At 15, I lost my brother—my role model—who dreamed of becoming a computer engineer but never had the chance to graduate. Soon after, war came to my home in Ukraine. My parents made the hardest decision of our lives: they sent me alone to the United States to save my future. I arrived with grief, no English, no money, and no understanding of the school system. I had lost my brother, my home, my culture—everything familiar. But hardship did not break me. It built me. I chose to grow. I became a strong student and a leader in my community. At my Ukrainian church, I organized a youth group that helps new families adjust—translating, scheduling doctor visits, and guiding students through school. At Indian Land High School, I support classmates academically and socially, especially those facing the same struggles I once did. For over three years, I have been involved with Move For Jenn, where I completed an internship and received a letter of recommendation from the CEO. Through JROTC, I developed discipline and leadership, earning recognition from the Navy for academic excellence. While balancing two jobs, I continue to push forward. My faith in God and my challenges shaped me into someone who serves others. I plan to pursue engineering—not just as a career, but as a way to give back and make a difference. My story proves that hardship can either stop you or strengthen you. I chose strength—and I help others do the same.

A few years before the war in Ukraine began, my family experienced a tragedy that changed my life forever. My older brother, Igor, died suddenly in a car accident. He was not only my brother, but also my mentor, my role model, and my closest friend. Losing him left a deep emptiness in my life and in the hearts of everyone who loved him. Igor had a curious and creative mind. He was studying computer engineering and was fascinated by technology, robotics, and building things that could solve real problems. Whenever he worked on a project, he would invite me to sit beside him. Together we built small machines from Lego sets, experimented with simple robotics kits, and imagined inventions that could change the world. To me, those moments were more than just play—they were the beginning of a dream. One phrase that Igor often said to me still stays in my mind: “Build something that makes the world better.” At the time, I didn’t realize how deeply those words would shape my life. When he died, it felt as if the future we imagined together disappeared. I watched my parents struggle through their grief, and our home felt quieter than it ever had before. For a long time, I felt lost. It was difficult to understand why something so unfair had happened to our family. Then, not long after this loss, another challenge came. The war in Ukraine began. Suddenly, my family had to make an impossible decision—to send me away from home in order to keep me safe. I left everything familiar behind: my family, my country, my language, and the life I had always known. Traveling through refugee centers in Poland and eventually arriving in the United States was overwhelming. I was a teenager trying to process grief, fear, and uncertainty all at once. Yet even in those difficult moments, I carried something with me: my brother’s influence. I began to realize that the best way to honor Igor’s life was not to give up on the dreams we once shared. Instead, I decided to continue the path that he had started. His passion for engineering became my motivation to move forward. Studying STEM subjects gave me a sense of purpose during a time when everything else felt uncertain. Engineering represents more than just a career to me. It represents resilience, creativity, and the ability to build something meaningful from difficult circumstances. Every time I solve a problem, design something new, or learn about technology, I feel connected to the brother who first introduced me to that world. The challenges I have faced—loss, displacement, and rebuilding my life in a new country—have shaped me into someone stronger and more determined than I once was. They taught me empathy, perseverance, and the importance of using knowledge to help others. Today, I pursue a future in engineering not only for myself, but also in memory of my brother. His life continues to inspire the choices I make and the goals I set for the future. Although Igor is no longer here, the dream we shared did not disappear. I carry it forward every day. By studying engineering and working to create solutions that improve people’s lives, I hope to fulfill the words he once told me—to build something that makes the world better.

Faith has taught me that the talents we receive are not meant only for ourselves, but for serving others. My decision to pursue higher education in computer engineering is rooted in this belief. I want to gain the knowledge and skills that will allow me to improve lives, strengthen communities, and create opportunities for people who need them most. My inspiration to follow this path comes from someone very close to my heart—my older brother, Igor. He was the first person who introduced me to the world of computers. Igor was endlessly curious about technology and believed that computers could change the world for the better. I remember watching him learn new things, explore software, and dream about becoming a computer engineer. His passion left a deep impression on me. Tragically, my brother passed away. Losing him was one of the hardest moments in my life. But even though he is no longer here, his influence continues to guide me every day. Choosing computer engineering is not only a career goal for me—it is a way to continue the path he once dreamed of and to honor his memory. Whenever I study, work, or plan for the future, I feel that I am carrying forward a part of his dream. Faith has also shaped my commitment to leadership and service. When many Ukrainian families arrived in Charlotte after the war began, I saw how difficult it was for young people to adapt to a completely new country, language, and school system. Many students felt isolated and unsure about their future. I felt called to help. Because of this, I helped organize and lead the Ukrainian Youth Organization of Charlotte. Our mission was to create a supportive community where Ukrainian students could connect, share experiences, and help each other grow. Through meetings, activities, and events, we built friendships and gave young people confidence that they were not alone. Through this work, I learned that leadership is not about recognition—it is about responsibility. I often helped parents understand school systems, supported new students who were adjusting to American schools, and helped families connect with resources in the community. Seeing people feel welcomed and supported showed me how powerful service can be. For the past three years, I have also volunteered with the Move For Jenn Foundation in Charlotte. This nonprofit organization supports individuals who have lost limbs due to sarcoma by raising awareness and providing financial assistance. Last summer, I had the opportunity to work more closely with the foundation through an internship, helping organize community events and support initiatives for amputees and their families. Working with Move For Jenn has been deeply meaningful to me. I have seen firsthand how compassion, community support, and faith can bring hope to people during incredibly difficult times. These experiences have taught me that education and service must always go hand in hand. My faith encourages me to pursue education not only for personal success, but to serve others with humility and integrity. Through computer engineering, I hope to create technologies that improve accessibility, communication, and opportunities for communities around the world. Education is one of the greatest opportunities a person can receive. With that opportunity comes the responsibility to use our knowledge for good. My goal is to continue growing as a leader and to use both my technical skills and my experiences to serve people and strengthen communities. I believe that when we use our gifts to help others, we honor the people who inspired us and the faith that guides our lives.

was born and raised in Ukraine. My childhood was filled with love, faith, and simple joys. But war changed everything. I lost my brother, and my family was forced to leave our home and rebuild our lives in the United States. Grief, uncertainty, and responsibility shaped me early. Instead of breaking me, those experiences built resilience, faith, and purpose inside me. I learned that pain can either close your heart or expand it. I chose to let it expand mine. When I arrived in the U.S., I understood quickly that nothing would be handed to me. I had to grow, adapt, and become strong not only for myself but for my family. I worked hard academically and was honored to receive a Navy Award for academic excellence and leadership. That recognition meant more than achievement; it reminded me that discipline and character matter. Service became part of who I am. Through the Youth Organization of Charlotte, I have participated in community initiatives that support cultural integration and youth development. Volunteering showed me that leadership is not about position — it is about responsibility. I also volunteered with Move4Gen, a nonprofit organization supporting individuals who have lost limbs due to cancer and trauma. Seeing people rebuild their lives despite physical loss deeply affected me. They taught me courage. They taught me gratitude. Technology has always been my passion. I plan to pursue computer engineering because I believe innovation can protect, connect, and restore lives. Growing up during wartime showed me how critical secure communication, cybersecurity, and reliable systems are for both governments and civilians. In the future, I want to work in cybersecurity and artificial intelligence, developing systems that protect nations, businesses, and individuals from harm. Used correctly, technology is not just machinery — it is stewardship. In college, I plan to establish an International Cultural and Technology Club. Its mission will be to unite students from different nations and backgrounds through innovation, collaboration, and service projects. Many students arrive in America carrying invisible stories of struggle, just as I did. I want to create a safe community where diversity is strength, where faith is respected, and where ideas become action. Together, we could organize cybersecurity workshops, technology mentorship for local youth, and global collaboration projects that encourage ethical and responsible use of digital tools. My goal is to use computer technology for the glory of God and the service of people. Faith has been my foundation in every challenge I have faced. I believe talent is not given for personal success alone but for impact. By building secure systems, mentoring future engineers, and encouraging cross-cultural collaboration, I hope to contribute to a world that is safer, more connected, and more compassionate. I cannot change the past, but I can help shape the future. My story began with loss, but it continues with purpose. Through faith, perseverance, and service-driven innovation, I am committed to making a lasting, positive impact on the world.

When I think about why I want to study computer science, I do not think first about machines or code. I think about my older brother, Igor. Igor was studying computer engineering in his third year at university when he died in a tragic accident. He was not only my brother — he was my example. We spent hours talking about technology, new programs, and how computers shape the future. He always told me that computer science is not just about writing code. It is about solving problems and building something that can help people. When he passed away, our family felt a deep loss. I was still young, but I understood that something very important had been taken from us. At first, it was hard to even look at his books and notes. But over time, I began to see them differently. They were not reminders of loss — they were reminders of his passion. He believed in me. He always said that I had the mind and discipline to succeed in this field. Four years ago, because of the war in Ukraine, I came to the United States alone. I was fourteen. My parents could not come with me. I had to start my life from the beginning — new country, new language, new school, new system. There were moments of fear, homesickness, and uncertainty. But I carried my brother’s words with me. Even though he was no longer here, his encouragement stayed alive in my heart. Computer science became more than a subject. It became a connection to my brother and a way to build a stable future in a world that once felt unstable. I enjoy the logic, the structure, and the creativity behind programming. I like how one idea can turn into a real solution. Technology has the power to protect, to connect, and to create opportunity. In the future, I want to work in cybersecurity or software engineering. Coming from a country affected by war, I understand how important digital security and strong systems are. Cybersecurity protects people, businesses, and even nations. I want to build systems that are reliable and safe. I want my work to matter. Through grief, immigration, and challenge, I became stronger. I learned discipline, leadership, and responsibility. I work hard in school, I take my education seriously, and I look for ways to grow every day. My faith in God has helped me remain steady during difficult times. I believe that education is not only for personal success but for service. Pursuing computer science is both my dream and a way to honor my brother’s dream. I cannot change the past, but I can continue what he started. I want to build, create, and protect using the skills I gain. I want to make my family proud. And most of all, I want to use my knowledge to serve others. This scholarship would not only support my education — it would support a journey built on resilience, purpose, and love.

I lost my brother when I was still young. He was my role model, my protector, and my best friend. His death changed my life before I was ready to understand what grief truly meant. Not long after, war began in Ukraine. My parents were grieving. Our country became unstable. At fifteen years old, I left home and came to the United States alone. I said goodbye to my parents, my language, and everything familiar. I arrived with pain in my heart, but also with faith. When I did not understand why these things were happening, I chose to trust God anyway. I believe He carried me when I was too weak to carry myself. Starting over was not easy. I had to learn English, adjust to a new culture, and grow up quickly without my parents beside me. There were moments of loneliness and uncertainty. But God placed people in my life — my guardian family, church leaders, teachers, and mentors — who helped me rebuild. Through them, I learned that faith is not only belief. Faith is action. Faith means serving others the way Christ serves us. Today, I try to live that lesson. I lead a Ukrainian youth organization in Charlotte through our Greek Catholic Church. We help newly arrived immigrant families adjust to life in America. We translate school documents, explain how the education system works, tutor students learning English, drive families to medical appointments, and guide parents through unfamiliar systems. What seems small can feel life-changing to someone who feels lost. I know that feeling, which is why I serve. I also volunteer with the Move for Jenn Foundation, supporting individuals who survived sarcoma and lost a limb. I help provide emotional encouragement and organize fundraising efforts for prosthetics. Last summer, by connecting with local businesses, we raised $12,000 to help individuals regain mobility and dignity. Seeing someone walk again because the community came together strengthened my belief that faith in action transforms lives. I plan to continue serving through education. I have been accepted to Anderson University, where I hope to study Computer Engineering in a Christ-centered environment that values servant leadership. I believe technology guided by faith can solve real human problems. My goal is not only to build systems, but to create solutions that strengthen communities and improve lives. At Anderson, I have already developed a business plan to launch an International Cultural Club designed to support international and first-generation students. The club will provide mentorship, cultural connection, leadership development, and service opportunities rooted in Christian unity. I want my college years to reflect my faith — building community, encouraging belonging, and helping students feel seen and supported. As a first-generation college student, receiving this scholarship would not only support my education — it would strengthen my ability to continue serving others. My goal is not success for myself alone. My goal is impact. The trials I experienced did not weaken my faith. They shaped it. I believe: God never wastes our pain. He turns sorrow into strength, and strength into service. That is the life I am committed to living.

I was born and raised in Ukraine. My life has been a blessing, even though I have faced many challenges. I truly believe that God allowed those struggles to shape me into the person I am today. I do not complain about my life. I am grateful for it. Every hardship has helped me grow stronger, more responsible, and more focused on serving others. One of the greatest losses in my life was the death of my older brother at the age of 21. He was studying computer engineering in Ukraine and had completed three years of his degree before he tragically died in a car accident. He was not only my brother, but also my role model and best friend. We shared a strong passion for computers, mathematics, and engineering. Losing him changed my life forever. Shortly after that loss, war began in Ukraine. My mother, who had already lost one son, could not live with the fear of losing another. With great faith and courage, she sent me to the United States to protect my life and give me an opportunity for a safer future. I spent several weeks in a refugee center in Poland before arriving in America. There, I witnessed mothers with newborn babies who had left everything behind to save their children. That experience deeply impacted me. It taught me the meaning of sacrifice and unconditional love. While in the refugee center, I began helping in small ways — bringing food, playing with children, assisting families with daily needs. Those small acts taught me something important: serving others strengthens you just as much as it helps them. That lesson has stayed with me. When I arrived in the United States almost four years ago, I spoke almost no English. I had no close friends here, no immediate family, and no understanding of how the school system worked. Everything felt overwhelming. But with faith and determination, I began rebuilding my life step by step. I enrolled in school, studied English every day, and worked hard to adapt. I found support in the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church community in Charlotte. The kindness I received inspired me to give back. I joined NJROTC and robotics classes, where I developed leadership skills and strong friendships. Through my involvement in NJROTC, I was honored to receive a Navy award recognizing my academic excellence and leadership. I also serve as Sergeant-at-Arms in student council, representing and supporting my peers. Through these experiences, I learned that leadership is not about position — it is about service. I became active in helping newly arrived Ukrainian families. I assist students with adjusting to school, translate documents, help with paperwork, and drive families to appointments when possible. These tasks may seem small, but for someone starting over in a new country, they mean everything. For the past three years, I have volunteered with the Move For Jenn Foundation, a nonprofit organization that supports sarcoma survivors who have lost limbs and cannot afford prosthetics. Last summer, I completed an internship with the foundation, working directly with local businesses to secure financial support. I received a recommendation letter from the CEO recognizing my dedication and leadership. Academically, I maintain a 3.8 GPA while participating in dual enrollment at the University of South Carolina. I work two jobs to support myself while attending school full-time. Balancing work, academics, and service has required discipline and sacrifice. Back in Ukraine, I was part of a competitive swimming team. After immigrating, I no longer had the time or financial ability to continue competing. Although I sacrificed something I loved, I do not regret it. Sometimes we must give up something good in order to pursue something greater. Computer engineering is not just a career path for me — it is a purpose. It connects me to my brother’s unfinished dream and to my desire to build solutions that improve people’s lives. I want to use technology to strengthen communities and create opportunities for others who face hardship. Every challenge I faced — loss, war, language barriers, financial struggles — has strengthened my character. They taught me resilience, responsibility, humility, and faith. I cannot change what I have lost, but I can honor it through how I live. Receiving this scholarship would relieve financial pressure and allow me to focus more fully on my education and service. More importantly, it would allow me to continue building a future grounded in perseverance, faith, and leadership. “I could not choose my challenges, but I can choose who I become because of them.” Thank you for considering my application.

