I grew up in Kyiv, a city as complex and layered as the region it represents. My childhood was filled with small, defining moments: the thrill of trying an unusual chocolate-lemon ice cream, the sounds of bustling streets, and the quiet resilience of my community. These moments built the foundation of who I am—a curious, determined individual with a deep connection to my roots and a drive to make a difference. As the Russo-Ukrainian War began, that connection deepened. The war wasn’t just a geopolitical event—it was a personal upheaval. I saw how my culture, my people, and even my identity were reduced to headlines or misconstrued narratives. This pushed me to act. Volunteering with ADRA in Slovakia, I worked closely with Ukrainian refugees, helping amplify their voices and bridge cultural gaps. I saw firsthand how misrepresentation and misunderstanding could deepen divides and obscure the humanity of those impacted by conflict. This experience was a turning point, inspiring me to explore the power of narratives—how they shape perception and policy. Whether advocating for refugees, leading my school’s literary magazine, or writing my book, Vodka Bears Caviar, I’ve committed myself to challenging stereotypes and fostering empathy. My book, for example, tackles the flawed conflation of Ukrainian and Russian identities, showing the distinctiveness of Eastern European nations through a lens that is authentic and unapologetically bold. Looking ahead, I see my career as a bridge between cultures, ideas, and systems. I plan to pursue a path in Russian, East European, and Eurasian studies, focusing on the intersection of media, politics, and societal narratives. Through this lens, I want to contribute to shaping global perspectives—whether through policymaking, storytelling, or advocacy. I believe that nuanced understanding can drive meaningful change, especially for underrepresented regions like Eastern Europe. Ultimately, my passion lies at the intersection of history, culture, and modern socio-political dynamics. By exploring my desired studies, I hope to contribute to a more nuanced understanding of a region that has long been misrepresented, using my experiences and voice to amplify its stories. My ultimate goal is to challenge the way the world views this part of the globe, creating spaces for authentic stories that go beyond clichés. Whether it’s shaping public policy or working with media to amplify unheard voices, I’m driven by the belief that understanding leads to compassion, and compassion leads to progress. By weaving together my personal history, academic curiosity, and creative pursuits, I hope to leave a legacy of connection and positive change.

To me, being a good citizen means understanding the balance between individual rights and collective responsibilities. It’s about being engaged, informed, and active in the systems that shape our communities. A good citizen doesn’t just follow the rules—they contribute to the growth and well-being of society by standing up for justice, seeking truth, and making choices that benefit not just themselves but the broader community. One of the most powerful ways we exercise our role as citizens is through voting. Voting is more than a civic duty—it’s a cornerstone of democracy. For a nation to remain free, its people must have a voice in its direction. The simple act of casting a ballot is a declaration of agency, a way to say, “I care about this country’s future.” In many ways, voting is the bridge between citizens and their government, ensuring that power is not concentrated in the hands of a few but shared across the populace. I think about the struggles people have endured to secure the right to vote—from the suffragette movement to the Civil Rights era—and I’m reminded that voting is not something to take lightly. Each vote carries the weight of history and the promise of progress. It ensures that the voices of the people, diverse and multifaceted, guide the policies that affect our lives. Without voting, democracy falters, and the freedoms we cherish become vulnerable to erosion. The Constitution, to me, is the foundation of what makes a free nation possible. It’s a living document, designed not only to establish laws but to enshrine principles that protect individual liberties and ensure a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. What I admire most about the Constitution is its adaptability—it reflects both the ideals of its time and the potential for growth in the future. Through amendments and interpretations, it evolves alongside our society, ensuring that it remains relevant in an ever-changing world. The Constitution is also a reminder that freedom comes with accountability. It guarantees our rights but also demands that we uphold them through active participation in governance. It’s a call to action to be informed, to challenge injustices, and to safeguard the principles of democracy. In essence, being a good citizen, voting, and respecting the Constitution are all intertwined. Together, they ensure that we remain not just free but united in our shared pursuit of a better and prosperous future.

