University of Texas at Austin

"Fortunately, among these people a man was judged according to his worth and not according to the worth of his father."

– Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart

Like most children, I aspired to my father.

I saw my dad as an image of whom I wanted to be. Charismatic, genuine, respected among his peers – he embodied the qualities I saw essential to being a successful person.

The most appealing to me, however, was my father's medical background. As the first person to attend university in our extended family, he had always been revered for his accomplishment of becoming a doctor.

As a direct consequence, biology was a keen passion during my childhood. I remember how each evening, as I was being tucked into bed, I would unload an avalanche of questions on my dad, many of them amusingly simple such as: If my body is 70% water, why don't I have water spilling out of my finger every time I get a papercut? In school, I'd stay after class to probe my teachers about the topics I had read of but did not yet comprehend. And anytime I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I, without a whiff of doubt, bolted out I was going to be a doctor.

However, as I got older, I developed new interests – in particular, social science and leadership – which did not always align with my childhood goals of medicine and biology.

With this dichotomy in my mind, I decided to spend my sophomore summer volunteering at a hospital.

Once there, it suddenly dawned on me that, for my entire life, I had viewed being a doctor through rose-tinted glasses since the reality of being a medical professional differed wildly from my perceptions. The dozens of biology textbooks I had read had not prepared me for a single drop of blood, as seeing just one could send me into an exhausting realm of dizziness. With every additional day of volunteering, it became painfully clear – I could not follow in my father's footsteps.

Disappointed, I began contemplating what made my experience in the hospital so bad and if anything could be done to improve people's – whether patients', doctors', or volunteers' like myself – experience. Then, a light-bulb switched on: what if I could improve the look of the hospital? As it stood, the hospital was incredibly run-down and inspired depression rather than hope.

With a goal to improve the hospital's appearance and thus create a friendlier environment for the people inside, I started the Better Setting – Better Getting project, which was going to decorate the hospital with photographs of nature. Having done so, there was a question of financing ー with the hospital administration over-budget, I had to source the funding entirely from the private sector. It was challenging but, a few dozen cold-calls and a handful of live-pitches later, I found a corporate partner that recognised my vision. Finally, I was ready to make my goal a reality. Legal roadblocks and printing nuances still stood in the way, but, with the enthusiastic support of the hospital community, I was able to navigate my way through. Today, dozens of wall-sized nature photos emit joy and hope into the halls of the hospital.

My hospital volunteering, which had begun with heartbreak and disillusion, turned out to be a defining experience of self-discovery. It helped me close my chapter on medicine, a chapter I had so often doubted, and helped me validate my passion for leadership; it allowed me to operate free of doubt, knowing that I don't have to follow my father's footsteps. Above all, it made me realise that, although I would never be a doctor, I could nonetheless have a positive impact on society in my very own way.

I woke up. The curtains filtered the sun rays, hitting my face directly. I got up, looked from the bathroom to the kitchen, but my dad wasn't there. I plopped on the couch, then the door opened. My dad walked in, clutching a brown paper bag with ninety-nine cent breakfast tacos. After eating, we drove to a customer's house. He sat me in a chair, lifted the floorboard, and crawled under the house to fix the pipes. As he emerged, he talked, but my mind drifted to the weight of the eleven-millimeter hex wrench in my hand. My interest in mechanical engineering originates from my dad, who was a plumber. When I was fifteen, my dad passed away from cancer that constricted his throat. Holding his calloused hand on his deathbed, I wanted to prevent the suffering of others from cancer. Two years later, when I was given a topic of choice for my chemistry research paper, I stumbled upon an article about gold nanoparticles used for HIV treatment. I decided to steer the topic of gold nanoparticles used for cancer treatment instead, entering the field of nanotechnology. After reading numerous articles and watching college lectures on YouTube, I was utterly captivated by topics like using miniscule devices to induce hyperthermia as a safe method of cancer treatment. Nanotechnology is multi-disciplinary, reinforcing my interest in pursuing mechanical engineering as a gateway to participate in nanoscience and nanotechnology research at the University of Texas at Austin. I have learned that nanotechnology is not limited to stories like mine, but to other issues such as sustainable energy and water development that I hope to work towards. It is important for me to continue helping others without forfeiting my interest in nanotechnology, working in collaboration with both engineering and the medical field.