Sri Lankans are best understood, I find, by the temple flower. We grow from gnarled branches of indigent colonies, bear Buddha’s yellow robes against our chest, and paint the rest white to mask the rust of war. As an agnostic whose birthright hailed from newspaper horoscopes, I struggle to believe in the grand scheme of things. A simple answer to the sixth sense could be “five around a sense of self”, but I cannot settle there. If prevision embodies introspection, I want to know its elements. I want to understand why Aristotle’s theory is wrong. I want to see if my internal lie detector is a work of sensory receptors or the sway of the stars. This spree into the uncertainties of least-squares regression and Oxford physiologist Charles Sherrington’s idea of “proprioception” makes my faith wander amid models of science in a philosophical paradox. As I write Maxwell’s equations, I question reality; are we all just cogs of the universe’s electric field? Or is that ‘field of mind’ actually within our hearts, as my Buddhist mother has taught? When I am not nose-deep in another Shehan Karunatilaka read or operating the campus ham radio, I’m studying electrical engineering and all of its myriad intersections with public service and education. My undergraduate interests aligned with teaching local middle-schoolers how to 3D model robots in Funbotics and my newfound research at the Inquisitive Robotics Lab where I explored the learning pathways of machines in human-computer interactions. As a Chair of Yale UNICEF and the Dwight Hall Student Executive Committee, I strived to abolish the performative activist within the young college student. In the Foundation of Goodness, I taught English to children who have lost their family to the fatal tsunami of 2004. From the Dondra Head of southern Sri Lanka to New Haven, there is a place for all to learn, some to give, and less to receive. I dream of a day where tourists flock to my island not for its saturated coastline but therapeutic technology and cutting-edge power systems. I dream of when Sri Lanka at last escapes the “ing” of our developing. I dream of how I would feel no more fear as I a bow a final farewell to my parents at the steps of Bandaranaike International Airport. The pandemic was the dawn of the Sri Lankan economic crisis. As more kitchens like mine began to be lit with coconut oil lamps and firewood cookers, there became more urge to improve the national grid system and energy policies. Our warrens of presidential debt have left the nation with empty pockets, and I believe that this is precisely where solar-power should rise. For my senior project, I will be building a miniature renewable energy A/C power plant. After my undergraduate studies, I plan on applying the intricate low-income country frameworks of Yale's energy courses to my home. With the generosity of the Dreamers Scholarship, I can gain the financial accessibility to learn how to design my project in real-scale at the heart of Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte with the Ceylon Electricity Board alongside a new social protection program to replace the widely politicized Samurdhi system. As an international scholar, I remember that I am a daughter woven from Colombo suburbs and threads of generational rifts. Awakening to Beethoven-blaring ‘choon paan’ trucks and a serenade of sunrise birds, I find that perhaps the truest way to aid my country is to journey beyond its shores – yet the fruit will only come with my return. After all, I am a dreamer who runs with the star.