My grandfather and I used to build model rockets together. He was an aerospace engineer, and he taught me that every launch was a story of physics and chemistry. The question that has driven me ever since is this: how can we use chemistry to create more efficient and sustainable fuel? I want to move beyond the simple propellants of my model rockets to design the fuels of the future.

At Emory, I plan to explore this question by majoring in Chemistry. I am particularly excited to take Professor Cora MacBeth’s course in inorganic chemistry to build a strong foundation. Her research on synthetic catalysts is directly related to my interest in developing new fuel compounds. I hope to join her lab, where I can gain hands-on experience and contribute to her groundbreaking work. Emory's focus on undergraduate research is the perfect place for me to turn my lifelong curiosity into a real scientific contribution.

My high school’s robotics club was a community of brilliant builders who were terrible at fundraising. Our robot was always innovative, but we could never afford to travel to the state competition. I saw a clear problem. We had a great product but no way to market it.

I took the lead. I created a simple sponsorship packet with clear photos of our robot in action and a one-page summary of our goals. I then spent a weekend visiting local businesses. I explained how supporting us was an investment in the community's future engineers. We raised over three thousand dollars. That was enough to fund our trip.

My personal participation changed our community from a group of hobbyists into a self-sustaining team. I learned that innovation is not just about the robot. It is also about building the community that supports it.

I grew up in a town where everyone’s idea of breakfast was bacon and eggs. When a new Japanese bakery opened, I was curious. I intentionally went there every Saturday morning for a month. At first, I just pointed at things that looked good. But I wanted to understand more.

I started asking the owner, Mrs. Tanaka, about the ingredients. She taught me about the importance of red bean paste and the delicate process of making melonpan. I learned that each pastry told a story about a specific region or festival in Japan. It was not just food. It was a form of cultural history.

This experience expanded my awareness. I realized that culture is not something you can just read about in a book. You have to taste it, listen to it, and share it. It pushed me to seek out and appreciate the stories hidden in my own community.

My mission of service is focused on a small, specific problem: the lack of access to musical instruments for kids in my community. When my local elementary school cut its music program, I saw firsthand how this impacted students. They lost a vital creative outlet.

I started a simple program called "The Instrument Library." I collected used guitars, keyboards, and drums from neighbors and local musicians. I spent a summer repairing and tuning them. Then, I partnered with the local library to create a system where kids could check out an instrument just like a book.

I will contribute to Emory's mission of service in a similar way. I do not have a grand plan to solve world hunger. But I know how to identify a local need and create a practical, hands-on solution. At Emory, I want to bring this same spirit to a new community.

In my environmental science class, a debate broke out over a proposal to build a new solar farm. One side argued for clean energy at all costs. The other side argued that the project would destroy a local ecosystem. The ideas collided, and the conversation stalled.

My first step was to listen. I asked each side to explain what they valued most. One side valued innovation and progress. The other valued conservation and tradition. I realized they were not really arguing about a solar farm. They were arguing about different visions for the future.

I proposed a new question. Instead of "yes or no" on this specific project, I asked, "How can we create a solution that both innovates and conserves?" This reframing deepened the dialogue. It led to a new idea of placing smaller solar arrays on the roofs of existing buildings. I learned that progress is not about winning an argument, but about asking better questions.