A Ticket To Tomorrow by Leah

A Ticket To Tomorrow by Leah - April 2025 Scholarship Essay

In my hand rests a small ticket, edges worn smooth from being turned over and over between my fingers. The faded destination reads “Juba, South Sudan,” and the date is tomorrow. I’m going to say goodbye to my uncle.

He’s not there anymore—not physically, but this visit is about more than a grave. It’s about remembrance, closure, and carrying forward everything he stood for. When I arrive, the late March air will carry the scent of wet earth and new beginnings, a contradiction to the finality waiting in the cemetery. I’ll walk quietly, searching for a tree where I can leave a small weatherproof box: his favorite poetry book and the last movie ticket we shared. He always kept ticket stubs as reminders of places he’d been—little symbols of life lived fully. “Each one tells a story,” he used to say, “about where we’ve been and who we are.”

This ritual isn’t just about grief. It’s about a promise. A promise to pursue the future he always saw for me.

I plan to major in nursing when I get to college. My decision wasn’t made overnight, it grew over time, deeply rooted in personal experience, love for my community, and a desire to serve. When my uncle passed, it wasn’t just the violence that struck me. It was the gap in medical care, the lack of accessible help, and the deep sense of helplessness I felt when he got sick but couldn’t be reached in time. I don’t want other families to feel that. I want to be the person who can bring care to places like South Sudan, where health care isn’t just a luxury, it’s a lifeline.

Nursing, to me, is more than a profession. It’s a mission. I’ve always been drawn to science and biology, fascinated by how the human body works and how small interventions can lead to big healing. But it’s the emotional side of nursing, the human connection, that speaks to me most. Nurses are often the first to comfort, the last to leave, and the ones who carry their patients’ stories. That’s the kind of presence I want to be in the world.

When I bury the box beneath the tree, I’ll tell my uncle about the acceptance letters I’ve received, about my dreams to earn my BSN and return home one day not just as a visitor, but as someone bringing change. I’ll remind him of what he always told me: “Education is the one thing they can never take from you.” That phrase has become my anchor. No matter how unstable life feels, I know my education is my power.

I’ll cry, yes. But not the same way I cried when we first lost him. These tears will be quiet, strong. I’ll read aloud from his favorite poem—the one about finding your way home, and imagine his voice carrying me through the verses when mine breaks. And I’ll make him a promise. That I’ll carry his hope, his spirit, his belief in a better future. That I’ll use my education to serve, to heal, and to give others the same hope he gave me.

When I stand to leave, I’ll place the ticket on the mound like a symbol of this journey, between past and future, grief and growth. And I’ll walk away toward graduation, carrying his memory like a compass guiding me through every step of my path.

My major is nursing, but my purpose is much bigger: to give back, to heal, and to honor the stories that shaped me.