My journey into Christianity did not begin in comfort. It began in grief. I was raised in a Ukrainian Christian family where faith was part of daily life. We went to church, celebrated Christian holidays, and prayed together. But as a child, faith felt natural — not yet tested. That changed on February 16, when my older brother Igor was killed in a car accident. He was 21 years old. I was still very young. I did not understand why God would allow something so painful to happen. My mother was grieving deeply, yet every evening she would sit with me, hold my hands, and read the Bible. Even while her own heart was broken, she guided mine toward God. Together we prayed. Some nights we had no words — only tears. During that time, I learned what Psalm 34:18 means: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” At first, I asked, “Why?” But slowly, through prayer, that question changed to “How do I move forward?” My mother would say, “God lives inside your heart. Talk to Him. You do not need perfect words. Just open your heart.” It took time — years — but my anger softened. My grief did not disappear, but I learned acceptance. I learned gratitude for each day of life. I stopped asking God to explain everything and began asking Him to guide me. Soon after, war came to Ukraine. At fifteen years old, my parents made the painful decision to send me to the United States alone so I could be safe. They had already lost one son. They could not risk losing another. Leaving my parents was one of the hardest moments of my life. But I came with something strong inside of me: faith. I knew Proverbs 3:5–6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Every day in America, I began with prayer. God became not only my comfort but my direction. When I struggled with English, I prayed. When I felt alone, I prayed. When I did not know what decision to make, I prayed. And God provided. I learned the language. I adjusted to a new school. I found work. I achieved strong academic results. I became part of a Ukrainian church community in Charlotte, where I now help other immigrant families who are facing fear and uncertainty. Sometimes when a friend is struggling, I tell them what my mother once told me: “Let’s sit together. Let’s hold hands and pray.” And I have seen peace enter hearts in those quiet moments. My career goal is to study computer engineering and use technology in a way that serves people and communities. I believe God gives each person gifts not only for personal success but for service. My education is part of my calling — to work with excellence, integrity, and compassion. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my academic journey financially; it would affirm the faith that carried me here. As a first-generation immigrant student working two jobs, finances are a real challenge. But I firmly believe Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” This scholarship would allow me to focus more on my studies and continue serving through my church and community. More importantly, it would help me build a future rooted in Christian values — faith, gratitude, humility, and service. I do not see my hardships as punishment. I see them as shaping. Through loss, I found deeper faith. Through separation, I found trust. Through uncertainty, I found God. I am not the same boy who once asked “Why?” Today I ask, “Lord, how can I serve?” And each day, He shows me the way.

The movie that has had the greatest impact on my life is The Judge. When I first watched it, I thought it was a story about a courtroom. But it is not. It is a story about family, brothers, loss, and the quiet weight of responsibility that follows grief. In the film, the main character returns home after the death of his mother. He reconnects with his brothers and his father, facing old wounds and unresolved pain. What moved me most was not the legal case — it was the realization that loss forces you to grow up faster than you planned. On February 16, my older brother Igor died in a car accident. He was 21 years old and studying computer engineering in Ukraine. He was in his final year. He was going to graduate and become the first in our family to finish university. He never got that chance. He was not only my brother. He was my example. My support. The person who believed in education more than anyone I knew. He used to tell me, “Not perfection — progress. One step at a time. Never give up.” Only weeks after his death, war reached our country. I lost my home, my extended family, and the life I had known. I immigrated to the United States alone, carrying grief and uncertainty across borders. Like the main character in The Judge, I learned that grief does not pause life. It changes it. It calls you to step forward when you feel like stepping back. There is a scene in the movie where responsibility shifts. One brother must become stronger, steadier. I felt that shift in my own life. My brother’s dream did not disappear with him. It became mine to carry. I chose to pursue computer engineering — not just because I love technology, but because my brother did. We spent hours together at the computer, learning, solving problems, imagining futures. Every time I sit down to study, I think of him. Today, I work two jobs to support myself while maintaining strong academic performance. I have received academic honors and a Navy award for achievement. I volunteer with immigrant youth in Charlotte, helping new students adjust to a country that once felt overwhelming to me. I translate, guide, and encourage — because I remember how much it meant when someone did that for me. But despite my determination, I cannot do this alone. As a first-generation, low-income immigrant student, higher education is both my greatest opportunity and my greatest financial challenge. I am doing everything within my power — working, studying, serving — yet tuition remains a significant barrier. Winning this scholarship would not just ease a financial burden. It would represent something deeper. It would mean that my brother’s unfinished journey continues. That his belief in progress — one step at a time — was not in vain. The Judge taught me that becoming strong is not about avoiding pain. It is about carrying it with purpose. My brother lost his chance. I have mine. And with support, I will honor his memory not with words, but with action — through education, resilience, and a future built on perseverance. One step at a time.

On February 16, my life changed forever. My older brother, Igor, was killed in a car accident at the age of 21. He was in his fourth year studying computer engineering in Ukraine. He was brilliant, disciplined, and determined to become the first in our family to graduate from university. In one night, I lost my brother — my mentor, my role model, and my best friend. Just weeks later, war came to Ukraine. I lost my home, my community, and the country I grew up in. Grieving my brother and fleeing a war at the same time felt impossible. Everything familiar disappeared. But in that darkness, I carried one thing with me: Igor’s voice. He always told me, “Not perfection — progress. One small step at a time. Never give up.” Those words carried me across borders. They carried me through refugee shelters. They carried me into a new life in the United States — alone, uncertain, but determined. Today, almost four years later, I am a first-generation, low-income immigrant student pursuing the dream my brother could not finish. I work two jobs to support myself. I have earned academic honors, including a Navy award for achievement. I volunteer more than 20 hours a month with a youth organization in Charlotte, helping immigrant families adjust to life in America. I translate documents, guide new students through the school system, and most importantly — I listen. When I see fear or confusion in someone’s eyes, I recognize it. I have lived it. Every encouraging word I speak to them once came from my brother. Through me, his strength continues. Education is no longer just a personal goal. It is my responsibility. I study computer engineering not only because I love technology — but because my brother did. We spent countless hours together exploring computers, solving problems, and dreaming about the future. To honor him, I chose to follow that same path. But I am not only doing this for Igor. I am doing this for my parents, who remain in Ukraine. One son buried, one son across the ocean. They have sacrificed everything. I want them to see that their loss was not the end of our story. I want at least one of their children to fulfill the dream we once talked about around the family table. Being an immigrant has taught me resilience. Losing my brother taught me purpose. Starting over in a new country taught me courage. I do not see my hardships as reasons to stop. I see them as reasons to rise. Higher education is not simply a degree for me. It is honor. It is healing. It is building a future that reflects both sacrifice and opportunity. On the anniversary of my brother’s death, I am submitting this application not with grief — but with promise. I will not waste the second chance I have been given. I will move forward, one small step at a time. For Igor. For my family. For the life ahead.

The first time I truly understood the power of a voice, I had just lost the person who taught me how to use mine. My brother, Igor Boiko, was twenty-one when he died. I was twelve. He was studying computer engineering in Ukraine, full of dreams, already thinking about his master’s degree. But what I remember most is not his grades or achievements. I remember the nights we sat together while he worked, explaining to me that education was never about money. It was about responsibility. “You learn so you can give back,” he believed. Leadership, he showed me, is not about power. It is about standing with people when they are struggling. When he died in a tragic accident, I lost my role model. I also lost the person who believed in my potential before I did. Three years later, I came to the United States carrying grief, imperfect English, and a quiet promise: I would finish what he started. Joining Public Forum debate was one of the hardest and most important decisions of my life. English is my second language. I was terrified. I had ideas, but they felt trapped in my head. The first time I stood to speak, I froze. Words disappeared. My accent felt louder than my arguments. But debate did not push me away. It challenged me to think deeper and speak clearer. It taught me that logic is stronger than fear. That structure gives confidence. That even simple words can carry powerful truth. In debating public policy and immigration issues, I learned to analyze evidence, build structured arguments, and respectfully challenge opposing views. More importantly, I learned to listen. Debate reshaped my understanding of leadership. Leadership is not speaking the loudest — it is speaking with purpose and inviting others into the conversation. Through debate, I found my voice again — not the voice of a child who lost his brother, but the voice of a young man choosing to continue his legacy. Today, I am pursuing computer engineering, with a focus on cybersecurity. Like Igor, I believe technology should protect people. But unlike the boy I once was, I now know that technical knowledge alone is not enough. Engineers must communicate. Leaders must persuade. Ideas must be defended with reason and integrity. The Dan Leahy Scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents belief in students who think critically, speak courageously, and lead thoughtfully. Debate has transformed me from someone afraid of mispronouncing a word into someone ready to defend an idea. It taught me discipline, clarity, and moral courage. I pursue my education in honor of my brother. I pursue debate in honor of growth. And I pursue this scholarship to continue developing a voice strong enough to build, to protect, and to serve.

When I arrived in the United States, I had just lost my only brother. I came carrying grief I did not yet know how to speak about, arriving in a new country without my parents, with a broken sense of home, and a heart still in mourning. The people who met me in that moment were my foster family — not related to me by blood, but connected to me by choice, compassion, and faith. From the beginning, they did not treat me as a temporary responsibility. They welcomed me as family. In their home, I found stability when my world felt fragile. I found patience when I was quiet. And slowly, I found purpose. I was not the same person when I arrived. I was withdrawn, unsure, and emotionally exhausted. But through daily examples of kindness, structure, and care, my foster family showed me what it means to live for something larger than yourself. They did not talk about leadership — they lived it. My foster father, a manager at a large medical organization, works tirelessly, yet still dedicates his time to supporting his community. My foster mother leads with empathy and service in everything she does. Watching them help others, both inside and outside of their professions, taught me that leadership is not about recognition. It is about responsibility. Because of their influence, I began looking for ways to give back. One of my first opportunities was helping at Providence Plastic Surgery, where my foster mother works. Once a week, I assisted with technology support — solving computer issues, helping with systems, and supporting staff when technical problems arose. It may have seemed small, but to me, it meant everything. For the first time since arriving in the United States, I felt useful. I felt capable. I felt like I belonged. That feeling followed me into the broader community. Through the Greek Catholic Church in Charlotte, I met other Ukrainian families who had recently arrived. I recognized their fear and confusion because I had lived it myself. Remembering how much help I once needed, I stepped in to support them — translating paperwork, helping schedule medical appointments, guiding parents through the school system, and explaining to students how American schools work. Over time, I organized a small group of young people to support newly arriving families. Together, we helped with whatever was needed — from school registration to cultural adjustment. These were not grand actions, but they were essential. And through them, I learned that service creates connection, and connection creates healing. My volunteer work with the Move for Jenn Foundation strengthened this belief even further. Through outreach, fundraising, and community engagement, I supported individuals who had lost limbs due to sarcoma and were working toward regaining mobility and independence. Being part of their journey reminded me that pain does not disappear — it transforms when it is met with compassion. Losing my brother taught me how fragile life can be. My foster family taught me how meaningful it can be. And my community showed me that even in loss, purpose can grow. As I pursue higher education, I do not see education as an end goal — I see it as a responsibility. Every opportunity I receive expands my ability to serve others. This scholarship is not only financial support; it is a bridge between who I am now and who I am becoming. It allows me to focus on learning, leadership, and service without limitations created by circumstance. My future goals are grounded in community impact. Through education, I plan to develop the technical and leadership skills necessary to support displaced families, strengthen immigrant communities, and build systems that connect people to resources, opportunity, and hope. The same way others once invested in me, I intend to invest in others — intentionally, consistently, and with purpose. The relationships that shaped me — with my foster family, my church, and the communities I serve — have defined my path forward. Because people believed in me during my hardest moments, I am committed to using my education to stand beside others in theirs. This scholarship does more than support my education — it empowers a future built on service, connection, and impact.

Math entered my life not as a subject, but as a lifeline. When war forced me to leave Ukraine as a teenager, I arrived in the United States with almost nothing—no language, no friends, no sense of stability. Everything familiar was gone in a single moment. In that chaos, math became the one thing that stayed constant. Numbers did not change because of borders, war, or fear. Equations made sense when nothing else did. At first, math was my way to survive mentally. While learning English felt overwhelming, math gave me confidence. I could solve problems even when I could not fully express myself in words. Every correct solution reminded me that I was still capable, still intelligent, still moving forward. Math taught me discipline, patience, and logic—skills that helped me rebuild my life step by step. As I adapted to a new country, math became more than comfort; it became purpose. I started to see how math quietly shapes the world around us—technology, infrastructure, communication, medicine. I realized that behind every system that helps people, there is someone who understands numbers deeply. That realization pushed me toward STEM and ultimately to computer engineering. Computer engineering allows me to transform abstract math into real solutions. Algorithms, data, and systems are not just technical concepts to me—they are tools to improve lives. Having experienced instability and displacement, I understand how powerful technology can be when it is designed thoughtfully. Math allows me to create systems that are efficient, secure, and fair—systems people can rely on when life feels uncertain. I want to use my education to help others the way math helped me. Whether it is building secure digital platforms, improving access to education through technology, or creating systems that protect vulnerable communities, my goal is to use logical thinking for social good. Math trained me to approach problems calmly and systematically, even under pressure—an ability shaped directly by my life experience. Knowing math helps people because it teaches more than formulas. It teaches problem-solving, resilience, and responsibility. In my life, math was not just preparation for a career; it was preparation for hardship. It showed me that complex problems can be broken into smaller steps and that persistence leads to solutions. Today, I pursue STEM not just out of interest, but out of gratitude. Math gave me stability when my world collapsed. Now, through computer engineering, I want to give that stability back—to build, protect, and improve lives using the same logic that once helped me survive. This scholarship would not only support my education; it would invest in someone who understands the value of math not from a textbook, but from lived experience. I carry that responsibility with pride—and with purpose.

I did not begin volunteering to build a résumé. I began because I was searching for a place where my pain could be transformed into purpose. In October 2022, when I first joined the Move for Jenn Foundation, I had no way of knowing that it would become one of the most meaningful commitments of my life. Move for Jenn supports individuals who have lost limbs due to cancer. From my very first event, I felt an immediate connection to the mission. I was not just helping with tables or organizing logistics — I was surrounded by survivors and families who had experienced loss and still chose hope. Since October 2022, I have continuously volunteered at fundraising walks, awareness events, and community outreach initiatives. I supported event setup, participant engagement, and donor outreach, but more importantly, I learned how powerful community can be when people stand together for a cause that truly matters. This summer, I deepened my involvement by completing an internship with Move for Jenn. Behind the scenes, I worked closely with the organization to reach out to local businesses, build partnerships, and strengthen community support. Through this experience, I learned that leadership is not about being the loudest voice in the room — it is about being reliable, thoughtful, and committed to the mission even when no one is watching. Each conversation I had could help bring resources, encouragement, or visibility to someone rebuilding their life after cancer. At the end of my internship, I received a recommendation letter from the CEO of the foundation, which I am proud of not because of recognition, but because it reflected the trust I had earned through consistency and hard work. It confirmed that my service had real impact and that leadership through service is measured by dedication, not titles. My involvement with Move for Jenn is deeply connected to my own life story. I came to the United States at a young age after losing my brother, carrying grief into a new country while learning a new language and culture. Volunteering gave me a way to turn that loss into action. Standing beside people who faced physical challenges reminded me that resilience comes in many forms, and that support can change the course of someone’s life. Through service, I learned that leadership begins with empathy. It means listening, showing up consistently, and choosing to give back even when it is difficult. My journey with Move for Jenn has shaped who I am today and strengthened my desire to continue serving my community wherever life takes me. Leadership through service taught me that my story does not end with what I survived — it begins with what I choose to do for others.

I understand mental health support because I had to give it before I fully understood my own pain. When I arrived at a refugee center in Poland after fleeing Ukraine, many people around me were emotionally broken. I focused on helping mothers with small children, because the children were the ones who were most scared. Kids would cry constantly, cling to their mothers, and react to stress they could not explain. Children always trusted me. I played with them, drew pictures, and made up simple games to take their attention away from fear, even if just for a short moment. While children were distracted, I helped mothers with physical care—feeding kids, holding babies, or simply giving them a moment to breathe. Sometimes emotional support meant doing something very practical so another person could rest. After resettling in Charlotte, I continued this work. Near our church, we helped organize a small group of Ukrainian youth—many of them teenagers who arrived alone, lost their homes, or left family behind. These were not people who needed motivation speeches; they needed understanding. We created a support network where young people could talk openly, without judgment, about fear, loss, and adjustment. We stayed connected through a WhatsApp group, met regularly, and supported each other in real ways. If someone struggled with school, we studied together. If someone was overwhelmed emotionally, we met after church and talked. Leadership, for me, meant being consistent. Showing up. Listening. Saying, “I know what this feels like,” and meaning it. People trusted me because I lived through the same reality. In my future studies and career, I plan to continue building support systems for people affected by war, grief, and displacement. I want to help organize peer-support groups in educational or community settings where people going through loss or mental health struggles can feel less alone. I believe healing begins when people realize they are not isolated in their pain. I know this because I survived when someone helped me believe it.

