening, and most frequently when I messed something up and was scolded for it. I gradually developed a fear of disappointing my mom’s expectations, but now, Baba’s words always echo in my head, leaving a newfound sense of bravery in me. Instead of retreating, I sought ways to improve, to be the ideal caregiver and daughter. I couldn’t be afraid. I took note of Ma’s most arduous chores, keeping reminders in my planner to do them before she attempted to. I ran our businesses, made sure my mom was treating her arthritic pain, and washed our laundry, giving Ma plenty of time to watch TV, snore on the couch with her heating pad, and simply breathe. Completing each task was like climbing another stair towards the sunshine of our attic: a step closer to supporting my parents and a step farther away from my self-doubt, despite knowing there would be another challenge when I reached the final destination. I used all my strength to pull the laundry bucket up the final stair and drag it into our sunlit attic where my dad’s old room was. All I had left to do was hang up the clothes to dry: my final challenge. On my way up the stairs, I learned that I was capable of adapting to change, no matter how difficult it may be. For every time that I need to do laundry again in the future, I hope that I keep that resilience and even try to help others wash their laundry too along the way. Letting out a heavy sigh, I could hear Ma chuckling at my annoyance from the hallway. I couldn’t help but smile too, as if I were to say, “Look Baba, I’m doing it.”

Question 1: I plan to begin law school in Fall 2028 after graduating with my Bachelor's Degree at my current institution. Question 2: One morning, Ma and I discovered a tenancy termination notice on our door, issued by our landlord without any valid reason. As a single mother, my mom was overwhelmed and uncertain about how to respond. My pursuit of learning and intellectual growth often takes place outside the classroom, through firsthand experiences that challenge and broaden my understanding of the world. I knew we couldn't let this go unchallenged, so I took it upon myself to research the relevant laws and legislation. Diving into tenant rights and landlord obligations, I spent hours reading through legal documents, case studies, and online resources. I also sought advice from legal forums and connected with tenant advocacy groups for guidance. Equipped with this newfound knowledge, I helped my mother draft a response to the landlord, outlining the legal violations and demanding a fair resolution. Our efforts paid off when the landlord retracted the notice and acknowledged his mistake. This experience not only solidified my interest in law but also highlighted the importance of understanding and defending one's rights. Through this ordeal, I realized that the law is not just an abstract concept but a powerful tool for justice and protection. It inspired me to pursue a legal career, with the hope of helping others navigate similar challenges and advocating for those who might not have the resources or knowledge to defend themselves and shaped my legal aspirations by instilling a deep commitment to justice, fairness, and the empowerment of vulnerable communities like my own. Question 3: My gym teacher called me aside for interrogation; I walked out of the weight room, my heart pounding. “Is there anyone in your group who isn’t following the class directions?” he questioned. By that, he actually meant, "Is there anyone who isn't working out properly and are you defending them?" I could feel him sensing the hesitation on my face as he informed me that he already knew the answer, but simply needed a confirmation from me. Did being a good leader mean I had to be a bad person? I didn’t want to be dishonest, but I also wasn’t planning to lose any friends and come off as a snitch. What a classic: the trolley problem. For now, I told him that I wasn't sure, and that from what I knew, everyone was trying their best, and that was the whole truth. But clearly, I had an evident need for improvement in leading, so I entered the next semester with complete genuinity; battling through my peers’ arguments of “just write that I did three sets of squats!” but also consoling their pleads of “my stomach hurts, maybe not today,” and gradually, they adjusted to the reasonable customs I had implemented. Instead of sacrificing, I discovered how to eliminate the trolley altogether by balancing integrity and compassion in my leadership, keeping my teacher, my friends, and myself at ease. Question 4: If I had the resources to create a philanthropic initiative, I would establish a foundation dedicated to supporting education and empowerment for underprivileged youth in my motherland of Bangladesh. My experiences and beliefs have always been rooted in the desire to uplift and improve the lives of others, and I believe education is the most powerful tool for achieving this. Growing up, whenever I visited home during my summer vacations, I witnessed firsthand the struggles faced by children in Bangladesh, many of whom lack access to quality education and resources. This gap in opportunities perpetuates the cycle of poverty and limits their amazing potential. I realized that so many of these children could have grown to have a bright future, just like myself, but was limited in their opportunities simply because of their situation. My foundation would focus on providing scholarships, educational materials, and mentorship programs to ensure that every child has the chance to succeed, regardless of their socioeconomic background. This cause is deeply personal to me, as it involves my community and aligns with my work with the Prakton Bondhon Foundation, as well as my broader goal of contributing to the betterment of the world. By investing in the education and empowerment of underprivileged youth, I would hope to break down barriers and create opportunities for a brighter, more equitable future for all.

