Three years from now, I see myself stepping into the world as a newly graduated veterinarian—confident in my clinical training, grounded in compassion, and equipped to serve both conventional companion animals and those often overlooked in mainstream care. After earning my DVM degree from Cornell University, I hope to join a mixed animal or exotics-focused practice where I can treat not only dogs and cats, but also birds, reptiles, and small mammals. I plan to devote my personal time to wildlife rehabilitation efforts and low-cost community clinics, especially for immigrant families and non-English-speaking clients who may lack access to regular veterinary care. I also hope to contribute to local shelters by offering spay/neuter surgeries and basic exotic animal triage, helping reduce suffering and promote responsible ownership. In the long term, I aspire to launch a mobile veterinary unit that brings field-ready care to underserved rural and urban areas. This initiative would combine clinical service with educational outreach—empowering owners, students, and local stakeholders through culturally competent, science-based animal health education. Whether it’s teaching a young child how to care for their first turtle or stabilizing a barn owl caught in a fence, I want to be present where both medical skill and empathy are urgently needed. This vision was not built in a classroom. It began with a black kite named Hei. In the summer of 2021, I volunteered at a wildlife rescue center in China. That’s where I met Hei, a black kite with a fractured ulna. Hei watched us—not with panic, but with sharp, curious eyes. Dr. Chen, my mentor, asked me to monitor her recovery after surgery. Standing beside the operation table and watching each step, I imagined myself cleaning the wound, placing the IM pin, suturing the incision. Hei wasn’t just a patient. She became a mirror of my own dream: grounded, wounded by doubt, but not defeated. At that time, I was on a different path, studying Computational and Systems Biology and Data Science Engineering at UCLA, preparing for a Ph.D. in Bioinformatics. Growing up in China, I had internalized the stereotype that veterinary medicine was low-status and financially unstable. I told myself that research was safer, more prestigious. But as I watched Hei confined in her cage—longing for flight yet unable to take off—I realized that I, too, had clipped my own wings. Caring for Hei reignited a calling I thought I had outgrown. Her surgery was successful, and I left for Los Angeles shortly after. I never expected to see her again—until Dr. Chen sent me photos of her thick bony callus and final flight preparations. That summer, I traveled back to attend Hei’s official rewilding event. As she soared beyond the horizon, I saw not just an animal returning to the wild—I saw my own dream returning to life. I finally made the decision I had long postponed: I submitted my VMCAS application. I wasn’t just dreaming of becoming a veterinarian anymore—I was taking the first real step. Hei taught me what veterinary medicine truly means. It’s not just diagnosis or technique—it’s bearing witness to recovery, believing in resilience, and choosing healing even when the world tells you not to. She showed me that being a vet is not just a career—it’s a promise: to advocate for the voiceless, to restore dignity, and to never walk away from life just because it’s fragile. Today, as a first-year-DVM candidate at Cornell, I carry Hei’s story with me into every lab, every clinic, and every goal I set for the future. In three years, I will be the vet Hei helped me become.