Being raised in a single-parent household, I never felt like anything was missing. My mother effortlessly embraced the roles of both father and mother, balancing her nurturing qualities with the strength and perseverance needed to provide for our family. Her faith and resilience have been a constant source of inspiration in my life. As a single parent supporting three children in college, my mother has made countless sacrifices to ensure we have opportunities she never had. Even during our toughest moments, she taught us to rely on God, reminding us that He would deliver us from any situation. These lessons of faith and perseverance have carried me through the most challenging times. There were many instances when the only time we would see her was at night for prayers, as she worked tirelessly to provide for us. Despite her demanding schedule, she remained firm in her belief that our education was the key to a better future. She was adamant that we focus on our studies in high school, shielding us from the financial burdens she shouldered so we could pursue our dreams. I am deeply grateful for the morals and values she instilled in me; faith, hard work, and compassion which guide me every day. However, I am aware of the challenges we face. Financial instability has been a constant companion, and the fear of being unable to continue my education due to lack of funds is always present. However, time and time again, the Lord has delivered us, and this gives me the strength to keep moving forward. In my community, single-parent households are heartbreakingly common. It pains me to see so many children struggling under similar or even worse circumstances. This drives my determination to work hard and succeed not just for myself but for others like me. I dream of giving back to my community through donations, building libraries, and sponsoring scholarships, inspired by donors like those on this platform. I want to provide others with a sense of stability and relief that can make all the difference, even if only for a moment. I love volunteering and helping in any way I can. I currently serve as the Health Initiative Coordinator for the American Red Cross at Binghamton University, where I organize volunteer efforts at the Johnson Senior Center to provide health and wellness presentations. I enjoy the bingo and Jeopardy games we play afterward and have made great friends there. Recently, I volunteered at an elementary school’s Harvest Dinner, where serving food and sharing in laughter reinforced my desire to bring joy to others through service. With God on my side and my mother’s sacrifices in my heart, I will honor her and uplift others, creating a brighter future for all.

Hello, My name is William Aninakwa. I am a first-generation student from Ghana, and I came to the United States five years ago to join my family and pursue my education. I am currently a senior at Binghamton University, majoring in Neuroscience. As the oldest of three siblings in a single-parent household, I strive to excel in every task assigned to me, setting an example for not just my younger siblings but also for my cousins in Ghana, my grandparents who raised me, and the relatives and friends who support and pray for my well being from afar. Growing up, I was deeply influenced by my grandmother, a seamstress in Ghana, whose acts of kindness and hospitality shaped my values. She would often sew clothes for neighbors without expecting anything in return. In the early mornings, she would sweep around our house and extend her efforts to the front yards of our neighbors if she could. I remember crying whenever I saw her cry, and I would help her sweep the yard in the evenings. Watching her selfless actions left an indelible mark on me. These moments taught me the peace and fulfillment that comes from serving others. My first job in the United States was as a cashier. Before starting, I had heard stories about the physical and mental toll such jobs could take, but I approached it with an open mind and no expectations. I quickly discovered how demanding it was, long hours of standing left my feet sore and my back aching. Yet, what kept me motivated was the opportunity to interact with customers, especially the elderly. Their advice, shared during brief conversations, and their satisfaction with my service gave me a sense of purpose. Some even tried to tip me, despite store policies against it, as a token of their appreciation. These interactions became the highlight of my job, driving me to show up every day. One particular incident stands out. While assigned as a self-checkout assistant, a role I was unfamiliar with at the time, I noticed an elderly woman struggling to carry heavy crates of bottles into the store. I looked around for an available associate to assist her but found none, as most were busy stocking items in the back. Unable to watch her struggle, I decided to help. Leaving my post, I ran to her side and said, "Let me help you." I carried her crates into the store and escorted her to the sales associate's desk to exchange the bottles. As we entered, one of the managers observed us. Afterward, he pulled me aside and explained that I was not supposed to leave my post due to concerns about theft. I apologized, explaining that I was unaware of the rule. At that moment, considerations about theft or consequences had not crossed my mind, my only thought was to help someone in need. The woman, smiling and grateful, thanked me as she left the store with her now empty crates. Moments like these, remind me of the healing power of kindness, not just for others but for myself as well. Although cashiering is physically demanding, the joy of bringing even a small measure of happiness to a customer's life outweighs the challenges. For this reason, I remain eager to help others, whether through retail or in any other capacity where I can make a difference.

