Understanding the Human Story by Santiago

Understanding the Human Story by Santiago - June 2025 Scholarship Essay

"You don't want to sound like he's saying, 'Look at me. I'm an exceptional guy,'" I told the reporter after winning the Metro Award. "To everyone else, he's just another guy in town." I was describing my approach to playing Tevye, but I'd accidentally captured something bigger—the key to solving problems that matter.
When I was cast as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, I faced what seemed impossible: how does a 17-year-old convincingly portray a middle-aged Ukrainian milkman wrestling with tradition and change? Most actors approach Tevye as a larger-than-life theatrical figure, all booming voice and grand gestures. That felt wrong to me.
My breakthrough came from watching real people instead of copying other performances. Late one night, I found my father hunched over college brochures at the kitchen table, quietly calculating costs he'd never discussed with our family. I watched my neurodivergent sister navigate daily challenges with methodical grace, never seeking sympathy but always finding her way through. I observed neighbors in our small town carrying extraordinary burdens while still showing up for their communities. Suddenly, I understood: Tevye wasn't a character to perform—he was a person to know.
Everything changed. Instead of projecting from my diaphragm, I found Tevye's conversational tone with God, like unburdening himself to an old friend about his daughters. Instead of theatrical gestures, I discovered his quiet humanity—adjusting his cap when thinking, touching his daughters' faces with work-worn hands. "If I Were a Rich Man" became a private moment we happened to overhear rather than a showstopping number.
Three days before opening night, our lighting system failed. As lead actor and president of Tuckahoe Theater Works, I applied the same principle: understand what the audience truly needed from each scene. We put casters on beds for the dream sequence, choreographed around the few working lights, and created intimate moments that connected more powerfully than our original elaborate design. Crisis became an opportunity because we focused on human connection rather than technical perfection.
Standing in the wings on opening night, months of preparation condensed into that moment. Every conversation with my father, every patient interaction with my sister, every small-town struggle I'd witnessed—all flowing through Tevye's voice. Among 71 competing schools, I won the Metro Award for Outstanding Male Performance; more importantly, I discovered that understanding real human needs unlocks solutions to seemingly impossible challenges.
This is precisely why theater should be required for every student, regardless of career path. Not to create more actors, but to develop more empathetic problem-solvers. Theater forces you beyond surface assumptions into a genuine understanding of others' motivations, fears, and hopes. You can't fake this understanding—audiences know authenticity when they see it.
Theater also accommodates every personality type. Students uncomfortable on stage find equally valuable roles: pit musicians learn how their technical skills serve emotional storytelling, while crew members solve real-world problems with limited resources and impossible deadlines. Lighting designers discover how subtle changes in brightness shift entire scenes' meaning. Every role teaches the same lesson: individual excellence matters most when it serves something larger than yourself.
In our increasingly polarized world, we desperately need citizens who instinctively seek to understand rather than judge. Students with theater experience don't just give better presentations—they listen more carefully in conversations, empathize more deeply with colleagues, and approach problems with creative flexibility learned from countless rehearsal-room challenges.
My path toward biomedical engineering was directly influenced by these insights. I plan to work alongside actual prosthetic users, spending time understanding their daily realities before designing anything. How does a current prosthetic feel after eight hours of wear? What tasks remain frustratingly difficult? What emotional barriers exist beyond the physical ones? Only by truly comprehending their lived experiences can I create devices that are both functional and affordable—technology that serves real human stories rather than impressive technical specifications.
This scholarship would transform my theater-born philosophy into tangible medical innovation. It would free me from financial worry so I can focus entirely on bridging the gap between human need and engineering solution. Whether bringing a fictional milkman to authentic life or designing real-world medical devices, the approach remains identical: first, genuinely understand the human story.
Every significant breakthrough begins with someone who cares enough to see beyond the obvious, to understand rather than assume. Theater taught me this lesson. This scholarship would help me apply it where it matters most—creating medical technology that genuinely serves the people who need it, because they're not just users or patients. They're people with stories worth understanding.