Thesis: In Meditations, Marcus Aurelius argues that suffering does not define the human soul unless we surrender our inner character to it—a truth I learned not from philosophy alone, but from war, loss, and rebuilding my life as a Ukrainian student far from home. Selected paragraph (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book II): “Begin the morning by saying to thyself, I shall meet with busybody, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unsocial. All these things happen to them by reason of their ignorance of what is good and evil… I can neither be harmed by any of them… nor can I be angry with my kinsman, nor hate him; for we are made for co-operation.” This passage is often read as stoic calm, but to me it reads as survival. Marcus Aurelius is not pretending pain does not exist. He is preparing himself to face it. The list of difficult people and hardships is not theoretical; it is expected, inevitable. What matters is his decision, made every morning, to guard his inner life before the world can touch it. “I can neither be harmed by any of them” is the most powerful line to me. Not because harm does not happen, but because harm does not get the final word. There is a quiet strength in choosing not to let suffering rewrite who you are. Marcus Aurelius understood that the body, reputation, and circumstances are fragile, but character is chosen again and again. I learned this lesson far earlier than I should have. I lost my brother. Then I lost my country as I knew it. War took more than buildings—it took certainty, safety, and childhood. When my parents sent me to the United States at fifteen, it was not courage that carried me across borders. It was fear. They had already lost one son. They could not risk losing another. Arriving in a new country, I felt small. I did not speak the language. I did not understand the culture. I carried grief that had no words. In those moments, Marcus Aurelius’ words became painfully real. I met arrogance, indifference, misunderstanding—not because people were evil, but because they did not know my story. Like Aurelius describes, ignorance, not malice, shaped many interactions. The hardest part was learning not to harden myself in response. Anger would have been easy. Isolation would have been understandable. But Marcus Aurelius insists that hatred harms the hater first. “We are made for co-operation,” he writes, reminding himself that shared humanity survives even in broken circumstances. This idea reshaped how I live. Instead of withdrawing, I leaned into community. Instead of letting grief turn into bitterness, I turned it into responsibility. I help others navigate systems that once overwhelmed me. I study not only to succeed, but to honor the sacrifices made so I could be here. Education, for me, is not an individual achievement—it is a collective promise. What moves me most is that Meditations was never meant to be published. Marcus Aurelius wrote these words privately, imperfectly, while carrying the weight of an empire. That honesty allows students like me, centuries later, to find ourselves in his struggle. Close reading revealed something simple but profound: philosophy is not written to escape life; it is written to endure it. Marcus Aurelius teaches that dignity is not given by circumstances but protected through discipline. My life has taught me the same. I cannot control war, loss, or displacement—but I can choose integrity, compassion, and purpose. Like him, I begin each day preparing my inner self for a difficult world, believing that even when everything else is taken, character remains.

I was fifteen years old when I lost my brother. Not long after that, I lost my country, my home, and everything that had ever felt familiar. Because of the war, my parents sent me to the United States alone. I remember stepping into a new country carrying grief, fear, and a suitcase filled with things that no longer felt like my life. I was still a child, but I had no choice except to survive. Grief changed me immediately. Losing my brother left a hole inside me that never fully closed. Moving to a new country made that pain heavier. I didn’t speak the language. I didn’t understand the school system. I didn’t know how to make friends or explain who I was. Every day felt like starting over from zero. I felt lonely even in crowded rooms. My mental health declined faster than I expected. I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, and empty at the same time. There were days when I struggled just to get out of bed. I experienced depression and dark thoughts that scared me because I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I didn’t want my life to end—but sometimes I didn’t know how to keep living either. I was surviving, not living. Asking for help was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I felt ashamed, weak, and broken. But with the support of my foster family and medical professionals, I began treatment, including medication. That decision saved me. I learned that mental health struggles are real medical conditions, not personal failures. Sometimes strength means letting someone help you stand back up. Little by little, things changed. Therapy helped me understand my emotions instead of being controlled by them. Medication helped quiet my mind so I could focus on healing. Most importantly, I learned that I was not alone. People cared. People listened. That changed the way I saw the world. This experience shaped my beliefs deeply. I believe mental health deserves the same seriousness as physical health. I believe silence can be dangerous. And I believe kindness can change lives. My relationships today are built on empathy. When someone is struggling, I notice. When someone is quiet, I ask questions. I listen carefully because I know what it feels like to suffer silently. Four years have passed since I arrived alone at fifteen. Today, I am emotionally stronger and stable, and I no longer need medication for my mental health. But I will never forget how difficult that time was. Those struggles shaped my purpose. My career aspirations come directly from my journey. I want to support people who are going through pain, loss, or major life transitions. I want to be someone others feel safe reaching out to. When someone says, “You understand,” I want to be able to honestly say, “Yes, I do.” My message is not that the journey is easy. It isn’t. My message is that help exists, healing is possible, and it is okay to accept support. I am still here because people helped me—and now I want to help others find their way forward too.

Before the war, swimming was my life. I trained for four years as part of my school team in Ukraine, and I believed competitive swimming would be my future. When the war began, everything changed. I was forced to leave my country, my team, and my dreams behind. In the United States, I didn’t have access to a car, time, or money to continue training. That chapter of my life ended—not because I gave up, but because circumstances took it away from me. Instead of letting that loss break me, I chose to redirect my energy toward helping others. I began volunteering and later completed an internship with the Move for Gen Foundation, where I helped support individuals facing life-altering challenges. I also volunteered with the Ukrainian Youth Organization of Charlotte, assisting new immigrants with emotional support, translation, and guidance as they adjusted to a new country. One of the most meaningful acts of kindness I offered was simply being present—listening to people who felt lost, afraid, or alone, just as I once did. I understood their silence and their fear because I had lived it myself. Kindness, for me, is not about grand gestures. It is about choosing to help even when you are hurting. Losing my dream of competitive swimming taught me that while circumstances can take things away, they cannot take away the ability to care for others. Starting over in a new country taught me how lonely and confusing change can be. When I arrived in the United States, I had no familiar faces, no support network, and no sense of belonging. I promised myself that if I ever found stability, I would help others feel less alone than I did. That promise led me to volunteer with the Ukrainian Youth Organization of Charlotte. There, I worked with newly arrived immigrants—many of them young people—helping them navigate language barriers, paperwork, school systems, and emotional struggles. Sometimes my role was practical, such as translating or explaining how things work. Other times, it was simply sitting with someone and reminding them that they were not forgotten. I also volunteered and completed an internship with the Move for Gen Foundation, where I helped bring people together for a shared purpose: supporting individuals in need. Through these experiences, I learned that connection is built through empathy and consistency. People feel included when they know someone cares enough to show up. Although I lost the opportunity to continue competitive swimming, volunteering gave me a new sense of purpose. It showed me that connection does not come from medals or titles, but from service. By helping others rebuild their lives, I found my own sense of belonging—and helped create a more compassionate community.

My passion for STEM—especially computer engineering—was shaped by survival, independence, and the belief that knowledge can create stability when everything else feels uncertain. I was born in Ukraine and immigrated to the United States at fifteen years old. Leaving my home and family behind forced me to grow up quickly and become responsible for my own future. Adapting to a new country, language, and education system was overwhelming, but it also taught me resilience and discipline. During that time, technology became something I could trust. While much of my life felt unpredictable, computers followed logic, structure, and rules. They made sense when very little else did. In high school, I became deeply interested in how technology works beneath the surface. I was drawn not just to using computers, but to understanding them—how hardware and software communicate, how systems are built, and how engineering decisions can protect data, improve efficiency, and affect people’s lives. Computer engineering represents the perfect balance between logic and responsibility. It demands precision, critical thinking, and integrity—qualities I value because I have learned how much small decisions can matter. As a low-income student, I work part-time jobs while completing high school to support myself. Even with these responsibilities, I remain fully committed to my education because I know that STEM provides a path to long-term stability and meaningful contribution. For me, computer engineering is not about personal gain; it is about building skills that allow me to give back to the country that gave me safety and opportunity. I have been accepted to The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina, where I plan to pursue a degree in computer engineering. I am inspired by its emphasis on discipline, leadership, and service. I believe engineering is a form of service—designing systems that strengthen security, improve communication, and support communities in an increasingly digital world. This scholarship is critically important to me. It would ease the financial burden that often stands between motivated students and their potential. More than financial support, it is an affirmation that resilience, determination, and hard work are recognized. Through computer engineering, I hope to turn my life experiences into purpose—using STEM not only to build systems, but to build a future grounded in responsibility, service, and progress. Pursuing computer engineering is how I transform adversity into purpose. This scholarship would relieve the financial pressure that limits my ability to focus fully on learning and growth, allowing me to dedicate myself to becoming a disciplined, ethical engineer. More than support, it represents belief in my commitment to education, service, and responsibility. With this opportunity, I can honor the chances I have been given and build a future defined not by what I lost, but by the impact I am determined to make.

My name is Yurii Boiko, and my life has been shaped by experiences that forced me to grow up far earlier than I expected. I am a Ukrainian immigrant, a student, and a young leader whose understanding of resilience was formed through loss, displacement, and rebuilding from nothing. These experiences did not harden me; instead, they gave me a deep sense of responsibility to serve others and build a future rooted in purpose. When war reached my home, I was separated from everything familiar and sent into uncertainty. I spent time in refugee shelters, surrounded by families who had lost their sense of safety overnight. Fear, silence, and exhaustion followed us everywhere. In those moments, I learned that survival is not only about endurance—it is about community. Even as a teenager, I tried to help by translating, guiding, and offering comfort, because helping others helped me find meaning during the darkest time of my life. Arriving in the United States did not end the struggle. I faced a new language, a new education system, and the immigration process without my parents beside me. There were nights when I felt invisible and overwhelmed. Yet school became my foundation. I poured myself into academics and leadership programs that gave me structure and direction. Through four years of JROTC, I learned discipline, accountability, and service, earning Navy awards for academic excellence. Structure saved me when my world felt unstable. Service became central to who I am. Through volunteering and a three-month internship with the Move for Gen Foundation, I learned how leadership works in real communities. I went from business to business, representing the mission and inviting people to become part of something bigger than themselves. I also volunteer with the Ukrainian Youth Community in Charlotte, helping refugee families navigate paperwork, school enrollment, and daily life. Every family I help reflects my own journey, and every story reminds me why this work matters. My future goals are deeply connected to my past. I plan to attend The Citadel Military College of South Carolina to continue developing as a leader grounded in honor, discipline, and service. I want to use my education to uplift underserved communities, support nonprofit organizations, and lead with empathy and action. I do not want my success to exist in isolation—I want it to create opportunity for others. This scholarship would be life-changing. Financial barriers remain one of the greatest challenges in my path, and support would allow me to focus fully on education and service rather than survival. More than funding, this scholarship would be a vote of confidence in a student who has turned adversity into purpose. I carry my past with me every day, not as a limitation, but as motivation to build a future defined by leadership, gratitude, and meaningful impact.

My idea of legacy was shaped long before I understood the word. When war forced me to leave my home in Ukraine, legacy was no longer about comfort, wealth, or recognition. It became about impact—how much good a person can leave behind, even when life takes everything else away. From refugee shelters to new beginnings in the United States, I learned that true legacy is built through service, leadership, and lifting others when they feel powerless. I plan to create a legacy rooted in purpose. In my future, I want to build a mission-driven business that functions as both an enterprise and a force for good. My goal is to create a social-impact organization that supports nonprofits, immigrant communities, and underserved youth by strengthening their outreach, organization, and sustainability. This business would not exist solely to generate profit, but to multiply impact—helping organizations grow, connect with donors, and change more lives. I believe business can and should be used as a tool to solve real problems. My desire to build this kind of business comes from real experience. Through my volunteer work and internship with the Move for Gen Foundation, I saw how much effort it takes to grow a nonprofit. Going business to business, explaining the mission, and inviting people to become part of something greater taught me how leadership, communication, and persistence create momentum. I learned that when people understand a mission, they want to be part of it. That lesson shaped my vision for the future. I also shine my light through service. Volunteering with the Ukrainian Youth Community in Charlotte allows me to support refugee families and immigrant youth who are navigating the same confusion and fear I once faced. Helping with paperwork, translation, and school enrollment is not just volunteer work to me—it is personal. I shine my light by being present, by listening, and by making others feel seen and supported during their most vulnerable moments. Leadership is another way I shine. Through four years of JROTC, academic excellence, and my plan to attend The Citadel, I am preparing to lead with discipline, integrity, and responsibility. Leadership taught me that influence is earned through consistency, humility, and service—not authority. My legacy will not be measured by titles or income, but by the lives I help strengthen. I want to be remembered as someone who turned hardship into purpose and used every opportunity to shine light where there was darkness. By building a mission-driven business, serving my community, and leading with honor, I will create a legacy that lives on through others.

My name is Yurii Boiko, and my life has been shaped by adversity, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to serve others. I am a Ukrainian immigrant whose journey was defined not by choice, but by necessity. War forced me to leave my home at a young age, separating me from family, language, and everything familiar. That experience changed the way I see the world and gave me a sense of purpose that guides my future. When I fled Ukraine, I spent time in a refugee shelter in Poland. I remember the fear in people’s eyes, the exhaustion, and the silence filled with uncertainty. Even as a teenager, I tried to help—translating when I could, explaining processes, and offering comfort to families who felt lost. That was the first time I understood how powerful service can be. Helping others helped me survive my own pain. After arriving in the United States, I faced a new set of challenges: a new language, a new education system, and the immigration process, all without my parents by my side. There were moments when quitting would have been easier. Instead, I chose discipline and responsibility. I committed myself to school, joined JROTC, and pushed academically, earning Navy awards for academic excellence. Structure saved me. It gave me stability when life felt fragile. My passion for service became action through my volunteering and internship with the Move for Gen Foundation. Over three months, I worked directly in nonprofit development, going business to business to share the organization’s mission. I asked people not just to donate money, but to physically become part of the cause. That experience taught me leadership, communication, and courage. It showed me how real change happens—through human connection, persistence, and belief in a mission bigger than yourself. I plan to remain connected to Move for Gen and similar organizations throughout my life. I also volunteer with the Ukrainian Youth Community in Charlotte, helping newly arrived immigrants and refugee families navigate school enrollment, paperwork, and daily life. Every family I help reminds me of my own beginning. This work is personal. I serve because I remember what it feels like to be lost and unheard. Looking forward, I plan to attend The Citadel Military College of South Carolina to continue developing as a leader grounded in discipline, service, and honor. My goal is to pursue a leadership-focused career where I can combine education, service, and impact—uplifting underserved communities and creating systems that support those starting over. The adversity I faced did not break me; it shaped me. I overcame it through education, service, and leadership. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and expand my ability to give back. I do not want success for myself alone. I want to lead in a way that honors my past by serving others in the future.

My name is Yurii Boiko, and my story is one shaped by loss, displacement, and resilience—but also by purpose, service, and hope. I am a Ukrainian immigrant, a high school senior, and a student who learned early that community can save lives. Everything I am today has been shaped by the people and organizations that chose to help me when I had nothing but determination. When war changed my life forever, I left my home at a young age and spent time in a refugee shelter in Poland. I remember the uncertainty, the fear, and the silence of people who did not know what tomorrow would bring. Even then, I tried to help—translating, sharing information, and offering comfort to families who were just as lost as I was. That experience taught me something I carry with me every day: service is not optional when you understand suffering—it is a responsibility. After arriving in the United States, I faced the challenges of a new language, education system, and immigration process without my parents. School became more than a place of learning; it became my lifeline. I committed myself academically and joined activities that taught discipline and leadership, including four years of JROTC, where I earned Navy awards for academic excellence. Structure and service gave me strength when life felt unstable. My deepest sense of purpose came through my work with nonprofit organizations. Volunteering and completing a three-month internship with the Move for Gen Foundation changed how I see impact. I went door to door, business to business, explaining the mission, asking people not only to donate, but to become part of something meaningful. I learned how trust is built, how communities grow, and how real change happens face to face. Move for Gen is not just a nonprofit to me—it is proof that compassion organized correctly can change lives. I plan to continue supporting this organization and missions like it in the future. I also volunteer with the Ukrainian Youth Community in Charlotte, helping newly arrived immigrants and refugee families. I assist with paperwork, translation, school enrollment, and emotional support. Every family I help reminds me of my own beginning. I do this work because I remember how it felt to be invisible and unsure. If I could start my own charity, its mission would be to guide immigrant and refugee youth through education, language barriers, and integration—so they never feel alone the way I once did. Volunteers would mentor, translate, assist with systems navigation, and simply stand beside those who are rebuilding their lives. I have big dreams, including attending The Citadel and pursuing higher education, but financial barriers remain real. This scholarship is not just financial support—it is an investment in a student who will turn education into service. I do not want success for myself alone. I want to become someone who lifts others, just as I was lifted.