I grew up in Kyiv, a city as complex and layered as the region it represents. My childhood was filled with small, defining moments: the thrill of trying an unusual chocolate-lemon ice cream, the sounds of bustling streets, and the quiet resilience of my community. These moments built the foundation of who I am—a curious, determined individual with a deep connection to my roots and a drive to make a difference. As the Russo-Ukrainian War began, that connection deepened. The war wasn’t just a geopolitical event—it was a personal upheaval. I saw how my culture, my people, and even my identity were reduced to headlines or misconstrued narratives. This pushed me to act. Volunteering with ADRA in Slovakia, I worked closely with Ukrainian refugees, helping amplify their voices and bridge cultural gaps. I saw firsthand how misrepresentation and misunderstanding could deepen divides and obscure the humanity of those impacted by conflict. This experience was a turning point, inspiring me to explore the power of narratives—how they shape perception and policy. Whether advocating for refugees, leading my school’s literary magazine, or writing my book, Vodka Bears Caviar, I’ve committed myself to challenging stereotypes and fostering empathy. My book, for example, tackles the flawed conflation of Ukrainian and Russian identities, showing the distinctiveness of Eastern European nations through a lens that is authentic and unapologetically bold. Looking ahead, I see my career as a bridge between cultures, ideas, and systems. I plan to pursue a path in Russian, East European, and Eurasian studies, focusing on the intersection of media, politics, and societal narratives. Through this lens, I want to contribute to shaping global perspectives—whether through policymaking, storytelling, or advocacy. I believe that nuanced understanding can drive meaningful change, especially for underrepresented regions like Eastern Europe. Ultimately, my passion lies at the intersection of history, culture, and modern socio-political dynamics. By exploring these studies, I hope to contribute to a more nuanced understanding of a region that has long been misrepresented, using my experiences and voice to amplify its stories. My ultimate goal is to challenge the way the world views this part of the globe, creating spaces for authentic stories that go beyond clichés. Whether it’s shaping public policy or working with media to amplify unheard voices, I’m driven by the belief that understanding leads to compassion, and compassion leads to progress. By weaving together my personal history, academic curiosity, and creative pursuits, I hope to leave a legacy of connection and positive change.

My passion for Russian, East European, and Eurasian studies is deeply tied to my identity and my experiences growing up in Kyiv. One of my most vivid childhood memories is standing at a small ice cream stand in the heart of the city, savoring a cone of chocolate-lemon ice cream. That flavor was unusual—bittersweet and surprising, much like Kyiv itself. The ice cream stand was always there, no matter the weather or the circumstances. It became a quiet symbol of resilience, embodying the spirit of a city that refused to be subdued. Years later, that sense of resilience took on a far more personal meaning. The Russo-Ukrainian War upended my world, forcing me to confront what it means to belong to a region so often misunderstood or oversimplified by the rest of the world. Volunteering with ADRA in Slovakia solidified my desire to advocate for underrepresented communities. As I worked with Ukrainian refugees, I saw how media narratives and societal stereotypes could obscure their humanity and experiences. This realization pushed me to explore how culture, politics, and media intersect in shaping perceptions of Eastern Europe. This drive to challenge stereotypes became the foundation of my academic and creative pursuits. While interning at Lagrezette Chateau in France, I navigated cross-cultural communication and developed marketing materials for a global audience, experiences that taught me how representation matters even in unexpected spaces. Meanwhile, as the president of my school’s literary magazine, I wrote stories and poems that questioned simplistic portrayals of Eastern European identity. These experiences culminated in my current project, Vodka Bears Caviar, a book that dismantles stereotypes surrounding Eastern European nations, particularly the flawed conflation of Ukrainian and Russian identities. Beyond my personal experiences, my academic curiosity has been shaped by interdisciplinary exploration. Courses like AP European History and AP Government introduced me to the systemic forces that govern identity and autonomy. My fascination with media and its role in shaping public opinion led me to pursue topics like refugee integration and the portrayal of Eastern Europe in global narratives. Ultimately, my passion lies at the intersection of history, culture, and modern socio-political dynamics. By studying Russian, East European, and Eurasian studies, I hope to contribute to a more nuanced understanding of a region that has long been misrepresented, using my experiences and voice to amplify its stories. Many forget that although we may share the past of the Soviet Union, we are completely different nations.

