Standing on the fourteenth tee, I watched my ball bounce gingerly down, down, down, and disappear.

Curiosity about consciousness instigated my interest in the mind from both a philosophical and biological perspective.

By integrating skills I have gained from conducting translational neuroscience and organic chemistry research, caring for people with Alzheimer’s disease (AD), and studying the brain on molecular, cellular, and systems levels, I want to help alleviate one of society’s most burdensome and significant issues: mental illness.

Ever since I was in fifth grade, I’ve wanted to move to Mars. At the end of the school year, my teacher transformed the school courtyard into a “planet,” and a third of the class was the astronaut group and the rest were mission control.

My stepfather was a product of a “food desert.” Raised in inner-city Los Angeles, his diet was limited to the convenience of fast food.

Jim and I had only spoken once by phone and were now in a soundproof piano practice room in my dorm basement, after dark and out of cell phone range.

I vividly recall the surge of emotion and chills that ran down my spine as I wandered through the free health clinic in a rural, impoverished Salvadoran town.

A home on fire for the red of my lips; the golden tassel for the sparkle in my eye—who am I, but a mosaic of my experiences?

When I first joined the Marines at 17, I wanted to “fight for freedom” and give back to my country.

Detention. The word filled me with youthful indignation.

At ten years old, I faced my first critical decision in the hospital setting: whether or not to give my grandfather a cookie. He never had a sweet tooth before, but Alzheimer’s disease made him unrecognizable as he yelled and pleaded for the dessert in my hand.

From a young age, I was taught to value generosity and kindness. My parents emphasized both local and international philanthropy, encouraging me to volunteer everywhere from the library to the international food packing and distribution center for developing nations.

The first sounds from the fire house speaker startles me out of the post-lunch lull, but my spike of adrenaline is squashed when I hear the address, “Ambulance 2, 92 Oakhurst Lane.” Diabetic and wheelchair-bound, Sue was well-known to the firehouse as an ornery woman who had both indigestion and a good insurance plan.

Through my three years as a neuroscience major, through discussions with physicians and medical students, and—I’ll admit it—through a few seasons of medical drama binge-watching on Netflix, I have become intensely fascinated by the surgical field.

BOOM. BOOM. A knocking on my door jolted me awake at 3am and I opened it to see one of my residents trembling and on the verge of tears. Without saying anything, he clutched my arm and led me down the hall towards his room.

“What do you know about alcoholism and diabetes?”

This was our third individualized health coaching meeting with an elder who, having grown up in a German household, was used to drinking heavy amounts of alcohol in his childhood and teenage years.

His house was disheveled and well off the road and seemed to be slowly melting into the creek that ran in front of it. It was the second day of the two-week data collection period of my research into the Costa Rican healthcare system.

Although I was born on the East Coast, Colorado will always be the place that I call home. Both of my parents spent the majority of their lives in Brooklyn but ultimately decided that they wanted to raise their kids elsewhere.

Honey and turmeric: from a young age, my mother would blend these ingredients into a sticky yellow paste to soothe skin or calm a cough.

In school, I had to be “shushed” more than once in the library. I wasn’t gossiping or shouting - rather, I just couldn’t help asking my friends questions or talking through whatever we were working on. I learn best when I can bounce ideas around, process questions together, and learn from others’ strengths. These characteristics would fit well with FSM’s emphasis on team-based medicine.