My four years in the JROTC program have played a defining role in shaping my civilian goals, leadership mindset, and future ambitions. JROTC did not simply teach me military structure—it taught me discipline, accountability, and service, values that now guide my everyday life and long-term goals. Through JROTC, I learned how to manage my time, lead by example, and perform under pressure. Balancing academic responsibilities with program commitments required focus and persistence, which helped me earn Navy awards for academic excellence. These achievements were not just recognition of grades, but proof that discipline and consistency lead to measurable success. I apply these lessons daily—in my studies, in community service, and in setting clear goals for my future. One of the greatest challenges I faced was adapting to life as an immigrant student while holding leadership responsibilities. Learning a new language, navigating a new education system, and carrying personal loss could have easily become obstacles. Instead, JROTC gave me structure and purpose during uncertainty. It changed my perspective from survival to service and reshaped my goals toward leadership, education, and impact. The values instilled through JROTC inspired my commitment to community service, especially helping immigrant and refugee families. I learned that leadership is not about rank, but responsibility—stepping up when others need guidance. This belief drives my desire to attend The Citadel Military College of South Carolina, where I plan to continue developing my leadership skills in an environment built on honor, discipline, and service. Looking ahead, I want to use my education to serve underserved communities through leadership, engineering, and public service. JROTC shaped my understanding that strong leaders build stronger communities—both in uniform and in civilian life. If I were the world’s next superhero, my theme song would be “Believer” by Imagine Dragons. The song represents resilience through struggle and strength built through hardship—values that define both my journey and my character. Like the lessons I learned in JROTC, it reminds me that challenges do not weaken us; they prepare us to lead. In every stage of my life—from surviving displacement and immigration to leading in JROTC—I have learned that strength is built through discipline, service, and purpose. JROTC gave me the structure to turn hardship into direction and ambition into responsibility. As I prepare to attend The Citadel, my goal is to continue developing as a leader who serves others with integrity and action. I carry my past not as a burden, but as motivation to build a future defined by leadership, education, and meaningful impact on my community and beyond.

Leadership and science shape our future by transforming knowledge into action and innovation into impact. Science provides the tools to understand the world, while leadership ensures those tools are used ethically, responsibly, and for the benefit of people. When combined, they have the power to solve global challenges and create progress that reaches even the most vulnerable communities. My understanding of this connection comes from personal experience. As a Ukrainian immigrant affected by war and displacement, I saw how leadership decisions and scientific systems directly influence people’s lives. In refugee shelters and later during the immigration process, scientific organization—data, systems, logistics—and responsible leadership determined whether families received aid, medical care, and safe resettlement. When leadership failed, confusion and suffering followed. When leadership acted wisely, science became a pathway to hope. Science alone is not enough. Technology can advance rapidly, but without leadership, it can deepen inequality or be misused. True leadership requires responsibility, empathy, and long-term vision. Leaders must understand scientific developments and guide them toward solutions that serve humanity rather than harm it. This is especially important in areas such as engineering, healthcare, cybersecurity, and humanitarian technology. As a student pursuing engineering and technology, I see science as a powerful problem-solving tool. However, my goal is not simply to innovate, but to lead with purpose. Through leadership, scientific advancements can become accessible—helping immigrant communities navigate systems, improving communication for nonprofits, and building safer, more efficient infrastructures. Leadership ensures that science remains human-centered. The future will belong to leaders who can think critically, adapt quickly, and act ethically in a world driven by rapid scientific change. I aspire to be one of those leaders—someone who understands the power of science and accepts the responsibility that comes with it. By uniting leadership and science, we can build a future defined not only by progress, but by compassion, justice, and opportunity for all.

My name is Yurii Boiko, and I am a Ukrainian immigrant, high school senior, and dual-enrollment student who has learned resilience, responsibility, and leadership through lived experience. My life was permanently shaped by war, displacement, and loss, but also by community support and the opportunity to rebuild in the United States. Those experiences have driven my commitment to serving others and continuing my education with purpose. When the war in Ukraine escalated, I was forced to leave my home as a teenager. I spent time in a refugee shelter in Poland, where I saw firsthand how overwhelming displacement can be for families—especially when they must navigate immigration systems, paperwork, and language barriers. Even during that time, I helped translate, explain procedures, and support others emotionally. That experience taught me the importance of community and showed me how even small actions can make a lasting impact. After arriving in the United States, I faced many challenges adjusting to a new language, education system, and immigration process. Over time, I learned how these systems worked and chose to use that knowledge to help others. I currently volunteer with a Ukrainian Youth Organization, where I support newly arrived immigrants and refugee families. I assist with translations, school enrollment, applications, and explaining how everyday systems such as healthcare and education work. I also help young people feel welcomed and supported during what is often the most difficult period of their lives. Serving my community is not something I do because it looks good—it is something I do because I understand the fear and confusion of starting over. Helping others navigate that process gives meaning to my own journey. Academically, I plan to pursue higher education in engineering and technology, with the goal of building practical solutions that support underserved communities. If awarded this scholarship, I would use the funds to cover tuition, books, and educational expenses, allowing me to continue my studies while maintaining my commitment to service. Financial support would reduce the need to work excessive hours and allow me to invest more time in academics, leadership, and community involvement. This scholarship would not only support my education but would also empower me to continue giving back—turning hardship into purpose and opportunity into service.

Entrepreneurship, to me, means using initiative, leadership, and problem-solving skills to serve others and create meaningful change. My life story as a Ukrainian immigrant has shaped this belief and inspired my commitment to giving back to my community through service-driven entrepreneurship. My journey began during a time of crisis. After the war in Ukraine escalated, I was forced to leave my home and spend time in a refugee shelter in Poland. In that shelter, I witnessed the fear, confusion, and uncertainty families faced daily—especially when navigating immigration processes, language barriers, and unfamiliar systems. Even as a young person myself, I helped others translate documents, explain procedures, and provide emotional support to those overwhelmed by the transition. That experience taught me that leadership does not require a title; it requires empathy and action. When I later arrived in the United States as a teenager, I faced many of the same challenges again—new language, new culture, and complex immigration paperwork. Over time, with the help of supportive adults and my own determination, I learned how these systems worked. Instead of keeping that knowledge to myself, I chose to use it to help others. Today, I actively volunteer with a Ukrainian Youth Organization, where I support newly arrived Ukrainian immigrants and refugee families. I help youth enroll in school, assist families with forms and applications, explain how healthcare and education systems function, and serve as a bridge between cultures. Many of the people I help are experiencing fear and confusion similar to what I once felt, and I understand how powerful it is to have someone guide you through those first steps. These experiences have shaped my academic and career goals. I plan to pursue higher education in engineering and technology, where I can develop practical skills in problem-solving, innovation, and systems thinking. As an entrepreneur, my goal is to create social-impact projects that support immigrant and refugee communities—especially nonprofits and community organizations that often lack resources. I want to design affordable digital tools that simplify communication, organization, and outreach for groups helping vulnerable populations. Through entrepreneurship, I hope to turn my lived experience into lasting impact. I want to build solutions that empower others to rebuild their lives faster and with dignity. Giving back is not something I plan to do in the future—it is something I have already begun. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and expand my ability to serve my community through innovation, leadership, and compassion.

I lost my brother before I lost my country. His death changed my family forever, and shortly after, war changed everything else. I left my parents behind, not because I wanted to, but because I had no other choice. Saying goodbye to them was one of the hardest moments of my life. I did not know when I would see them again, or if I ever would. Before coming to the United States, I spent several weeks in a refugee center in Poland. Those days were full of uncertainty, fear, and silence. I was surrounded by people who had lost homes, family members, and peace. I was only a teenager, grieving my brother, missing my parents, and trying to understand how my life could change so suddenly. Everything familiar was gone. When I arrived in the United States, I entered foster care in a country where I did not know the language, the culture, or the system. School was especially difficult. I struggled to understand lessons, communicate with teachers, and adjust to expectations that were completely new to me. Simple things—forms, schedules, rules—felt overwhelming. At the same time, I was still carrying deep grief and emotional pain. My foster parents became my anchor during this time. From the very first days, they helped me with paperwork, school registration, medical appointments, and learning how everything works. They explained every step patiently and never made me feel like I was a burden. Over time, they became more than foster parents. They became my second parents. They supported me not only academically, but emotionally. They stood by me while I was grieving my brother and adjusting to life without my parents nearby. They showed me stability, care, and consistency when my world felt broken. Through them, I learned what real leadership looks like—quiet strength, responsibility, and commitment to others. They also taught me how important education is. Because of their guidance, I began to see school as a path forward, not just an obligation. Over the past four years, I have worked hard to improve my English, grow academically, and build myself into a stronger person and leader. Education gave me structure, confidence, and hope when everything else felt uncertain. One of the greatest joys in my life is my foster sister, Skylar, who is seven and a half years old. We became real brother and sister. Our bond was built naturally—through care, protection, and love. She brought light into my life during a very dark time, and our connection is something I will carry forever. Furthering my education will allow me to honor my journey and the people who helped me survive it. This scholarship would support not only my academic goals, but also my mission to grow into someone who turns pain into purpose. My past does not define my limits—it defines my strength.

I lost my brother before I lost my country. That sentence has followed me through every stage of my life. His absence became the silence in our home, the fear in my parents’ eyes, and the reason they made the most painful decision a parent can make—to send their child away so he could live. When war reached Ukraine, I was only fifteen. My parents had already buried one son. They could not bear the thought of burying another. So they sent me to the United States, not because I was ready, but because love sometimes requires separation. I remember leaving with a suitcase, a heavy heart, and a promise to survive. I did not feel brave. I felt broken and afraid. Arriving in America alone was overwhelming. I struggled with the language, with loneliness, with the constant feeling that I had to be strong even when I felt empty inside. I missed my parents. I missed my home. I missed my brother in ways that words cannot explain. Grief does not disappear when you cross borders—it follows you quietly, every day. But in this country, I found something I did not expect: compassion. Teachers were patient when I struggled to speak. Strangers treated me with dignity. Law enforcement and community members helped protect me and guide me through paperwork when I was still a child, learning how to stand on my own. The United States did not ask where I came from before offering help. It simply gave me a chance. That kindness changed me. I worked while studying. I learned responsibility early because there was no choice. I had no parents to fall back on, no safety net. Some nights, exhaustion and loneliness felt heavier than fear. But I kept going. I told myself that my brother’s life mattered, that my parents’ sacrifice mattered, and that I had a responsibility to turn my survival into something meaningful. Leadership, for me, is not loud or visible. It is quiet endurance. It is choosing discipline over despair. It is showing up even when your heart is tired. It is helping others while still learning how to heal yourself. Every achievement I earned—academic success, leadership roles, community service—came from that mindset. I love the United States deeply, not because my life here has been easy, but because it showed me what hope looks like in action. This country gave a grieving immigrant child safety, opportunity, and belief. It allowed me to dream again without fear. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents trust. It represents belief in someone who arrived with nothing but pain and hope. If given this opportunity, I will honor it through hard work, leadership, and service. My past shaped me through loss, but my future is built on gratitude. I carry my brother with me in everything I do, and I carry America in my heart for giving me the chance to live, grow, and become someone worthy of that second chance.

I am a man now. I am strong. I do not cry anymore. I cried when my family lost my brother. I was young, and that loss changed everything inside me. When the war later began, it did not begin with fear for me alone—it began with fear in my parents’ eyes. They had already lost one son. They could not risk losing another. When I was fifteen, they made the hardest decision a parent can make: to send their child away so he could be safe. I did not run from my country. I was protected by love. Leaving was not a choice; it was sacrifice. It was responsibility. It was parents choosing life for their only remaining child. I carried that responsibility with me when I came to the United States, and it became the foundation of who I am. Pain did not break me. It shaped me. I come from a family where strength is proven through action. My great-grandfather, Vasily Polishchuk, fought in World War II for three and a half years. He survived nearly the entire war and was killed just days before victory was announced, right before Berlin was reached. His name is written on a memorial as a brave soldier. I never met him, but I live with his legacy every day. From him, I learned honor, duty, and sacrifice. These values guide my future goals. I plan to attend The Citadel Military College of South Carolina, where discipline, leadership, and service are part of daily life. I want to pursue a degree in computer science / computer engineering, combining structure with innovation. Computer science is more than technology to me—it is problem-solving, protection, and building systems that serve people and nations. My interest in computer science began early, but it became stronger after everything I lived through. I learned that the modern world is protected not only by soldiers, but also by systems, data, and technology. I want to be part of that responsibility. Studying at a military college will allow me to grow as a leader while gaining the technical skills needed to make a real impact. Coming to the United States alone forced me to mature quickly. I rebuilt myself through discipline and education. I improved academically, became an honor student, and learned how to lead quietly—by example, consistency, and respect. I learned that leadership is not control; it is accountability. I want my success to honor my family. I want my education to honor my brother’s memory. I want my career to honor my great-grandfather’s sacrifice. Everything I do is built on that foundation. This scholarship is not just financial support. It is an investment in resilience, leadership, and purpose. I carry my past with pride, not pain. It made me who I am. I am strong. I am focused. And I am building a future worthy of those who came before me.

In honor of Dremcov’s family I came to the United States four years ago when I was fifteen years old. I did not come with my parents. I came alone, running from war, fear, and uncertainty. At that moment in my life, I had no family beside me and no clear understanding of what my future would look like. I was forced to grow up very fast. Soon after arriving, I was welcomed into a guardian family household. They were not my biological parents, but from the beginning, they treated me with care, patience, and respect. They took responsibility for a child who was not legally theirs, and that is not an easy job. Being a guardian parent means taking on challenges every single day, emotionally and mentally. Watching them do this with kindness and strength changed my understanding of what real family means. My guardians became my example of leadership. They showed me how to live with responsibility, discipline, and gratitude. They supported me through school, cultural adjustment, and emotional struggles. When I felt overwhelmed, they stood beside me. When I doubted myself, they reminded me of my potential. Because of them, I learned how to become independent without feeling alone. When I first arrived, I struggled academically. English was difficult, and I felt behind. But with the encouragement and structure my guardian parents provided, everything changed. I worked hard and improved step by step. I went from low grades to becoming one of the strongest students at my school. I earned A’s, joined the National Honor Society, and became involved in leadership and volunteer activities. Each accomplishment is not only my success—it is a reflection of the support I received at home. One realization that changed me deeply was understanding how powerful support can be. I realized that people do not need to be connected by blood to change your life forever. Guardian parents often take on one of the hardest roles—raising a child who comes with trauma, fear, and uncertainty. My guardians never gave up on me. Their consistency taught me resilience. Their belief taught me confidence. Today, I am proud of who I am becoming. In four years, I became stronger, more focused, and more determined. This transformation did not happen alone. It is the result of guidance, love, and leadership shown to me every day by my guardian family. They taught me how to be a good student, a responsible young adult, and a respectful citizen in this country. I want the world to know about people like my guardians. I want other children who grow up without parents to know that love and support can still be found. Guardian parents do incredibly hard work, often without recognition, and they deserve deep respect. I am grateful beyond words for everything they have done for me. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents recognition of resilience, growth, and the power of guardianship. I carry my family’s example with me, and I will continue to honor it through my education, my actions, and my future.