Ever since I was little, I was told, "You don't want to end up like Tonya." My aunt Tonya had always been a subject of disappointment for my mother and grandmother. Her lifestyle choices, her husband, her career – all of them were a fiasco in my mother’s mind. The number of times I’ve heard a story start with "She was so talented; I am not sure what happened to her" after yet another phone call with Tonya is countless. Another thing I was told since the diaper age is that we are alike, both physically and personality-wise. A moment that caused me to challenge a belief I had adopted from the commentaries about my aunt throughout my childhood was when I assisted her with the invitation of ADRA, a charity organization, to become a permanent aid base for Ukrainian refugees in Slovakia. Tonya had ended up there with my grandparents and her family shortly after the Russo-Ukrainian war began in our home country, Ukraine. It was my aunt and me who ended up breaking the prophecy of “ending up like Tonya.” It all started with research, reaching out to organizations, seeking financial grants, and setting up a place. While Tonya was in charge of the physical aspects, I was in charge of communications and research. Before ADRA, we had the fortunate sponsorship of Charitos. Nearly 500 Ukrainians were settled in Kezmarok, Slovakia, seeking refuge from the war. And we were the ones who made it happen – me and Tonya, alike like two droplets of water, while the rest of our family were paralyzed with fear and confusion. The war affected all aspects of our lives: we lost our home, our business, and close ones. But in the midst of that chaos, Tonya and I found purpose and resilience. Together, we defied expectations and demonstrated that being alike was not a curse but a blessing. My journey to applying for higher education in Slavic Studies has been shaped by a deep connection to my Ukrainian heritage and aiding my Ukranian people, the challenges of navigating cultural misunderstandings, and a commitment to preserving and promoting the rich diversity of Slavic cultures. I believe that through my studies and future career, I can contribute to a more accurate and respectful understanding of Eastern Europe, while also advocating for the unique identities and experiences of its people. This is not just a career path for me; it’s a lifelong mission to honor my roots and make a positive impact on the world.

If you ever want to understand someone, look at their family—and in my case, take a good, long look at my mother’s kitchen. Growing up in a Ukrainian household, where the clattering of pots was as common as the exchange of opinions (both equally heated), I learned that life is a lot like a bowl of borscht: it’s rich, complex, and made better by the love that goes into it. My mother, a woman of unyielding will and limitless love, has always been the heart of our home. She’s the kind of person who believes that a good meal can solve any problem, and I’ve seen her prove it time and time again. Whether it was a bad day at school or the weight of the world pressing down on my teenage shoulders, there was always a plate of Oliviyé or a bowl of borscht waiting to set things right. Her kitchen, like her arms, was a place of comfort and warmth, where the problems of the world seemed a little smaller and the future a little brighter. But it wasn’t just about the food. My mother’s approach to life—her unshakable belief in tradition, her insistence on the importance of community, and her fierce love for her family—shaped my understanding of the world and my place in it. From her, I learned that life isn’t just about what you achieve; it’s about how you take care of the people around you. It’s about offering help to a stranger on the side of the road, even when you’re in a hurry. It’s about listening to someone’s story, even when you think you’ve heard it all before. My father, on the other hand, taught me the value of hard work and resilience. A man who believes that no problem is too big to tackle and no goal too far to reach, he instilled in me the belief that with determination and a bit of creativity, anything is possible. His stories of navigating life’s challenges—often with humor and a good dose of stubbornness—gave me the confidence to face my own obstacles, knowing that setbacks are just stepping stones to success. Together, my parents taught me that life is a delicate balance of strength and compassion, tradition and innovation. They showed me that the world is a place where you can make a difference, not just through grand gestures, but through the small, everyday actions that bring people together and make life a little better. As I look to the future, their lessons have shaped my aspirations in profound ways. My interest in the intersection of AI, legal reasoning, and human agency is a direct reflection of the values they instilled in me—the importance of using knowledge and technology to help others, of making sure that progress is guided by empathy, and of always seeking to understand the human stories behind the data. In many ways, my career aspirations are an extension of the lessons I learned at my mother’s kitchen table and through my father’s stories. They’ve taught me that success isn’t just about reaching the top; it’s about lifting others up along the way. It’s about using the skills and opportunities you have to make a positive impact on the world, just as they’ve done in their own ways. So, as I move forward in my studies and my career, I carry with me the borscht-stained blueprint my parents laid out for me—a blueprint that reminds me to stay grounded, stay connected, and always, always find time to share a meal with those I love.