I am a first-generation student who came from Ghana to the United States five years ago to join my family and pursue my education. My mother, a single parent supporting three children in college, has sacrificed constantly for us. I am the oldest of the three, and I do not take that responsibility lightly. I always strive to do my best with any task assigned, as I aim to set an example for everyone. By everyone, I mean myself, my younger siblings, my cousins still in Ghana, my grandparents who raised me, and all the relatives and friends who continue to support and pray for my well-being while I am here. I developed an interest in neuroscience after watching a movie about Dr. Ben Carson, a neurosurgeon whose life story resonated with me. His humble beginnings and accomplishments inspired me to pursue neuroscience, a field where I’ve excelled. Now a senior at Binghamton University, I am majoring in neuroscience and following the pre-med track. Through hard work and God’s grace, I’ve made meaningful strides toward fulfilling medical school requirements while pursuing my passion. In the Chapman Lab, I study age and hypertension-induced hippocampal vascular dysfunction and its impact on learning and memory. My work includes behavioral experiments like the Morris water maze to assess spatial memory in rats and manage tasks such as rat tail banding and weighing procedures. I have always cared for people, and I have a special place in my heart for the elderly, whom I view as very wise. Since childhood, I’ve felt deeply connected to their well-being, from crying whenever I saw my grandmother in pain to helping elderly strangers cross the street, even when they might not have needed assistance. Joining the American Red Cross at Binghamton University allowed me to extend this care to more people while accruing volunteering hours. I currently serve as the Health Initiative Coordinator where I organize volunteer efforts at the Johnson Senior Center to provide health and wellness presentations. I enjoy the bingo and Jeopardy games we play afterward and have made great friends there. Recently, I volunteered at an elementary school’s Harvest Dinner, where serving food and sharing in laughter reinforced my desire to bring joy to others through service. This summer, I was blessed to serve as an intern for an internal medicine specialist, where I gained shadowing experience. I learned so much from my doctor and the advice shared by his patients not only enriched my understanding of medicine but also strengthened my relationship with God. I will always be grateful for these moments of wisdom and growth. No matter the financial burdens my family has faced, God has delivered us time and again. My family recently faced the possibility of eviction and is relocating to Long Island. My brother, unable to secure a loan for college, had to drop out, and my sister’s dream of boarding was compromised for similar reasons. My mother suggested transferring to a local community college in my senior year, but I know I cannot give up. I remain motivated to find ways to fund my education and even more so for my MCAT preparation. I am applying for scholarships and pursuing a CNA position to care for people while saving for my future. Funds from the Charles Cheeseman Student Debt Reduction Scholarship will ease my family’s financial burden, keep me in school for my last semester, and keep me focused on MCAT preparation. I know the road ahead won’t be easy, but I’m determined to continue moving forward with faith that things will eventually fall into place.