As a prospective law student, I plan to use my education to advocate for criminal justice reform, focusing on making the system more equitable for minorities and transforming prisons into centers for rehabilitation rather than punishment. One of my primary goals is to address the racial biases that permeate every level of the criminal justice system. From policing to sentencing, minorities are disproportionately affected. I intend to work towards policy reforms that mandate bias training for law enforcement and promote the use of body cameras to increase transparency and accountability. By collaborating with organizations dedicated to criminal justice reform, I aim to push for legislation that eliminates discriminatory practices and ensures equal treatment under the law. Moreover, I am passionate about transforming the prison system. Prisons should not merely be institutions of punishment but places where individuals have the opportunity to rehabilitate and reintegrate into society. This belief stems from the understanding that many incarcerated individuals, particularly from minority communities, come from backgrounds of poverty and limited access to education and resources. Rehabilitation can break the cycle of recidivism and offer a second chance. To achieve this, I plan to advocate for programs that provide educational and vocational training to inmates. By equipping them with skills and knowledge, we can help them secure employment upon release, reducing the likelihood of reoffending. I also support mental health and substance abuse programs within prisons, recognizing that many individuals turn to crime as a result of untreated issues. Addressing these root causes is essential for effective rehabilitation. My commitment to these causes is unwavering, and I am preparing myself to be an effective advocate through my studies and extracurricular involvement. Participating in moot court, interning with public defenders, and volunteering with organizations focused on prison reform are all steps I am taking to build the skills and knowledge needed to drive change. Through these experiences, I am learning the intricacies of the law and how to navigate the complexities of the legal system to effect meaningful reform. My vision is a criminal justice system that is fair and just for all, where minorities are no longer disproportionately targeted, and prisons serve as places of healing and growth. By leveraging my education in law, I am dedicated to transforming this vision into reality. I strive to be a beacon of hope for those who have been marginalized and to honor the principles of justice and equality that our society is founded upon. This is my promise to myself and to all those who have suffered under an unjust system: to fight relentlessly for a fairer, more compassionate world.

I heaved the bucket of laundry that I had just hand-washed up the stairs to our sunlit attic so the clothes could air-dry, my hands bright red and pruney. There was no way my mom and I had worn 80 pounds worth of clothes in the past week, but that’s what it felt like carrying that load. I finally understood why doing laundry was my mom’s most dreaded chore, but I couldn’t stop now. I could hear Ma simmering a pot of curry in the kitchen, humming a tune, and doing a thousand other jobs at the same time; I couldn’t possibly put this burden on her too. After all, I had to take my dad’s place, just as he asked me to. Baba never asked me to do anything for him, but ten days before his passing, he told me, “Take care of your Ma.” As a 15-year-old, it sounded backward for someone to tell a daughter to look after their mother, especially their dad. I was barely old enough to have my driver’s permit, how would I know how to tend to my mom and do whatever it was that adults did? I was terrified. My parents never asked me to take responsibility in our household, and I didn’t think I was capable of adopting such a major role. Yet, I knew Ma would need me, and it was my dad’s last and only request of me, so I planned to honor it. I began with small services: everyday after school, I would run to the front door when my mom came home from work, grab her bags, and surprise her with our shining, spotless house. “How were your students this week?” I would ask her as we oiled each other’s hair every Saturday night, and we’d laugh about the things her preschoolers said during circle time. As I took on more responsibilities, my conversations with my mom evolved from casual small talk to heartfelt discussions. I found myself not only taking care of her but also communicating with her in a way I hadn’t before. However, there were times when my mom’s frustration got the best of her, like when I would forget to water the plants or dust the bookshelves, and she lashed out at me: a reminder of the isolated relationship we had in the past. I gradually developed a fear of disappointing my mom’s expectations, but now, Baba’s words always echo in my head, leaving a newfound sense of bravery in me. Instead of retreating, I sought ways to improve, to be the ideal caregiver and daughter. I couldn’t be afraid. I took note of Ma’s most arduous chores, keeping reminders in my planner to do them before she attempted to. I ran our businesses, made sure my mom was treating her arthritic pain, and washed our laundry, giving Ma plenty of time to simply breathe. Completing each task was like climbing another stair towards the sunshine of our attic: a step closer to supporting my parents and a step farther away from my self-doubt, despite knowing there would be another challenge when I reached the final destination. I used all my strength to pull the laundry bucket up the final stair and drag it into our sunlit attic where my dad’s old room was. All I had left to do was hang up the clothes to dry: my final challenge. Letting out a heavy sigh, I could hear Ma chuckling at my annoyance from the hallway. I couldn’t help but smile too, as if I were to say, “Look Baba, I’m doing it.”