If you ever want to understand someone, look at their family—and in my case, take a good, long look at my mother’s kitchen. Growing up in a Ukrainian household, where the clattering of pots was as common as the exchange of opinions (both equally heated), I learned that life is a lot like a bowl of borscht: it’s rich, complex, and made better by the love that goes into it. My mother, a woman of unyielding will and limitless love, has always been the heart of our home. She’s the kind of person who believes that a good meal can solve any problem, and I’ve seen her prove it time and time again. Whether it was a bad day at school or the weight of the world pressing down on my teenage shoulders, there was always a plate of Oliviyé or a bowl of borscht waiting to set things right. Her kitchen, like her arms, was a place of comfort and warmth, where the problems of the world seemed a little smaller and the future a little brighter. But it wasn’t just about the food. My mother’s approach to life—her unshakable belief in tradition, her insistence on the importance of community, and her fierce love for her family—shaped my understanding of the world and my place in it. From her, I learned that life isn’t just about what you achieve; it’s about taking care of the people around you. It’s about offering help to a stranger on the side of the road, even when you’re in a hurry. It’s about listening to someone’s story, even when you think you’ve heard it all before. My father, however, taught me the value of hard work and resilience. A man who believes that no problem is too big to tackle and no goal too far to reach, he instilled in me the belief that with determination and a bit of creativity, anything is possible. His stories of navigating life’s challenges—often with humor and a good dose of stubbornness—gave me the confidence to face my own obstacles, knowing that setbacks are just stepping stones to success. My parents taught me that life is a delicate balance of strength and compassion, tradition and innovation. They showed me that the world is a place where you can make a difference, not just through grand gestures, but through the small, everyday actions that bring people together. My career aspirations are an extension of the lessons I learned at my mother’s kitchen table and through my father’s stories. They’ve taught me that success isn’t just about reaching the top; it’s about lifting others up along the way. It’s about using the skills and opportunities you have to make a positive impact on the world, just as they’ve done in their own ways. As I move forward in my studies and my career, I carry with me the borscht-stained blueprint that reminds me to stay grounded, stay connected, and always find time to share a meal with loved ones.