One of the most impactful moments of kindness I’ve shown took place while volunteering with my Red Cross club at the Johnson City Senior Center, where we presented on mindfulness. I was very excited that day. I set up our presentation at the beginning and laid all the prizes on the table for the bingo game we had planned after our presentation. I then introduced myself to all the elders who showed up. I sat beside Ms. Marianne, a lively woman in a white linen shirt, khaki pants, and a beautiful string of red beads. I loved her outfit and complimented her and we immediately became friends as we played bingo and bonded over topics like family and faith. When Ms. Marianne won her first round of bingo, she asked which prize to choose, and I suggested a yellow journal that complemented the red beads she had around her neck. She smiled, mentioning her love for journaling, and from that point on, our friendship blossomed. I enjoyed our conversation and after the activity, she asked for my name and address. A few weeks later I received a handwritten letter from her. I opened the letter and an article fell out along with a small piece of paper decorated with stickers and threads knitted onto them. I could tell she hand-knit the threading herself and was filled with awe. I was impressed, she had attached the article she mentioned she had read, about African artists preserving their dialects through songs and poems, something we discussed after she learned about my heritage. The letter she wrote was very sweet, she mentioned how speaking to her made her day, and she encouraged me to work hard no matter the circumstances, and to always be kind. She ended it off with “Remember God in all you do” which I will never forget because in our conversation she mentioned she was Buddhist and we had conversed about our respective values and beliefs as I was Christian. I found her story of how she became Buddhist interesting and I noticed how similar our values were. I wrote back to her a week after I received her mail, thanking her for putting me into remembrance. Two weeks after sending my letter to Miss Marianne I still had not received a letter back. I wondered if she got my letter. I thought she might have accidentally thrown it out with her unimportant mail. A month later, I volunteered again at the senior center, hoping to see Ms. Marianne. As I was setting up the table, I spotted her carefully making her way inside, I eagerly helped her to her seat and put her cane away. She thanked me and I took a seat by her as we waited for more people to show up. I welcomed her and asked how she was doing, she responded she was doing great. I told her I remembered her from the last meeting we had about 2 months ago. She looked puzzled and confused. She sat there a while, and I looked silently as she collected her thoughts. She responded that she enjoyed our service every time but could barely remember anything anymore. Immediately, it hit me Miss Marianne had forgotten who I was and that was why she didn’t write back! She could not remember who she was speaking to at the moment, She didn’t remember my name or any encounter we had. As we spoke, I was reminded of my Grandmother who was struggling with dementia back in Ghana. This encounter, though bittersweet, reignited my determination to pursue neurosurgery. Ms. Marianne may not remember me, but her kindness and strength have left an indelible impact on me. Through these small acts of kindness, whether it was a warm conversation, a thoughtful recommendation, or sharing in the joy of connection, I’ve realized that kindness can be a source of inspiration and purpose. Ms. Marianne reminded me that my goals are not just for myself but for those I serve, including my family and the many people who have touched my life. This experience fuels my ambition to work hard, serve others, and make a difference in the lives of those I encounter.

To say I have never thought of this question on my own would be a lie, however, I am not sure If I can put into words the things that make me happy. Can’t settle on if it’s my family, friends, accomplishments, or just peace. I dream of happiness, I envision myself at the edge of a cliff not to take my life but to appreciate life, I envision myself at this cliff enjoying the wonderful works of nature, with thousands of emotions swooning into every part of my body, uttering the words, So this is happiness. At this cliff, I am alone, free without the burden of responsibility weighing on my shoulders, enjoying the moment and making every second count. The rushing wind blows its currents on my face as if to wash away all my midnight thoughts, the pain and loneliness I try to hide, the emotions and thoughts I suppress and render to the term “cringe”. At this cliff, I can accept that maybe I do need a hug, I see the mountains stuck with immobility, but they express their emotions freely through their trees, they can be very quiet but this time they blow with their radiant colors as if to cheer me up, to assure me its finally over, whispering in my ears you are happy and I agree with them, yes I am. And with that, I smile a genuine smile from the depth of my heart and the still attics of my mind. Reality hits and I realize I am actually smiling, I am happy. Not from my family, friends, food, animals, or accomplishments as people anticipate but from a thought, and I am fine with that.

