Nothing is impossible, is it?

I still remember my first dream.
“Mom, I’ll be a princess!”
She laughed and kissed my forehead, saying, “But my child, you already are.”

As a kid, I was happy. I ran around, laughed, cried, slept—things that once felt normal but now feel like privileges. As I grew older, I became more aware of my surroundings. The nice vacations weren’t just for fun; they were meant to keep us away from the wrong crowd. The homemade gifts weren’t just thoughtful; there wasn’t enough money for two children. The two rooms and two sets of parents were simply separation.

Still, I was happy. Even when my dad moved to another country and things were tight with my mom, I stayed hopeful—until the revolution grew stronger and my parents made a hard decision for me. At nine years old, I moved in with my father. By then, my dream had changed.
“Dad, I want to be a scientist.”
He smiled and said, “Then study hard, and it will come true.”
And so I did.

I studied hard and got into a medical magnet school. I felt on top of the world—until reality shook me. At thirteen, my mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I hadn’t seen her since I was nine, and as she grew weaker, I fell deeper into despair. Less than eight months after her diagnosis, she passed away. I felt completely alone. My mom had been my emotional support, while my dad provided physical stability. When she died, it felt like a part of me died with her.

At fourteen, through tears, I made a final decision about my future.
“I’m going to be a neurosurgeon.”
From that moment on, I gave everything I had—and more. I spent sleepless nights in college-level classes, endless hours in the library, and by my senior year, I ranked in the top 10% of my class. When my dream university accepted me, I felt the same happiness I remembered from childhood. My efforts hadn’t been in vain.

College was scary. It was far from home and completely unfamiliar, but I was excited to make it mine. Then the first semester hit—and it broke me. College was nothing like high school. I was no longer in the top 10%; I was barely surviving. Still, I had my dad’s support, scholarships, and memories of my mom pushing me forward.

I turned eighteen a little over a month ago. Two days before Christmas, my dad told me he would stop financially supporting me starting next month. In that moment, my world stopped. His reasons were valid, but I felt betrayed. He had promised that whatever scholarships didn’t cover, he would. On top of that, the pressure to raise my GPA next semester made me feel exposed, hopeless, and overwhelmed.

Now, as I write this, I realize I’ve always been running—to make my parents proud, to become someone in life, to give back to the community that helped me, to feel good about who I am, to prove that nothing is impossible with the right mindset. Or is it? I’m tired of running, but I don’t want to give up on my dreams.

I’ve applied for scholarships and hope to receive some. I’ve applied for jobs and hope to get one. I don’t know if it will be enough—but I’m trying.

This was meant to be a reflection letter to myself. But if you can help me continue my education, I would be deeply grateful. If not, thank you for reading my story.
And happy new year.