I came to the United States when I was fifteen years old, not to chase a dream, but to stay alive. I was running from war. I arrived without my parents, without relatives, and without knowing where I truly belonged. For the first time in my life, I had no family at all. Just fear, uncertainty, and hope that somehow things would be okay. At that age, most teenagers worry about school or friends. I worried about safety. I worried about the future. I felt alone in a country where everything was new—language, culture, people. I did not expect to find a family here. But life gave me something far greater than I imagined. The people who took me in were not my legal parents. There were no documents, no official titles. Yet from the very beginning, they treated me like their own. They gave me a home, emotional support, and unconditional love. They never asked for anything in return. What they gave me was not legal—but it was real. It was deep. It was family. Through them, I learned that family is not about blood or paperwork. It is about connection. It is about choosing to care for someone. Anyone who has the quality of heart can change a child’s life. These people changed mine. In this family, I also gained something incredibly special—a little sister. Her name is Skylar. She is seven and a half years old, and she tells everyone proudly that she has an older brother. We are not related by blood, but we are connected by trust and love. Being her brother taught me responsibility, patience, and how to protect someone who looks up to you. My parents today are strong leaders, and they teach me every day how to be a leader myself. They came to the United States more than twenty years ago with nothing. No money. No connections. Only goals and determination. Through education, discipline, and hard work, they built successful lives. But even more importantly, they showed me how to be a great citizen—honest, hardworking, respectful, and always willing to help others. When I arrived, I struggled in school. English was difficult. I felt lost. But with their constant support, everything changed. I went from failing grades to straight A’s. I became a member of the National Honor Society. I started volunteering and giving back. Every success I have is rooted in the encouragement and belief of my family. I may not know my exact career path yet, but I know the kind of person I want to be. I want to help others the way I was helped. I want to lead with kindness, protect those who feel alone, and contribute positively to this country that gave me a second chance. This scholarship would support my education, but more than that, it would support a story about chosen family, resilience, and becoming a responsible, compassionate citizen. I am who I am today because someone chose to raise me—with heart.

I came to the United States when I was fifteen years old. I was alone, grieving the loss of my brother, and leaving my home because of war. I did not understand the systems, the laws, or my rights. Most of all, I did not know who would protect me if something went wrong. I was afraid every day of making one mistake that could change my future forever. During my immigration journey, I experienced something that changed my life. As an underage immigrant, confused and overwhelmed by paperwork and rules, I interacted with law enforcement officers who chose compassion instead of fear. They spoke calmly. They explained things step by step. They treated me not as a problem, but as a child who needed protection. In a moment when I felt invisible in the world, they made me feel safe. That experience shaped how I see law enforcement today. It showed me that power can be used to protect instead of control, and that respect can change a person’s entire future. Because of this, I believe law enforcement agencies can improve relationships with the African American population by focusing on trust, listening, and humanity. Many African American communities have experienced pain, fear, and loss connected to policing. Healing cannot begin without empathy. Law enforcement officers should be trained not only in enforcement, but in understanding history, trauma, and communication. When officers listen before acting, explain instead of assume, and approach people with dignity, trust begins to grow. Community programs, school involvement, and youth mentorship can help children see officers as allies, not enemies. Accountability is also critical. Communities must know that justice applies to everyone equally. My own life is proof that positive policing matters. Because someone chose to guide me instead of intimidate me, I stayed in school. I worked hard. I took leadership roles. I now hold two jobs while continuing my education, even though financial struggles are part of my daily life. Giving up would be easier, but I refuse to let my past define my limits. Recently, I began considering a future career in criminal justice because I want to become the kind of person who protects others the way I was protected. I want to stand in the space between fear and fairness. I want to help rebuild trust in communities that have been hurt, especially African American communities who deserve safety, dignity, and justice. This scholarship would help me continue my education and move closer to that goal. I am not perfect. I am still learning. But I am resilient, grateful, and committed to serving others. I know what it feels like to be vulnerable, and I want to make sure no one feels alone when they need justice the most.

One of the hardest challenges I have faced in my life was the loss of my brother and then having to leave my home country because of the war. Losing someone you love changes you forever. When my brother passed away, I felt like a part of my childhood and my safety disappeared with him. I was overwhelmed with grief, confusion, and fear, and at the same time, I had to grow up very fast. Shortly after, I emigrated to the United States alone as a teenager. I left behind my family, friends, language, and everything familiar. Coming to a new country without my parents was incredibly difficult. I did not understand the school system, the culture, or the language well. There were moments when I felt invisible and isolated, and I questioned whether I was strong enough to survive on my own. At first, this experience affected me deeply. I struggled emotionally and academically while trying to process my loss and adjust to a completely new life. However, over time, I realized that giving up was not an option. I began using my pain as motivation. I focused on my education, joined school programs, and looked for ways to help others through volunteering. Each small success helped rebuild my confidence. Through these challenges, I learned resilience, independence, and gratitude. I learned that strength does not mean never feeling pain, but continuing to move forward despite it. Losing my brother taught me to value life and relationships, and immigration taught me how adaptable and determined I can be. These experiences shaped me into a more compassionate, disciplined, and motivated student. Although my journey has been difficult, it has given me purpose. I now see education as my opportunity to honor my past, support my future, and prove that even in the face of loss and displacement, growth is possible.

Creativity, to me, has always been a survival skill. As an immigrant and foster youth, I learned early that problems do not wait for perfect conditions—you solve them with what you have. One of the first real solutions I created was during my internship and volunteer work with the Move for Jenn Foundation, an organization that supports people who have lost limbs due to sarcoma. While volunteering, I noticed a practical problem: families and patients were overwhelmed by scattered information. Important resources—medical documents, financial assistance, prosthetic timelines, and follow-up needs—were spread across emails, messages, and paperwork. This made an already traumatic experience more stressful. To help, I created a simple but effective system using shared documents and spreadsheets to organize patient information, deadlines, and support tasks. This system helped improve communication within the team and ensured that no patient was overlooked. It was not high-tech, but it solved a real problem by bringing clarity and order where there was confusion. That experience showed me that problem-solving does not require advanced tools—only awareness, empathy, and creativity. It also taught me that even small solutions can make a meaningful difference in people’s lives. If I had the money and resources, I would expand this idea into a centralized digital platform designed for foster youth and families facing medical or personal crises. The platform would include resource tracking, reminders, mental health support links, and step-by-step guidance tailored to individual situations. Many foster youth and immigrant families struggle not because help doesn’t exist, but because it is difficult to access, understand, or organize. This platform would bridge that gap. The system would be simple, secure, and accessible from a phone—because technology should meet people where they are. With the right resources, I would work with social workers, nonprofits, and healthcare professionals to ensure accuracy and usability. The goal would be to reduce stress, increase support, and empower users to take control of their situations. Richard Neumann believed problem-solving was a form of art, and I agree. Creativity is not just about imagination—it is about noticing what others overlook and caring enough to fix it. My experiences taught me that innovation often begins with compassion. Whether through a spreadsheet or a future digital platform, I want to continue creating solutions that help people feel supported, organized, and seen. Ultimately, my goal is to continue using creativity not just as an idea, but as action. I believe the most powerful solutions are created by people who understand struggle firsthand and choose to respond with empathy and innovation. The Richard Neumann Scholarship would allow me to further develop my skills, pursue my education, and transform small ideas into meaningful systems that help real people. I am committed to seeing problems not as obstacles, but as opportunities to create change—and to using my creativity to build a more organized, compassionate, and connected world.

Mental health has shaped my life long before I had the words to understand it. My grandmother has schizophrenia, and growing up, my family played an active role in caring for her. Mental illness was not something distant or theoretical to me—it lived in our home, our conversations, and our daily responsibilities. Through her, I learned early that mental health is not a choice, a weakness, or something to be hidden, but a medical condition that deserves compassion, patience, and understanding. As a child, I did not fully understand why my grandmother sometimes saw the world differently or why her behavior changed. What I did understand was how deeply my family loved her. I saw how care involved routine, support, and sacrifice. There were moments of confusion and fear, but also moments of tenderness and connection. Watching my family take responsibility for her care taught me empathy at a level many people my age have not yet experienced. This experience completely reshaped my understanding of the world. I noticed how often people misunderstood mental illness or treated it as something shameful. I saw how stigma made life harder—not just for my grandmother, but for everyone who loved her. That realization stayed with me and changed how I interact with others. I became more patient, more observant, and more willing to listen instead of judge. I learned that many people are fighting invisible battles, and kindness can change everything. Mental health experiences within my family also shaped my personal goals. I want to pursue higher education not only to build a stable future for myself, but to contribute to a world where mental health is treated with seriousness and humanity. Education has shown me that understanding leads to advocacy, and advocacy leads to change. I want to be part of that change—whether through service, leadership, or supporting policies and practices that protect vulnerable individuals and families. My relationships have also been influenced by this experience. I value open communication and emotional honesty because I know how damaging silence can be. I am not afraid to talk about mental health, even when the conversation is uncomfortable, because I have seen what happens when people suffer in isolation. Supporting my grandmother taught me that presence matters, even when solutions are not simple. Being an immigrant and a foster child later in life added another layer to my understanding of mental health. Trauma, displacement, and loss intersect with mental well-being in powerful ways. Because of my family’s experience with schizophrenia, I approach these challenges with greater emotional awareness and resilience. I learned that strength does not mean ignoring pain—it means acknowledging it and continuing forward with compassion. My grandmother’s life, and my family’s care for her, taught me one of the most important lessons I will ever carry: mental illness does not define a person’s worth. Destigmatizing mental health begins with stories like hers—and with people willing to listen. I am committed to continuing that conversation through my education, my relationships, and my future career. Mental health deserves understanding, respect, and above all, humanity.

The Taylor Swift performance I find most moving is her live performance of “You’re On Your Own, Kid.” This song, especially when performed on stage in front of thousands, feels like more than music—it feels like a confession. It captures what it means to grow up too fast, to carry pain quietly, and to learn how to survive when there is no one else to lean on. As an immigrant and a foster child, I learned independence earlier than most people my age. I experienced loss, displacement, and separation from loved ones during a time shaped by war and uncertainty. Much like the message in this performance, I realized early that sometimes the world does not protect you—you have to protect yourself. Watching Taylor perform this song made me feel understood in a way I didn’t expect. Her voice carries both vulnerability and strength, which mirrors how I’ve had to live my life. What makes this performance especially powerful is how she stands alone on stage, fully present with her emotions. There is no hiding. That courage inspires me. I have often felt alone navigating grief, identity, and starting over in a new country. But seeing someone acknowledge loneliness and still turn it into strength reminded me that independence does not mean weakness—it means growth. Taylor Swift’s career has been lived in the spotlight, yet in this performance she strips everything down to honesty. That resonates deeply with me. I have learned that pain doesn’t disappear when ignored; it transforms when faced with courage. Her performance taught me that the hardest journeys often shape the strongest people. This song has helped me process my own life experiences and motivated me to keep moving forward, especially academically. Education is my way of building a future that honors everything I’ve survived. Just like Taylor turned her struggles into art, I want to turn my past into purpose—using education to help others who feel lost, displaced, or alone. This performance reminds me that even when life forces you to walk alone, that path can still lead somewhere meaningful. Watching Taylor sing those words live made me feel less isolated and more hopeful. It reminded me that strength comes from continuing forward, even when the journey begins with loss.

My Love Island challenge is called “Truth or Temptation.” This challenge is designed to test honesty, trust, and emotional connection between couples while adding drama, suspense, and meaningful conversations—everything Love Island fans love. Challenge Setup: The Islanders gather around the fire pit. Each couple is given a sealed envelope containing either a Truth Card or a Temptation Card. They do not know which one they will get until it is opened. The game is hosted by the narrator, who explains that every choice will impact their relationship. Truth Cards: If a couple receives a Truth Card, one partner must answer a deeply personal question honestly in front of everyone. These questions are about real emotions, doubts, attraction, or feelings about other Islanders. Examples include: • “Have you ever questioned your connection with your partner?” • “Is there someone else in the villa you are curious about?” • “What is something about your partner that worries you?” The partner listening must remain silent until the answer is finished, encouraging respect and emotional maturity. Temptation Cards: If a couple receives a Temptation Card, one partner is given a tempting option—such as a private date with another Islander, secret information about their partner’s past answers, or a special advantage in the next recoupling. However, choosing temptation means their partner will not know exactly what happened, only that a temptation was offered. This tests loyalty, integrity, and self-control. Twist: After all couples complete their challenge, Islanders anonymously vote on which couples they believe chose honesty and which chose temptation. The results are revealed, creating suspense and conversations throughout the villa. Reward & Consequences: Couples who choose honesty and maintain trust receive a romantic sunset date and safety at the next recoupling. Those who choose temptation may face emotional consequences, awkward conversations, or public reactions—but also potential new connections. Why This Challenge Works: “Truth or Temptation” goes beyond surface-level drama. It encourages vulnerability, accountability, and real emotional growth while still delivering tension and unpredictability. It allows Islanders to show who they truly are—not just who they appear to be. This challenge would create unforgettable moments, meaningful discussions, and natural drama—making it perfect for Love Island.

I am a fan of Sabrina Carpenter not only because of her music, but because of the story behind her success. Her career represents resilience, self-belief, and growth—qualities that deeply resonate with my own life experiences. As someone who has faced loss, displacement, and starting over at a young age, I find strength in watching someone continue to evolve while staying true to herself. Sabrina’s music has often been a source of comfort for me during difficult moments. Her lyrics are honest, vulnerable, and reflective, which made me feel seen during times when I struggled to understand my emotions. She writes about self-discovery, independence, heartbreak, and confidence in a way that feels real, not performative. Listening to her songs reminded me that it is okay to feel deeply and still move forward. What inspires me most about her career is how she did not give up when success did not come instantly. She grew from a child actress into a respected artist by constantly working, improving, and believing in her own voice. Her journey taught me that progress is not always fast or linear, but persistence matters more than perfection. That lesson has influenced how I approach school, personal goals, and my future. When things feel overwhelming, I remind myself that growth takes time. Sabrina also inspires confidence and self-expression. Through her music and public presence, she encourages being unapologetically yourself. As an immigrant and foster child, there were moments when I felt out of place or unsure of my identity. Seeing her confidently own her growth helped me learn to embrace who I am and trust my journey, even when it looks different from others’. Her career has impacted me by motivating me to chase my education and future goals with determination. She proves that your background does not define your limits and that hard work can turn challenges into strength. Just as she used her experiences to shape her artistry, I want to use my experiences to help others and build a meaningful future through education. Being a fan of Sabrina Carpenter means more than enjoying music—it means believing in resilience, authenticity, and growth. Her journey reminds me that even through hardship, it is possible to create something powerful and purposeful from your story.

Loss entered my life earlier than it should have. I lost loved ones who were not only family, but emotional anchors during a time marked by war, displacement, and uncertainty. The passing of people I deeply loved changed the way I saw the world and forced me to grow up quickly. Grief did not arrive all at once—it came in waves of sadness, confusion, guilt, and quiet anger. For a long time, I carried these emotions alone because I did not yet have the language to explain my pain. As an immigrant and later a foster child, grief felt layered. I was not only mourning people I loved, but also the life I once knew. I had to learn how to keep going even when everything felt broken. Over time, loss taught me resilience. I discovered that I am stronger than I ever believed, capable of adapting, surviving, and still caring deeply even after experiencing deep pain. To cope, I turned to journaling. Writing became a safe place where I could speak honestly without fear or judgment. Some days I wrote pages, other days only a sentence—but every word helped me release emotions that were too heavy to carry silently. Journaling allowed me to reflect, grieve, and slowly rebuild myself. While meditation was difficult at first because my thoughts were loud, learning to sit with silence taught me patience and emotional awareness. These practices helped me understand my emotions instead of running from them. This experience shaped my desire to continue my education. College represents more than a degree—it represents healing, opportunity, and purpose. Education gives me a future I can build with intention. I want to use what I learn to help others, especially those affected by trauma, loss, or displacement. Knowledge empowers me to transform pain into meaningful action and service. The biggest influences in my life are those who showed strength in the face of hardship. My family members who endured unimaginable challenges taught me courage and compassion. I am also deeply inspired by people who dedicate their lives to helping others, even if they have experienced loss themselves. Their example reminds me that grief does not end a story—it reshapes it. Loss changed me, but it did not break me. It taught me empathy, perseverance, and purpose. I carry the memory of my loved ones forward through my actions, my education, and my commitment to becoming someone who creates hope where it is needed most.