I stood in the kitchen, my hands covered in flour and sugar, as the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air. Baking became my solace during my darkest moments, a therapeutic escape from the overwhelming weight of depression. Once, it felt like I was drowning in an endless sea, but with each batch of buttercream, I found a way to float above the waves. My struggles with mental health began in early adolescence, manifesting as an all-consuming sadness and anxiety that made even the simplest tasks seem difficult. Traditional methods of coping, like talking to friends or therapy, provided some relief, but it wasn't until I stumbled upon baking that I discovered a true outlet. The precision of measuring ingredients, the rhythmic motion of piping frosting on my cakes, and the satisfaction of seeing a creation come to life gave me a sense of control and accomplishment that I desperately needed. Baking wasn't just a hobby; it became my lifeline. As I spent more time in the kitchen, my skills improved, and so did my mental state. I began experimenting with new recipes, finding joy in the process of trial and error. The act of creating something tangible, something that brought happiness to others, was incredibly fulfilling. It was during this period that I decided to share my baked goods with friends and family, who encouraged me to take my passion further. At fifteen years old, I took a leap of faith and started my own small baking business. It was a daunting endeavor, but my experience with mental health had taught me resilience and perseverance. I learned to navigate the challenges of entrepreneurship, from managing finances to marketing my products, all while balancing school and personal life. Each hurdle I overcame reinforced my belief that I was capable of achieving my dreams, no matter how daunting they seemed. Running a business at such a young age instilled in me a profound sense of responsibility and independence. I realized that my struggles with mental health had equipped me with unique skills that were invaluable in the world of entrepreneurship. The empathy I developed through my own experiences allowed me to connect with my customers on a deeper level, understanding their needs and desires. This connection fostered a loyal customer base and helped my business thrive. My journey with mental health and baking has profoundly influenced my beliefs and career aspirations. I am passionate about advocating for mental health awareness and support, especially among young people. I aim to use my platform as a young entrepreneur to promote the importance of finding healthy outlets for coping with mental health challenges. My dream is to expand my baking business into a larger enterprise that not only offers delicious treats but also provides resources and support for those struggling with mental health issues. My experience with depression and baking has taught me that out of darkness, light can emerge. It has shaped me into a resilient, empathetic individual with a deep commitment to helping others. As I move forward in my entrepreneurial journey, I carry the lessons learned from my struggles, using them to inspire and uplift those around me.