Growing up I learned that ‘professions such as a surgeon, president, or even chief justice were ‘’big dreams”, or “a child’s talk”. To be constantly told this at 7 years old could leave an indelible mark in one’s memories and thoughts. Being told these things greatly contrasted that which I heard from my parents, who claimed I could achieve anything I set my mind to, with the help of God of course. The demoralizing comments seemed to make more of an impact as I still remember them now. I found myself using these same words “ dream” and “talk” whenever I thought of major careers I could try to pursue. I recall telling one of my high school friends about wanting to be a minister of finance in the United States. These words carried so much weight that he felt it was his place to remove that thought from my head. I do not know if “finance”, “minister”, or “United States” was the word that carried the most weight but he went ahead to dishearten me, even though he was aware I was a citizen in the states. His first words were, “You are black”. Out of all he said, those were what stuck out the most to me. Why did he feel the need to degrade me based on my race? Upon moving to the United States permanently to further my studies I came to understand it was not only children back home who had this thought, but other colored students I encountered seemed to doubt themselves after mentioning whatever career they wanted to be, and by then they had picked out “back up” careers. My curiosity led me into taking a history course, Foundations of America this fall. As I have come to know, the division in labor is also associated with one’s race. The media, books, and web browsers have no hesitation feeding into stereotypes and portraying colored people as criminals. I remember searching for the word “neurosurgeon” after seeing the title page on a biography about Ben Carson. A man who seems to have gained popularity because he was a black neurosurgeon and not primarily because of his talents. Regardless, I searched up this word and was driven to check images of this obscure profession. This page was predominantly white and as for Ben Carson, he was nowhere to be found on there. This narrative has been prevalent throughout history. I am currently pursuing neuroscience and working toward a bachelor’s degree. Whenever my kin hear this they have an immediate reaction as if shocked or surprised and quickly turn to wish me luck and support. I will change this. The African community needs to understand that we can all achieve this success and never doubt it. Change takes time but will definitely happen. From the African club in my high school to the black students union in my college, we are aware of this discrimination but regardless of how many meetings we have with fellow African Americans to spread this awareness our efforts contribute very little. I conclude that for a larger impact we need a prominent voice, one of our own people. I plan to raise several organizations to support and educate underrepresented communities. The media needs to show the struggle and positives of the black community rather than always focusing on the vices. If I have to create a channel for that sole purpose I will. Change takes time and right now I am helping by creating awareness through social media and volunteer work with my peers.

As I focused on the presentation my biology teacher was giving about cells, I could not help but reflect on the parallels between these units of life and myself, my family, and my community. I realized we are just like the red blood cells, the white blood cells, and the platelets. It’s incredible that these units are going through the same processes as me, my family, my community. Red blood cells are produced in the bone marrow. They transport oxygen to all the tissues in the body for carbon dioxide which they transport to the lungs to be eliminated. These red blood cells represent my passion/drive to complete my goals, my hard work, and my perseverance to strive for a better life for my family. I am pumped with the courage to face any challenge. Society reminds me every day that I am not the same as the ‘privileged’ or whites. It is undeniable that society is cruel to people like me. Recent events, such as the case of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery, are solid proof. My skin tone bothers others who are unfortunately in control, and therefore I have to work harder. I am always reminded of where I come from and encouraged to study hard if I want to succeed in a white man’s land. My courage is sometimes beaten down. When I feel there is no hope for me, I blame my skin, my features, thinking they will just change color one day so I finally will not have to deal with the burden of being stigmatized. This is where the white blood cells come in. These cells fight to protect the body against intruders. As a Black man in today’s society, I am like these cells, fighting every day to achieve a common goal: survival. If these cells are fighting for me every day, why then should I give up on my society? I realize I have always been a fighter like these cells. I am a fighter whenever I walk by racists who yell out at me down the street to school; I am a fighter whenever I stand up for myself after being called the n-word; I am a fighter whenever I get perfect scores on tests after having failed countlessly in practice; I am a fighter when I answered the question who do you want to stay with between your divorced parents?, and I am a fighter ready to face any problem life throws at me. Every time I heal from a scar, whether family or personal, platelets responsible for blood clotting are just like me. Regardless of the minor differences between these cells, they come together to perform their functions to keep the body alive, making me wonder, “Why can’t humans put aside their differences and come together to work like these cells?” Whether white, Black, or Latino, we are all one people. Seeing the world turn on people like me, I cannot help but question life, Will I make it?. But no matter what, I want the world to know that I am a fighter. Life is a race, some give up in the middle not because they want to but because they do not have the wherewithal to complete it. Others are able to complete it with great support and advantage like a headstart. And there are also others like me, the ones that persevere regardless of the situation. Like Albert Einstein said, "You never fail unless you stop trying".