Math has always been more than numbers to me—it has been a source of stability, logic, and confidence during times when my life felt unpredictable. Growing up as an immigrant and later becoming a foster child, I experienced sudden change, loss, and uncertainty. Math became the one place where rules were clear, effort mattered, and answers could be found through persistence. I love math because it teaches me how to think. Every problem is a challenge that requires patience, creativity, and discipline. When an equation doesn’t work the first time, I don’t see it as failure—I see it as feedback. This mindset has shaped how I approach real-life problems as well. Math showed me that even complex situations can be broken down into smaller, manageable steps. Math also gives me a sense of control and confidence. In a world that often feels chaotic, math is honest. There are no shortcuts—only understanding. When I solve a difficult problem, I know I earned that success through effort and focus. That feeling motivates me to push myself in other areas of my life, both academically and personally. Beyond the classroom, I see math as the foundation of progress. Technology, engineering, economics, and computer science all rely on mathematical thinking. I am especially interested in using math-based skills to contribute to technology and problem-solving fields that help people and communities. Math is not just about numbers; it is a tool for building solutions and improving lives. Ultimately, I love math because it taught me resilience. Just like in life, some problems take time, multiple attempts, and different perspectives to solve. Math taught me not to quit when something is difficult, but to keep working until clarity appears. That lesson is one I carry with me every day.

I want to make a change in my life because I have learned, through pain and experience, that life is fragile and time is not guaranteed. Losing my brother, leaving my home country because of war, and arriving in the United States alone at a young age forced me to grow up quickly. I could have allowed these experiences to break me, but instead, they shaped my purpose. I want my life to stand for something meaningful—not only for my own future, but for people who are suffering and feel unseen. One of the most important steps I have taken toward this goal is my internship and volunteer work with the Move for Jenn Foundation. This organization supports individuals and families affected by cancer and limb loss, providing financial assistance, emotional support, and hope during some of the hardest moments of their lives. When I first became involved, I did not expect how deeply this work would impact me. Very quickly, I realized that the pain these families carry is not just medical—it is emotional, financial, and deeply personal. At Move for Jenn, I help raise awareness, assist with community outreach, support fundraising efforts, and share stories of individuals whose lives have been changed by illness. What makes this work meaningful is not just what we do, but why we do it. We do it to remind people that they are not alone. We do it to ease the burden for families who are already overwhelmed. And we do it because compassion can change lives, even when medicine cannot fix everything. This experience changed me. It taught me responsibility, leadership, and empathy in a way no classroom ever could. I learned how to communicate with people who are grieving, how to advocate for those who are too exhausted to advocate for themselves, and how small acts of kindness can give someone strength to keep going. Every story I encountered reminded me of my own family’s struggles and reinforced my desire to work in a field where I can serve others. My volunteer work is not separate from my personal journey—it is a continuation of it. Having experienced loss, displacement, and hardship, I understand the importance of support systems. That understanding motivates me to pursue higher education so I can become someone who helps others navigate difficult moments, just as Move for Jenn helps so many families today. This scholarship would help me continue on this path. Financial stress is a constant challenge as an immigrant and foster youth pursuing education independently. Receiving this support would allow me to focus on my studies and service work without having to choose between survival and growth. It would bring me one step closer to my goal of building a stable future rooted in service. I plan to pay this opportunity forward by continuing my involvement in nonprofit and community-based work. I want to mentor other young immigrants, foster youth, and individuals facing medical hardships. I want to use my education to build programs, raise awareness, and create access for those who are often overlooked. Change, for me, is not about escaping my past—it is about honoring it by turning pain into purpose. Through my work with Move for Jenn and my commitment to service, I am building a future where compassion leads the way.

One of the moments in foster care that made me most proud of my resilience was not a single dramatic event, but a quiet realization: I had survived more than I ever thought possible, and I was still moving forward. I entered foster care after immigrating to the United States alone at a young age, carrying grief, trauma, and fear with me. I had already lost my brother back in Ukraine, a loss that shattered my family and left me feeling broken before my life even began in a new country. Soon after, war intensified at home, and the weight of knowing my parents were grieving while living through constant danger never left my heart. By the time I arrived in the U.S., I was not just a teenager—I was someone who had grown up too fast. Foster care was supposed to provide safety, but emotionally, it was one of the hardest periods of my life. I felt displaced, unsure where I belonged, and overwhelmed by loneliness. Everything felt temporary—homes, routines, even relationships. I struggled to trust that anything would last. There were moments when I felt invisible, like my past didn’t matter and my future was uncertain. English was not my first language, I had no family nearby, and I had to learn how to advocate for myself at an age when most people are still protected by their parents. The moment that changed me came when I realized no one else was going to rescue me—I had to become strong for myself. I remember sitting alone late at night, overwhelmed by grief and fear, and deciding that my past would not destroy my future. That decision became the foundation of my resilience. I began showing up for myself every day, even when it was painful. In foster care, I learned how to be independent in ways that most teenagers never experience. I learned to manage school, emotions, and responsibilities alone. Despite emotional exhaustion, I focused on my education and worked hard to succeed academically. I joined structured programs like JROTC, where discipline, responsibility, and leadership gave me stability when my personal life felt unstable. I earned respect through effort and consistency, and for the first time in years, I felt proud of myself. This experience completely changed how I face challenges today. Foster care taught me that resilience is not about pretending everything is okay—it is about continuing forward even when everything hurts. I no longer panic when life becomes difficult. Instead, I pause, plan, and move forward with determination. I am not afraid of hard work, responsibility, or uncertainty because I have already lived through them. Being a foster child shaped my empathy deeply. I understand what it feels like to be alone, misunderstood, and afraid to ask for help. That understanding drives my desire to serve others in the future, especially those who are vulnerable or displaced. My experiences pushed me toward a path of leadership and service, where I can be a voice for those who feel unheard. Today, I am proud not because foster care was easy, but because it did not break me. It strengthened me. My resilience was built through loss, loneliness, and responsibility—but it carries me forward with courage. Whatever challenges come next, I know I can face them, because I already have.

My immigrant story began with loss. Before I ever set foot in the United States, my family was already broken by pain. My older brother died at only twenty-one years old in Ukraine, and his death left a silence in our home that no words could fill. My parents were struggling with grief, and I was still just a child trying to understand how life could change so suddenly. Soon after, war reached our streets. Fear became part of everyday life. Sirens replaced peace, and uncertainty replaced childhood. At the age of fifteen, I made the most difficult decision of my life. I immigrated to the United States alone. I left my parents behind while they were still mourning their son and living in a country at war. Saying goodbye felt like tearing my heart in half. I carried guilt for leaving, fear of the unknown, and the weight of responsibility to succeed—not just for myself, but for my family. When I arrived in the United States, I had no safety net. English was my second language, the education system was unfamiliar, and I had to grow up overnight. I faced loneliness, cultural shock, and financial hardship. There were moments when I felt invisible and overwhelmed, especially as I navigated school, healthcare, and daily life on my own. At the same time, I struggled with health challenges, including severe vision problems, that made even simple tasks more difficult. Despite everything, I refused to give up. In just three and a half years, I transformed grief into discipline and fear into motivation. I earned a strong GPA while learning English and adapting to a new academic system. I joined leadership and service programs, including JROTC, where I found structure, responsibility, and purpose. The discipline taught there helped me believe in myself again. I became involved in community service and leadership opportunities, proving to myself that my past did not define my limits. I also learned independence in ways most teenagers never have to. I managed school, personal responsibilities, medical appointments, and finances alone. Every achievement—every exam passed, every leadership role earned, every obstacle overcome—felt like a quiet promise kept to my parents back home. I worked not only for my future, but for theirs. Education gave my life direction when everything else felt uncertain. It became my anchor and my hope. Through my education, I discovered my desire to serve others, especially those who face hardship, displacement, or injustice. My long-term goal is to pursue higher education and a career dedicated to service, leadership, and making a meaningful impact on the world. I want to honor my brother’s memory by building a life rooted in purpose and contribution. Being an immigrant has taught me resilience, empathy, and gratitude. I know what it means to start with nothing but determination. Scholarships like this represent more than financial support—they represent belief. They allow students like me, who have already lost so much, to keep moving forward. My journey began with loss, but it continues with hope. I carry my family, my country, and my past with me every day. I am building a future not despite my struggles, but because of what they taught me.

My name is Yurii Boiko, and I am an international student living in the United States. My first language is Ukrainian. I learned English later in my life, after everything around me changed. Being bilingual has been one of the biggest challenges and also one of the greatest strengths of my journey. I was born and raised in Ukraine in a close family. My life changed when my older brother died at the age of twenty-one. His death broke my family and left a deep pain that still lives inside me. Soon after that, the war in Ukraine began. Fear, danger, and uncertainty became normal. At only fifteen years old, I left my country and came to the United States alone. This was not a dream situation—it was a decision for survival and for the future of my family. When I arrived in the U.S., I did not speak English well. Simple things like talking to teachers, understanding homework, or asking for help were very difficult. I often felt embarrassed, quiet, and frustrated because I knew what I wanted to say, but I could not say it correctly. I was afraid of making mistakes. Many days I felt lonely, especially because my family was far away and still struggling in Ukraine. Learning English was one of the hardest challenges of my life. It took patience, courage, and many failures. Sometimes people did not understand me, and sometimes I did not understand them. But over time, I learned that making mistakes is part of learning. Being bilingual taught me to listen more carefully and to think deeper before speaking. It also taught me empathy for others who struggle to communicate. Today, being bilingual is a benefit. I can connect with people from different cultures and backgrounds. I understand what it feels like to feel lost, misunderstood, or invisible. My ability to speak Ukrainian and English allows me to help others who are new immigrants or English learners. I often translate, explain, and support people who are afraid to speak up, just like I once was. After graduation, I plan to continue my education and pursue a career where I can serve others and create positive change. I want to use my experiences—loss, immigration, language struggle, and resilience—to help people who are facing hardship. Whether through leadership, public service, or community work, I want my career to be meaningful, not only successful. Being bilingual has shaped my identity. English is the language I learned through struggle, discipline, and persistence. Ukrainian is the language of my family, my memories, and my heart. Carrying both languages means carrying two worlds—and it has taught me responsibility, respect, and strength. Although English is not my first language, it has become a language of growth and opportunity. Every sentence I speak and every essay I write represents how far I have come. I am proud of my progress, and I know that my bilingual background will continue to help me learn, lead, and serve others in the future. This scholarship would support my education and help me continue building a life where my challenges become my strengths. My journey has not been easy, but it has prepared me to move forward with resilience, gratitude, and determination.

The most significant loss I have experienced was the death of my brother. He was only twenty-one years old, full of dreams, strength, and plans for the future. His sudden passing did not just take a person from my life—it changed the foundation of who I am. Losing him marked the moment when childhood ended and responsibility, grief, and resilience began. Before his death, my brother was my protector and my guide. He believed in me, encouraged me, and made the future feel safe. When he died, the world felt empty and unfair. Our home in Ukraine became quiet, heavy with memories and unanswered questions. I watched my parents endure the unimaginable pain of losing a child, and in that moment I realized how fragile life truly is. Grief became a part of everyday life, something we carried quietly because there was no way to escape it. Soon after my brother’s death, the war in Ukraine escalated, bringing fear and uncertainty into every corner of our lives. Stability disappeared. Safety was no longer guaranteed. At just fifteen years old, I made the most difficult decision of my life—to leave my country and immigrate to the United States alone. Leaving my grieving parents behind felt like reopening an unhealed wound. I carried guilt with me for surviving, for leaving, and for continuing to dream when my brother could not. Grief followed me across the ocean. In a new country, without family, I had to learn how to live with my loss while adapting to a new language, culture, and education system. I faced loneliness, fear, and the pressure of growing up too quickly. There were many moments when I felt invisible, overwhelmed, and emotionally exhausted. But grief did not break me—it shaped me. Losing my brother forced me to grow into someone more aware, compassionate, and determined. I learned to value time, relationships, and opportunities in a way I never had before. I stopped taking life for granted because I understood how suddenly everything can change. This loss taught me empathy—how to recognize pain in others even when it is unspoken. I became more patient, more thoughtful, and more intentional in how I treat people. My goals and outlook on life were deeply influenced by this experience. Success no longer means only personal achievement; it means living with purpose. I want my life to honor my brother’s memory by being meaningful, responsible, and centered on helping others. His life was short, but its impact on me is permanent. I carry his dreams forward by continuing to work hard, pursue education, and remain resilient even when life feels unfair. Today, I approach life with gratitude and determination. I understand that strength is not the absence of pain, but the ability to continue despite it. I have learned how to live with loss instead of running from it. My brother’s death reshaped my heart, my priorities, and the way I see the world. Though I will always grieve my brother, his loss taught me how to live more fully. It shaped the person I am today—someone who values compassion over comfort, purpose over ease, and resilience over despair. I move forward carrying his memory, not as a burden, but as a reason to live with intention, integrity, and hope.

Education became my direction when my life felt completely broken. Before that, I was simply trying to survive. I grew up in Ukraine in a loving but hardworking family. My parents believed deeply in education, not just as a path to success, but as a way to become a good and responsible person. That belief stayed with me even when everything else was taken away. My world changed forever when my older brother died at the age of twenty-one. His death shattered my family. I watched my parents grieve in silence, trying to stay strong while carrying unbearable pain. Losing him taught me how fragile life is and how quickly dreams can disappear. Soon after, the war in Ukraine destroyed any sense of stability we had left. Fear, uncertainty, and loss became part of everyday life. At only fifteen years old, I made the most difficult decision of my life: I left my country and immigrated to the United States alone. I did not come chasing comfort or opportunity. I came because staying meant no future. Leaving meant survival. Arriving in the U.S. alone was terrifying. I faced language barriers, cultural differences, financial hardship, and emotional loneliness. I carried grief in my heart every day—grief for my brother, guilt for leaving my parents behind, and fear that I would fail after everything my family had lost. Education became the one thing that gave my life structure and purpose. School was where I could focus, grow, and feel a sense of control again. Through education, I learned discipline, resilience, and hope. I learned how to advocate for myself, how to ask questions, and how to push forward even when everything felt overwhelming. Every class I passed and every goal I reached reminded me that my journey had meaning. Education taught me that my past does not define my limits—it defines my strength. The challenges I overcame were not only academic. I faced grief that did not disappear when the school day ended. I learned how to carry pain without letting it stop me. I learned how to grow up early, manage responsibility, and stay focused when life felt unfair. These experiences shaped my character more than any textbook ever could. Today, education has given me clarity about who I want to become. I no longer see success as just personal achievement. I see it as responsibility. I want to use my education to help others who are struggling—people who feel displaced, unheard, or powerless the way I once felt. I want to be a source of stability, leadership, and service in a world that often feels chaotic. My dream is to build a future where my education allows me to give back—to support my parents, to honor my brother’s memory, and to help others find hope after loss. I want my life to be proof that even after tragedy, it is possible to rise higher. Dreaming big was never easy for me. Rising higher was never guaranteed. But education gave me direction when I felt lost. It gave me purpose when grief tried to consume me. And it continues to remind me that my journey—no matter how painful—can become a source of light for others. I carry my past with me, not as a burden, but as motivation. Through education, I am building a future rooted in resilience, compassion, and hope. And through that future, I plan to make the world a little better than the one I was forced to leave behind. My dream is to build a life that honors my family’s sacrifices, supports my parents, and keeps my brother’s memory alive. His dreams did not end with his life—I carry them forward through my determination and goals. Education gives me the tools to turn pain into purpose and loss into motivation. It allows me to believe that my story can become a source of hope for others. Dreaming big was never easy for me. Rising higher was never guaranteed. My path was built through grief, war, separation, and survival. But education gave me direction when I felt lost. It gave me purpose when despair threatened to take over. It reminded me that even after tragedy, it is possible to rebuild. I carry my past with me every day—not as a burden, but as a reminder of how far I have come. Through education, I am creating a future grounded in resilience, compassion, and service. And through that future, I hope to create a better world—not only for myself, but for others who are still searching for light in the darkness.

