University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

Armed with pink playdough, I transformed my bedroom into a dimly lit laboratory. Every squish and mold orchestrated the crinkled folds into an organ capable of choreographing life.

As I grew older, the brain's complexity surpassed what I had explained to my stuffed-animals. Volunteering alongside OB/GYNs, I witnessed newborns' painful prelude to existence with their fragile bodies scarred from incomplete neural tubing and spinal cysts. Between infancy and old age, the brain fades into memory loss. The severity of Alzheimer's draped a cruel fog over events I organized in a senior home as residents kept forgetting where they were. Playdough was no longer enough to mend the brain's crinkled folds.

"Apples in a tree, cars in a garage," a simple saying that bridges the natural world with genetic expression. When apple trees don't bloom and adenine fails to bind with thymine, both landscapes and DNA become distorted. By examining the mechanisms of DNA damage through a neurobiological lens, I can develop targeted treatments focused on enzymes that untangle molecular threads in neurons. Learning to genetically map expecting mothers for fetal defects opens avenues for proactive interventions before NICU visits. As I experiment with CRISPR alongside Professor Dowen, I'll be able to modify altered DNA sequences seen in Alzheimer's. The intersection between genetic variation and neural pathways drives me to translate my knowledge into technology capable of diagnosing psychological illness from nerve activity.

Using my pink playdough, I hope to construct genetic blueprints that build a brighter future amid neurological disorders.

Sitting behind the loaded plates on our dinner table, I predicted my mom's first question with 100% accuracy: "So, how did you do on the trigonometry test today?" Notorious for failing math classes, my brother paused from chewing his chicken wing.

I knew he'd be in trouble.

Indeed, after hearing his grade, my mom scolded: "Look at our neighbor's kid; then look at you! She never gets anything below a 90!"

There it is again: "the neighbor's kid," a Chinese concept that I wish would serve a different purpose. Upon learning about their children's unsatisfactory academic performance, Chinese parents often bring up a so-called perfect neighbor's kid for comparison. It saddens me to see individuals raised under the shadow of "the neighbor's kid" not able to simply enjoy exploring knowledge. They toil through years of schooling for good grades and a prestigious college's acceptance letter at the cost of their mental well-being. Worse, some measure their self-worth by grades alone: my brother believes he's not good enough, despite all his admirable traits outside of academics.

Instead of "the neighbor's kid who got a good grade" at the dinner table, I suggested my parents discuss "the neighbor's kid who sells bracelets to raise money for charity" or "who had a hot discussion with the teacher about whether animals have consciousness." I look forward to a more vibrant and colorful dinner conversation, where families talk about their roses and thorns of the day, rather than a neighbor's kid defined by numbers.