A pandemic is usually never on someone’s mind. It is probably one of the last events a person would expect to experience, which is why it was no surprise that it came to a shock to all of us once we were unexpectedly placed into one. There were clearly many unfortunate outcomes from the pandemic, such as the large number of deaths and the grieving of loved ones and we can never forget about the ones who lost their lives and suffered from the coronavirus, but it was also a positive opportunity for some of us. The pandemic has affected my life and aspirations in many positive ways. For example, it has given me a much-needed temporary pause in my life. Before the pandemic, in late 2019 and early 2020, I was starting to feel overwhelmed. I felt that everything in my life was happening faster than usual and all at once, there were events in my personal life that were causing my mental health to plummet and my grades were dropping. I needed a break from everything, but I obviously could not just stop my daily life and my usual duties, but the COVID pandemic came just in time to give me a minute to exhale. Clearly, the pandemic was new to all of us, so remote learning was not as difficult and tedious as school was in-person, which gave me an opportunity to catch up with my grades without feeling tireless and overwhelmed. It also let me have more time to practice other hobbies, such as guitar. I have been looking forward to attending a guitar class for a while, but never had the time or the motivation to actually make it happen until the pandemic. Additionally, I became more artistic and completed minor projects to fill up my spare time and developed healthier habits, such as a self-care routine and a habit to try and workout almost everyday. Without the pandemic giving me the necessary leisure time, I most likely would not have began a healthier lifestyle and would have to delay the hobbies I wanted to occupy myself with. The pandemic also helped me learn some lessons, both about life and about the pandemic itself. Ever since we had gone into quarantine, the media and every outlet that we were surrounded by would discuss basic facts about the pandemic and different ways to stay safe and healthy. Evidently, this gave me a good amount of knowledge that I was not aware of before, especially because we do not talk about pandemics in our daily lives. Some lessons that I have learned about life is that it is okay to slow down sometimes. As I mentioned before, this pandemic gave me an opportunity to take my life slower than usual but still end up getting the essential things done. Some activities that I used to find entertaining would become boring over time, since I would have so much free time, but this opened up more hobbies and productive opportunities for me for life even beyond this pandemic. For instance, before the pandemic, I would probably spend a long period of time watching TV in my spare time, which is not healthy. Now, I might make an art project instead and cut some of my TV-watching time. In conclusion, this pandemic was more than a rare encounter, but an opportunity for me to be a better version of myself. I was able to take a temporary break to aid to my mental health and learn some helpful and productive hobbies and lifestyles along the way.

Mental health is an essential part of our lives, whether or not we believe it is. It has a huge influence on our beliefs, relationships with people, and career aspirations and staying mentally healthy is just as important as staying physically healthy, especially with today’s current events. During this COVID-19 crisis, most people were not ready to isolate themselves from their loved ones and social distance without knowing how long the pandemic would endure. I was one of those people. Even before the pandemic, I had struggled with my mental health and used to cope with my problems in an unhealthy way. Many of my friends were also struggling as we grew older, but fortunately, we grew up in a supportive environment filled with resources to help us improve our mental health. The best option for me when I had trouble was to talk to someone about what was going on in my life and how I was feeling. Usually I would talk to my friends, since I spent most of my time with them and they were the easiest to talk to, but once we were quarantined due to the pandemic, I was not able to contact my friends as much or even see them. Thankfully, I found healthy ways to cope even without having to discuss my problems with anyone, but my mental health journey has definitely affected some of the decisions I make. My experience with mental health has significantly impacted my decisions on what relationships I choose to be in, my career aspirations, and some of my beliefs. Before, I would not be too critical when it came to who I surrounded myself with. If they treated people well in general, I would not have a problem with becoming close with them, but now, I focus more on developing relationships that are not toxic towards me or my mental health. Over time, I have deciphered which kind of personalities I should try to avoid and who I should try to be in a strong relationship with. I tend to avoid personalities that involve manipulating, narcissism, and any other toxic traits that would be a negative influence towards me. When I was younger, I was always confused and indecisive on what career path I should choose, but after my mental health experiences, I decided that I want to look into psychology. I want to become a psychiatrist due to my own difficulties when it comes to coping with mental health and to help others with their mental health journeys as well. I believe that since I have traveled the road of using unhealthy coping mechanisms and improved, I can further support my patients through my personal anecdotes and help them acknowledge that not knowing how to cope with their problems in a healthy manner is normal at first and that there are always better solutions and room for improvement. Not many of my beliefs have changed through the influence of my mental health experiences, but some aspects of my mindset have changed substantially. For example, I have learned to always look on the better side of every event and to try and be more optimistic. Every decision we make will always have a positive and negative consequence, whether or not the positive outweighs the negative or vice versa, there is always something to look forward to. Also, I have realized that every event in life eventually passes or becomes better, so there is no need to stress over minor things. In conclusion, my experience with mental health has greatly influenced my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations. I have learned some lessons when it comes to how to cope with my problems healthily and to try to stay more positive. I have also learned to be more careful with the relationships I form with people and my mental health journey has inspired me to become a psychiatrist to help others who have been struggling with their mental health as well.