Grief did not arrive in my life quietly. It came suddenly, violently, and permanently when my brother died at the age of twenty-one. One day he existed—laughing, dreaming, planning a future—and the next day he was gone. There are losses you survive, and then there are losses that change the way you breathe. Losing my brother did the latter. From that moment on, I became someone new—not because I wanted to, but because I had to. My brother was more than my sibling. He was protection, guidance, and the person who believed in me when I doubted myself. His death left a hole in my family that never closed. I watched my parents try to continue living while carrying the unbearable pain of burying a child. Our home became quieter, heavier, filled with memories that hurt to touch. At an age when I should have been focused on school and growing up, I was learning how to live with grief. Shortly after losing my brother, war overtook Ukraine. Fear, instability, and loss became part of daily life. At just fifteen years old, I made the most painful decision of my life: I left my country and emigrated to the United States alone. Leaving my parents while they were grieving broke my heart. I carried guilt for surviving, guilt for leaving, and guilt for continuing to dream when my brother no longer could. But staying meant no future, and leaving meant carrying my grief into the unknown. Grief followed me across the ocean. In a new country, I grieved alone—in a new language, in unfamiliar places, without anyone who truly knew my brother. There were nights when I cried quietly so no one would hear me, moments when I wondered why I was still alive when he was not. But grief also changed me in ways that shaped my purpose. It taught me empathy that cannot be learned in classrooms. It taught me how deeply people hurt behind smiles, and how important kindness truly is. Navigating my grief has made me more attentive to others. When I see someone struggling, I do not look away. I listen. I support. I try to be present in the ways I wish someone had been for me. Carrying loss has softened my heart and strengthened my sense of responsibility. I do not take time, people, or opportunities for granted, because I know how quickly everything can disappear. My grief also shaped the career path I am choosing. I want my life to stand for something beyond success. I want to help people who are hurting, displaced, grieving, or lost—because I understand that pain personally. Whether through leadership, service, or working with communities in crisis, I want my work to be rooted in compassion. I want to use my education and my life to protect others and bring stability where chaos once lived. LOVE like JJ means choosing love even after loss. It means letting grief make you kinder instead of colder. My brother’s life did not end with his death—I carry it forward in every decision I make. I try to love deeply, live purposefully, and treat others gently, because I know what it means to lose someone too soon. I am still learning how to live without my brother. Some days are harder than others. But I move forward with him in my heart, using my grief not as an anchor, but as a compass. Loving like JJ means turning pain into purpose—and that is how I choose to live.

My background is defined by loss, resilience, and the courage to keep moving forward when life gives no clear path. I was born and raised in Ukraine in a close-knit family where love, faith, and responsibility were deeply valued. My parents worked hard to give their children a future, but our lives were forever changed by tragedy. My older brother died at the age of twenty-one. His death shattered my family emotionally and changed me at an age when I still needed guidance myself. Watching my parents grieve while trying to survive broke my heart and forced me to grow up far too quickly. Not long after, the war in Ukraine brought fear, instability, and uncertainty into every day of our lives. Safety disappeared, and the future felt impossible to imagine. At just fifteen years old, I made the most painful decision of my life—to leave my country and immigrate to the United States alone. I left my parents behind while they were still grieving the loss of their son. That decision came with guilt, fear, and loneliness, but also with a promise: I would not waste the chance I was given. Arriving in the United States alone was overwhelming. I faced language barriers, cultural shock, financial hardship, and emotional isolation. I had to learn how to navigate school, healthcare, and daily life without family support. There were nights when the weight of grief and loneliness felt unbearable. Yet each challenge taught me resilience, discipline, and independence. Over time, I learned to advocate for myself, work through fear, and remain focused on my education even when everything felt fragile. One of the greatest challenges I overcame was learning to believe in myself again after loss. Grief does not disappear; it follows you into classrooms, conversations, and dreams. But through perseverance, I transformed pain into motivation. In just three and a half years, I adapted to a new country, maintained strong academic performance, built leadership skills, and laid the foundation for my future. Every achievement I earned came from persistence, not privilege. The person who inspires me most is my brother. Even though his life was short, his presence shaped my values forever. His dreams did not end with his passing—I carry them forward. He inspires me to live with purpose, compassion, and strength, especially when life feels unfair. I also draw inspiration from my parents, whose quiet endurance taught me what true strength looks like. These experiences inspired me to pursue higher education in the United States because education represents stability, opportunity, and the power to rebuild. As an international student from a low-income background, higher education is not just a goal—it is a lifeline. I believe education is the strongest way to honor my brother, support my parents, and give meaning to everything my family has endured. After graduation, I plan to pursue a career focused on service and leadership. I want to help others who face displacement, hardship, or injustice, whether through public service, leadership, or community-oriented work. My goal is to give back to the country that gave me safety and opportunity, and to be someone others can rely on in moments of crisis. My story is one of loss, survival, and hope. I did not choose hardship, but I chose resilience. This scholarship would not only support my education—it would help ensure that my journey, and my family’s pain, lead to purpose, impact, and a future defined by service and compassion.

My faith in God did not come from comfort or ease. It was born in loss, pain, and survival. When my brother died in Ukraine, my life changed forever. He was only twenty-one years old—young, hopeful, and full of dreams that will never be realized. His death left a silence in our family that words cannot fill. I watched my parents break under grief, trying to stay strong while losing a son. In that darkness, faith became the only light I could hold onto. Not long after losing my brother, war consumed my country. Fear, uncertainty, and suffering became normal. At fifteen years old, I made the hardest decision of my life: I left Ukraine alone and came to the United States. This was never my dream. It was a necessity. I left my parents while they were grieving, carrying guilt, responsibility, and prayer in my heart. I remember asking God why a child had to carry such pain—but I kept believing He had a purpose, even when I could not see it. Being alone in a new country tested my faith every day. I faced language barriers, loneliness, financial hardship, and the pressure of growing up too fast. There were nights when I cried silently and prayed for strength just to wake up and keep going. God did not remove my struggles, but He gave me endurance. Through faith, I learned to stand when I wanted to collapse and to hope when everything felt uncertain. In just 3.5 years, faith helped me achieve what once felt impossible. I adapted to a new culture, continued my education, developed leadership skills, and built a life from nothing. I learned discipline, responsibility, and resilience—not because life was kind, but because God kept me moving forward. Every achievement I have is rooted in prayer, sacrifice, and trust that my suffering had meaning. My faith also shaped my values. I learned that success without integrity is empty, and ambition without compassion is meaningless. God taught me that true strength is serving others, staying humble, and choosing good even when life is unfair. My brother’s death and my journey alone taught me that life is fragile, and every day must be lived with purpose. As I look toward my future career, my faith will remain my guide. I want to live a life that honors God, my family, and my brother’s memory. Whatever path I pursue—whether in service, leadership, or helping others—I want my work to reflect honesty, discipline, and care for those who are struggling. I want to be someone who lifts others, just as God lifted me when I had nothing. My faith did not erase my pain, but it gave my pain meaning. I carry my brother in my heart, my parents in my prayers, and God in every step I take. I am still here because of faith—and I will continue forward because of it.

My life has been shaped by loss, responsibility, and the belief that service gives meaning to suffering. I was born in Ukraine, where my family experienced tragedy, instability, and the pain of watching loved ones struggle and disappear too soon. The most devastating loss was my brother, who died at the age of twenty-one. His death changed my family forever. My parents were left grieving, trying to survive emotionally while continuing to move forward. Watching them struggle taught me that strength is not something you choose—it is something life demands of you. Soon after, the war in Ukraine transformed our daily reality into constant fear and uncertainty. Safety, stability, and opportunity disappeared almost overnight. Leaving my country was never my dream, but it became necessary. I immigrated to the United States alone, carrying grief, guilt, and responsibility with me. I left my parents behind while they were still struggling, knowing that success was no longer just personal—it was something I owed to my family and to the memory of my brother. Starting over alone forced me to grow quickly. I faced language barriers, financial hardship, loneliness, and the pressure of building a future without support. Yet through these challenges, I found purpose. I realized that my experiences gave me empathy, discipline, and a deep respect for service. I no longer see success as comfort or wealth, but as the ability to protect others, lead with integrity, and give back to the world that gave me a second chance. I aspire to attend The Citadel because it represents the values that now guide my life: discipline, honor, leadership, and service. The Citadel is not just a military college—it is a place where individuals are trained to serve something greater than themselves. I want to follow the path of leaders who dedicate their lives to helping others, whether through military service, government, or public leadership. I believe structure, responsibility, and service are the strongest ways to turn pain into purpose. My goal is to pursue a career where I can make a positive impact on the world by serving people in need, protecting communities, and leading with accountability. I want to be someone others can depend on—especially those who feel powerless, displaced, or unheard. My life taught me that when systems fail people, leaders must step forward. I want to be one of those leaders. This scholarship matters to me not only because of financial need, but because it supports students who choose service over comfort. I come from a low-income background and have built my life through perseverance rather than privilege. Support like this allows me to focus on education and service instead of survival. I carry my brother’s memory, my parents’ sacrifice, and my journey as motivation to do better and be better. By attending The Citadel and pursuing a career in service, I hope to honor those I have lost and contribute to a world that needs more leaders guided by compassion, discipline, and courage. Helping others is not just my goal—it is my responsibility.

Diabetes has been part of my life for as long as I can remember, not as a medical term, but as a reality that shaped my family and my understanding of responsibility, loss, and care for others. I watched my grandmother and my father live with diabetes for many years, learning how it quietly affects every aspect of daily life. Six months ago, diabetes became even more personal and painful when my uncle died due to complications from the disease. His loss changed me forever. Growing up, I saw how diabetes demands constant attention and discipline. My grandmother and father had to carefully monitor their health, manage medications, watch their diet, and live with the constant fear of complications. Diabetes was never something that could be ignored. It required strength, patience, and responsibility every single day. Watching them struggle taught me that health is fragile and that chronic illness affects not just one person, but an entire family. The loss of my uncle was devastating. His death was sudden and painful, and it left our family grieving and full of unanswered questions. Seeing firsthand how diabetes can take a life when complications grow too severe made the disease feel real in a way I had never experienced before. It was no longer just about managing a condition—it was about life, loss, and the consequences of limited access to care, awareness, and support. Because of these experiences, I became more aware of how important education and early intervention are when it comes to diabetes. I learned that many complications can be prevented with proper care, resources, and awareness, yet so many people still suffer due to lack of information or support. This realization has shaped who I am today. I am more attentive, compassionate, and aware of the struggles others may be carrying silently. My family’s experience with diabetes has also taught me responsibility. I learned the importance of paying attention to warning signs, encouraging healthy habits, and supporting loved ones through difficult conditions. I try to be someone who notices when others are struggling and offers help instead of judgment. Diabetes taught me empathy long before I learned it in a classroom. Looking toward the future, my experiences have influenced the way I see my role in the world. I want to be involved in a career and community that values health awareness, education, and prevention. Whether through advocacy, technology, or service, I hope to contribute to efforts that improve access to healthcare and spread knowledge about chronic illnesses like diabetes. I want to help create a future where families do not have to suffer the same losses mine has endured. Diabetes has taken people I love, but it has also given me a strong sense of purpose. I carry my uncle’s memory with me, along with the strength of my grandmother and father. Their struggles shaped my values and my determination to turn loss into action. I cannot change what diabetes has taken from my family, but I can help raise awareness, show compassion, and work toward a healthier future for others.

My journey toward higher education has been shaped by loss, disability, and resilience—experiences that changed my life long before I entered a college classroom. The most defining moment of my life was the loss of my brother in Ukraine. He was only twenty-one years old, full of life and dreams, and his death shattered my family. Losing him taught me how fragile life is and forced me to grow up faster than I ever should have had to. From that moment on, I carried not only my own future, but the weight of dreams my brother never had the chance to fulfill. Soon after, my life was further transformed by war, displacement, and my immigration to the United States alone. Leaving my parents behind while they were grieving was one of the hardest choices I have ever made. I carried guilt, responsibility, and determination with me. I knew that if I continued forward, I had to succeed—not just for myself, but for my family and in honor of my brother’s memory. Alongside emotional loss, I have faced ongoing physical challenges. I live with severe vision problems caused by myopia, which affect my daily life and will require surgery. I also struggle with speech difficulties that once made me feel invisible and hesitant to express myself. These challenges made school harder, communication more stressful, and confidence difficult to build. There were times I felt misunderstood or overlooked, but giving up was never an option. Instead, these hardships prepared me for higher education in ways success alone never could. I learned patience through vision limitations, courage through speaking despite fear, and strength through grief. I learned how to advocate for myself, manage stress, and stay focused even when everything felt overwhelming. Every challenge strengthened my discipline and taught me how to move forward when life gives you no clear path. I plan to study computer science because it represents possibility, independence, and accessibility. Technology has been a lifeline for me—helping me communicate, adapt, and navigate the world when my physical limitations made things harder. In computer science, ideas matter more than how fast you speak or how clearly you see. It is a field where problem-solving and persistence define success, and that aligns with the way I have lived my life. I hope to use my education to create inclusive and accessible solutions, especially for people who face disabilities, trauma, or isolation. I want to build tools that help others feel empowered, connected, and supported—because I know how painful it is to struggle silently. The loss of my brother will always be part of me, but it also became my motivation. I continue forward for him, for my parents, and for the future I am determined to build. My journey has not been easy, but it has given me purpose. Through education, service, and resilience, I hope to turn my pain into impact and honor my brother by building a life filled with meaning, compassion, and hope.

My life has been shaped by faith, resilience, and grace during times when nothing felt certain. I was born in Ukraine, and because of war and instability, I immigrated to the United States alone. Leaving my home, family, and everything familiar behind forced me to grow up quickly and rely on inner strength, faith, and the kindness of others. That journey taught me that grace is not abstract—it is something lived through action, service, and compassion. When I arrived in the U.S., I felt isolated and overwhelmed. The language, culture, and responsibilities of independence were heavy, especially without family beside me. During this time, my faith became my anchor. The Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church in Charlotte became more than a place of worship—it became a source of belonging, comfort, and stability. Through prayer, community, and service, the church helped me heal from fear and loss and reminded me that I was not alone. My involvement in the Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church has been an important part of my growth. Being surrounded by a community that shared my faith, culture, and values helped me regain strength and hope. The church showed me what it means to live with grace: serving others quietly, supporting one another during hardship, and responding to pain with compassion instead of bitterness. Watching community members volunteer, support Ukraine, and care for newcomers inspired me to lead with humility and empathy. My immigration journey taught me that faith is not just belief—it is responsibility. I learned that even in suffering, we are called to help others. This understanding shapes how I plan to make a positive impact through my future career. Whatever path I pursue, I want my work to be rooted in service, dignity, and care for those who feel unseen or unsupported. I want to help people who are struggling—whether emotionally, financially, or physically—just as others once helped me. Because I arrived alone, I learned independence at a young age. I managed school, personal challenges, medical needs, and emotional struggles on my own, while holding onto faith as my source of strength. These experiences shaped my character and clarified my purpose. I do not see success only as personal achievement, but as the ability to uplift others and create positive change. My goals for the future include higher education and a career where I can combine knowledge with compassion. I want to be someone who brings stability, guidance, and hope to others—especially immigrants, youth, and individuals facing hardship. My life experiences taught me how deeply people need understanding and support, and my faith has taught me that service is not optional—it is a calling. The Grace In Action Scholarship represents values I strive to live by every day. Grace carried me through displacement, loneliness, and uncertainty. Action is how I honor that grace—by working hard, serving others, and staying rooted in my faith. This scholarship would support my education and allow me to continue growing into a person who lives with purpose and compassion. My story is one of hardship, faith, and perseverance. Through my immigration journey and involvement in my church community, I have learned that even in the hardest moments, grace can lead us forward. I am committed to carrying that grace into my future and using my education and career to make the world more humane, compassionate, and just

Living with severe myopia has shaped my life in ways many people do not immediately see. My vision is extremely poor, and even with corrective lenses, everyday tasks can be difficult. Simple things such as reading signs, recognizing faces from a distance, or feeling safe while moving through unfamiliar places require constant focus and caution. I have been told that I will need eye surgery very soon, and this reality has forced me to confront challenges most students my age do not have to think about yet. My vision condition affects not only how I see the world physically, but also how I experience it emotionally. There is always uncertainty—worry about my eyesight worsening, concern about medical costs, and fear of losing independence if my condition is not treated in time. Because I arrived in the United States alone, managing medical appointments, understanding treatment options, and facing the possibility of surgery without close family nearby has been especially overwhelming. However, this challenge has also made me stronger, more responsible, and more determined. Severe myopia has taught me patience and resilience. I have learned to adapt by planning ahead, asking for help when needed, and refusing to let my condition define my abilities. I work harder to succeed academically because I know my health could create obstacles, and I refuse to let those obstacles stop my progress. This experience has given me empathy for others living with medical conditions and a deep appreciation for accessibility and healthcare. Despite these challenges, I remain focused on my future goals. I plan to pursue higher education so I can build a stable, independent life and give back to others who face physical, emotional, or financial hardships. My experiences have inspired me to be involved in service and advocacy, especially for individuals who struggle silently with health issues. I want to help create a world where medical conditions do not limit opportunity and where people are supported, not overlooked. Facing the possibility of eye surgery has reinforced how valuable education and opportunity truly are. Medical expenses and ongoing care create a significant financial burden, making scholarships like this one essential for my future. This support would allow me to focus on both my health and my education without having to sacrifice one for the other. My medical condition has challenged me, but it has also shaped my character. I approach life with determination, gratitude, and hope. I may see the world differently, but I am committed to building a future defined not by my limitations, but by my resilience, purpose, and willingness to keep moving forward.

I love exploring new places, especially in nature, because each place tells a story without using words. When I arrived in the United States alone, everything around me felt unfamiliar. Exploring new environments became my way of understanding my surroundings and finding a sense of peace. Nature was one of the few spaces where I did not feel judged or overwhelmed—it simply existed, and it welcomed me. Photography became a way for me to slow down and truly observe the world. As I explored parks, coastlines, forests, and quiet neighborhoods, I began capturing moments that felt meaningful to me. My portfolio reflects that journey. Each image represents a place where I paused, observed, and connected with my new environment. Through my lens, I focus on natural light, textures, and movement because those details reveal the quiet strength and beauty of the world around us. Exploring new places helped me heal and grow. As someone who had to adapt quickly and independently, photography gave me a sense of control and purpose. I learned to approach unfamiliar places with curiosity instead of fear. Whether photographing a stretch of coastline, a tree-lined path, or a peaceful landscape, I aim to capture the calm and resilience I feel when I am outdoors. Creating this portfolio was not about perfection or technical precision—it was about honesty. None of my images are staged or digitally transformed. They are authentic moments that represent how I see the world: calm, hopeful, and full of possibility. Photography allows me to document both my surroundings and my personal growth. Through this portfolio, I am sharing more than images—I am sharing my journey of exploration, resilience, and appreciation for nature. Photography has taught me that even when everything feels unfamiliar, beauty can be found by simply looking closely and allowing yourself to explore.

When I arrived in the United States alone from Ukraine, I felt unprepared for the future ahead of me. I was learning a new language, adapting to a new school system, and facing life without my family by my side. Everything felt uncertain, and I often questioned whether I was strong enough to succeed. During this critical time, my Army Military Science teacher, Mr. Jeffrey Cato, had a profound influence on my life and helped shape the person I am becoming. In Mr. Cato’s class, I found structure when my life felt chaotic. He taught discipline, responsibility, and resilience—not as abstract ideas, but as daily practices. For someone who had been forced to grow up quickly, these lessons became essential. He showed me that discipline is not about control, but about self-respect and preparation for the future. His expectations pushed me to believe that my circumstances did not define my potential. Mr. Cato believed in leadership through action. He taught me to show up on time, take responsibility for my choices, and never give up when things become difficult. These lessons changed how I approached not only school, but my entire life. Instead of seeing challenges as obstacles, I began to see them as opportunities to grow stronger. Because of his guidance, I learned to face fear with confidence and uncertainty with determination. What made Mr. Cato’s influence especially meaningful was that he treated every student with respect while holding them accountable. As someone who arrived alone and often felt different, this balance helped me develop confidence and self-worth. He did not lower expectations for me because of my background—he challenged me to rise to them. That belief became a turning point in how I viewed my future. My military science teacher had a deep influence on my future by instilling values that will guide me for the rest of my life: discipline, integrity, leadership, and service. Because of him, I approach my goals with focus and perseverance. I now plan my future with purpose and a sense of responsibility—not only to succeed for myself, but to give back to others. Mr. Cato taught me that true strength is built through consistency, accountability, and character. His impact extends far beyond the classroom. He helped transform a scared student who arrived alone into someone who believes in their ability to lead, serve, and succeed. For that, his influence will remain with me always.

My story is one shaped by responsibility, resilience, and learning how to protect myself and others in unfamiliar environments. I was born in Ukraine, and due to war and instability, I arrived in the United States alone as a young student. Leaving my home, family, and everything familiar behind forced me to grow up faster than most people my age. Starting over in a new country without family support deeply shaped who I am and how I choose to serve my community. Coming to the U.S. alone meant facing isolation, cultural differences, and vulnerability. I was not only adapting academically and socially, but also emotionally and financially. Without the immediate support of family, I learned the importance of finding safe spaces, building trust, and standing up for myself. These experiences opened my eyes to how easily young people—especially immigrants and newcomers—can become targets of bullying or exclusion, both in person and online. Over time, I became actively involved in my school and community because I did not want others to feel as alone as I once did. I participate in leadership roles and community activities where I support younger students, especially those adjusting to new environments. I speak up when I see bullying and encourage kindness, understanding, and respect. I know firsthand how words—especially online—can deeply affect someone’s sense of identity and safety. Because of this, I try to educate peers about responsible online behavior and the lasting consequences of cyberbullying. Keeping children and youth safe, especially online, is extremely important to me. As someone who relied heavily on technology to stay connected to family, learn English, and navigate a new culture, I understand both the power and the danger of digital spaces. I promote positive online communication, privacy awareness, and empathy. I believe creating safe environments starts with listening, guiding, and supporting young people rather than judging them. As I prepare to enter higher education, my financial need is significant. Because I arrived in the United States alone, I do not have the financial safety net many students rely on. I am responsible for my own educational expenses, including tuition, books, housing, and daily living costs. Scholarships like this one are not just financial assistance—they are opportunities that make my education possible and allow me to focus on learning and serving others rather than surviving. I plan to pursue higher education with the goal of combining my studies with community service and advocacy. I want to continue working with youth, immigrants, and vulnerable populations to promote safety, confidence, and self-worth—both online and in everyday life. My experiences taught me that protection is not only about rules; it is about compassion, awareness, and standing up for others when they cannot do so themselves. The Matthew E. Minor Memorial Scholarship represents values I live by every day: kindness, courage, and protecting others. My journey has not been easy, but it has given me purpose. I carry my experiences with me as motivation to give back, create safe spaces, and build a future where no child feels invisible, unsafe, or alone.

I arrived in the United States alone, carrying everything I had into a life I did not choose but had to face. I was born in Ukraine, and when war and instability forced me to leave, I entered a new country without family beside me, without certainty, and without knowing what my future would look like. In that moment, technology became more than a tool—it became my connection to safety, information, and hope. Being alone in a new country meant learning how to survive independently. I relied on computers and the internet to translate documents, navigate the education system, communicate with loved ones back home, and understand a world that felt overwhelming and unfamiliar. Technology helped me feel less isolated and gave me the ability to learn, adapt, and stay connected. This experience sparked my interest in computer science, not as a subject, but as a way to protect, empower, and support people facing life-changing adversity. My computer science goals focus on developing strong skills in coding, problem-solving, and systems thinking so I can build tools that serve people in vulnerable situations. I am especially interested in technology that improves access to education, financial literacy, and mental health resources. I know from experience how difficult it can be to find reliable information when you are alone and unfamiliar with the system you are trying to survive in. Beyond my technical goals, I carry a deep commitment to service and advocacy. Arriving alone taught me resilience, maturity, and empathy beyond my years. It also taught me that strength does not mean never needing help—it means creating solutions so others do not have to struggle in silence. I want to use my education to be a bridge for people who feel lost, unheard, or invisible. In the future, I plan to combine computer science with my personal mission to help others by developing technology designed for immigrants, refugees, and underserved communities. This could include platforms that guide newcomers through the education system, apps that teach financial responsibility in accessible ways, or digital tools that help people find community support and resources. My goal is to turn isolation into connection and confusion into clarity. Arriving in the United States alone changed me forever. It forced me to grow, adapt, and believe in myself when no one else could carry that belief for me. Computer science gives me the power to turn my story into something bigger than myself. Through technology, I hope to create opportunities, restore dignity, and give others the guidance I once needed.

Jack Terry’s story inspires me because it represents resilience in the face of hardship and the determination to move forward despite obstacles that could easily stop someone. His journey reminds me that adversity does not define a person’s limits; it reveals their strength, character, and purpose. I strongly relate to this message because my own life has been shaped by adversity that forced me to grow up quickly and learn how to persevere. I was born in Ukraine and later immigrated to the United States during a time of instability and uncertainty. Leaving my home, extended family, and everything familiar behind was one of the most difficult challenges I have faced. My family arrived in a new country with limited resources, no financial security, and many unknowns. Simple things such as housing, transportation, healthcare, and education became daily challenges. At a young age, I witnessed the emotional and financial stress my parents carried as they worked tirelessly to rebuild our lives from nothing. The adversity I faced was not a single moment, but a long process of adjustment, sacrifice, and resilience. I struggled with adapting to a new culture, learning a new education system, and carrying the pressure of helping my family succeed. However, these challenges taught me responsibility, discipline, and empathy. I learned that setbacks are not failures—they are opportunities to grow stronger. Like Jack Terry’s story, my experiences taught me that perseverance and inner strength can turn hardship into motivation. One of the most important lessons I learned from my adversity is the value of education as a pathway to stability and opportunity. Seeing my family struggle financially motivated me to work harder academically and take my future seriously. I became focused on leadership, academic excellence, and service because I understood that education could not only change my life, but also allow me to help others. Being a dual-enrollment student and actively involved in school leadership pushed me beyond my comfort zone and helped me develop confidence and independence. Through adversity, I also learned the importance of giving back. I plan to use my studies to serve others, especially immigrants and individuals facing hardship. I want to help people who feel overwhelmed by financial, educational, or social barriers and show them that they are not alone. Whether through community service, advocacy, or mentorship, I hope to be a source of support and guidance for those rebuilding their lives, just as others once helped my family. Jack Terry’s story reminds me that adversity does not end a journey—it shapes it. My life experiences have given me strength, purpose, and a desire to make a meaningful impact. I will carry the lessons I learned into my education and future career, using my experiences to uplift others and contribute positively to society.

My understanding of finances did not begin in a classroom or with a textbook. It began with real life, uncertainty, and responsibility at a young age. I was born in Ukraine and later immigrated to the United States during a time when my family had to start over almost completely. Leaving behind our home, stability, and financial security forced me to see money not as something guaranteed, but as something that must be managed carefully, respected, and earned with hard work. When my family arrived in the U.S., everything was unfamiliar—housing costs, transportation, healthcare, and even simple grocery shopping felt overwhelming. My parents worked extremely hard to provide for us, often sacrificing comfort so we could rebuild our lives. Watching them budget carefully, prioritize needs over wants, and stretch limited income taught me valuable lessons before I even understood what “financial literacy” meant. I learned early that one poor financial decision could affect an entire family. As a student, I had to become financially aware faster than many of my peers. I learned the importance of saving money, planning ahead, and understanding the value of education as an investment rather than a cost. Because my family did not have financial security handed to us, I became very conscious of expenses, scholarships, and opportunities that could help reduce future debt. That awareness pushed me to work hard academically and seek programs that teach responsible financial habits. Unfortunately, formal financial education is not always emphasized enough in schools, especially for students from immigrant or low-income backgrounds. Much of what I know came from real experiences—observing struggles, making small budgeting decisions myself, and learning from mistakes. These experiences shaped my maturity and strengthened my determination to become financially independent and knowledgeable. I plan to use what I learn about financial literacy to create a stable and secure future, not just for myself but also for my family and community. I want to understand how budgeting, saving, investing, and responsible credit use can protect people from financial hardship. As I pursue higher education, financial education will help me make smart decisions about student loans, career planning, and long-term goals. In the future, I hope to combine my education with service by helping others—especially immigrants and young people—understand finances better so they do not have to learn everything the hard way. Financial literacy is not just about money; it is about freedom, security, and opportunity. My life experience has shown me how powerful financial knowledge can be, and I am committed to using it to build a better future.

During the past year, I had the incredible opportunity to participate in community service through the Move for Jenn Foundation, an organization that supports individuals who have lost limbs due to sarcoma. As a teen intern, I helped raise awareness about the foundation’s mission, assisted in organizing events, and contributed to outreach efforts that connected families and volunteers. One of the most meaningful parts of my experience was working directly with volunteers and community members during fundraising events. I helped manage information tables, coordinate small teams, and encourage attendees to learn more about sarcoma and the foundation’s programs. It was inspiring to see how a community can come together to make a real difference in people’s lives, and I felt proud to be a part of that impact. My dedication to this internship was recognized by the CEO of the foundation, who awarded me for my efforts and commitment. This acknowledgment not only validated my hard work but also motivated me to continue finding ways to contribute meaningfully to my community. It taught me that leadership is not only about taking initiative but also about listening, supporting others, and creating opportunities for positive change. Looking ahead, I hope to expand my contributions by developing programs that increase awareness among teens about the importance of volunteerism and supporting individuals facing medical challenges. I believe that fostering a culture of empathy, service, and teamwork within our communities will create lasting benefits for future generations. By inspiring others to give their time and talents, we can build a stronger, more compassionate society. Volunteering with the Move for Jenn Foundation has shaped my perspective on community engagement and responsibility. It has shown me that even small actions—raising awareness, organizing events, or simply offering support—can create ripple effects that transform lives. I am committed to continuing this path of service, learning, and leadership, and I hope to bring the same energy and dedication to all my future endeavors.

Leadership, to me, has always been more than holding a title—it is about responsibility, empathy, and inspiring those around you to do their best. My journey to understanding leadership began with my family and my community. I was born in Ukraine and, at the age of 15, my life changed dramatically when my family and I were forced to flee our home due to war. Arriving in the United States brought many challenges: a new language, a new school system, and the need to adapt quickly to an unfamiliar environment. It was in facing these challenges that I discovered my ability to lead—not by commanding, but by supporting and guiding others. In high school, I became a member of the Student Counseling Council, eventually serving as Sergeant at Arms. In this role, I learned that leadership is about creating structure and maintaining order, but also about listening to others, advocating for their needs, and helping my peers succeed. Whether organizing meetings or ensuring everyone had a voice, I realized that my actions could directly influence the confidence and success of those around me. Being a part of the National Honor Society further strengthened my commitment to service, as I collaborated on projects that supported students, families, and local organizations. My internship with Move4Gens, a nonprofit organization supporting individuals who have faced life-changing challenges, gave me another perspective on leadership. During the summer of 2025, I assisted with community outreach, organized events, and supported program initiatives. I saw how dedication, problem-solving, and teamwork could amplify the impact of even small actions. The CEO of the organization recognized my contributions with a recommendation letter for college, affirming that effective leadership is measured by the positive influence one has on others. Leadership also extends into personal responsibility. Balancing two jobs while maintaining my studies and dual enrollment at the University of South Carolina required discipline, organization, and perseverance. Each role—whether at Borden, Whataburger, or in my academic and extracurricular commitments—taught me that a true leader leads by example and works hard, even when no one is watching. Looking ahead, I intend to continue developing my leadership by pursuing higher education and engaging in service-oriented opportunities. I hope to lead projects that help immigrant communities adapt and thrive, mentor younger students, and contribute to initiatives that foster resilience and inclusivity. My experiences have taught me that leadership is not about the title, but about impact—and I am committed to making that impact meaningful wherever I go.