Growing up in a Ukrainian household, I was always aware of the uniqueness of my heritage. The walls of my home were filled with the sounds of my mother’s cooking, the aroma of fresh borscht wafting through the air, and the constant hum of lively conversation. My parents, deeply rooted in Ukrainian tradition, instilled in me a love for our culture that has shaped every aspect of my life. However, this love has not come without its challenges. As a Ukrainian in a world that often conflates the diverse cultures of Eastern Europe into a monolithic entity, I have faced the frequent assumption that Ukrainian culture is indistinguishable from Russian or other Slavic traditions. This misconception is not just a minor irritation; it reflects a broader issue of cultural erasure and misunderstanding that has driven me to educate those around me and assert the unique identity of my people. Throughout my education, I’ve had to navigate these stereotypes while also dealing with the personal challenges that come with being part of a diaspora. In school, my classmates often saw me as “Russian,” not recognizing the deep cultural and historical differences that set Ukraine apart from its neighbors. These experiences, while frustrating, fueled my desire to dive deeper into the study of Slavic cultures and bring greater awareness to the rich diversity within this region. At home, my family’s story has been one of resilience and perseverance. My mother, who has faced her own struggles with mental health, particularly in the face of the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian war, has shown me the strength it takes to maintain hope and stability in difficult times. Her experiences have taught me the importance of mental health awareness and the impact that cultural and geopolitical stressors can have on an individual’s well-being. This has not only influenced my personal values but also my academic interests, particularly in understanding how historical and cultural narratives shape our mental and emotional landscapes. Academically, I have excelled in areas that allow me to explore and express my cultural heritage. Literature, history, and languages have always been my strongest subjects, as they offer me a window into the world of my ancestors and the chance to share that world with others. My dedication to these subjects has earned me top grades and recognition from my teachers, who have encouraged me to pursue my passion for Slavic studies at a higher level. My interest in Slavic literature, in particular, has been a gateway to understanding the complexities of identity, nationalism, and cultural preservation within the broader context of Eastern Europe. My decision to major in Slavic Studies is a natural extension of my personal and academic journey. I aim to specialize in Ukrainian culture and history, with a focus on the ways in which these narratives have been shaped by and have resisted external pressures, particularly from neighboring Russia. This focus is not just an academic pursuit for me; it’s a personal mission to ensure that the stories of my people are told accurately and with the respect they deserve. One of the areas I have excelled in is my ability to connect my academic studies with my personal experiences. I have actively sought out opportunities to engage with my cultural heritage, whether through community involvement, language learning, or independent research. For example, I have participated in cultural events that celebrate Ukrainian traditions, such as folk music and dance, and have taken on leadership roles in organizing these events. Additionally, I have pursued the study of the Ukrainian language, understanding that language is a crucial element of cultural identity and preservation. Through these experiences, I have developed a deep appreciation for the richness of Ukrainian culture and a commitment to sharing it with others. Once I graduate, my goal is to become a voice for the Ukrainian community and other underrepresented Slavic cultures, whether through academia, journalism, or cultural advocacy. I envision a career where I can contribute to a more nuanced understanding of the Slavic world, highlighting the distinct identities and histories of its many cultures. In particular, I hope to challenge the oversimplified narratives that often dominate discussions about Eastern Europe, offering instead a more complex and accurate portrayal of this region’s diverse cultural landscape. I also aim to bridge the gap between Slavic cultures and the wider world, fostering greater understanding and appreciation for the diversity within this region. In a globalized world, where cultures are increasingly interconnected, it is crucial to ensure that the voices of smaller or less represented communities are heard and respected. By sharing the stories, traditions, and histories of the Slavic peoples, I hope to contribute to a more inclusive and empathetic global community. To achieve these goals, I am willing to challenge existing misconceptions and push for more inclusive and comprehensive representations of Slavic cultures in both academic and popular discourse. I am determined to drive change by creating opportunities for dialogue and collaboration, both within the Slavic community and beyond. This is not just about academic achievement for me; it’s about making a lasting impact that honors my heritage and paves the way for future generations to do the same. In conclusion, my journey to applying for higher education in Slavic Studies has been shaped by a deep connection to my Ukrainian heritage, the challenges of navigating cultural misunderstandings, and a commitment to preserving and promoting the rich diversity of Slavic cultures. I believe that through my studies and future career, I can contribute to a more accurate and respectful understanding of Eastern Europe, while also advocating for the unique identities and experiences of its people. This is not just a career path for me; it’s a lifelong mission to honor my roots and make a positive impact on the world.

If you ever want to understand someone, look at their family—and in my case, take a good, long look at my mother’s kitchen. Growing up in a Ukrainian household, where the clattering of pots was as common as the exchange of opinions (both equally heated), I learned that life is a lot like a bowl of borscht: it’s rich, complex, and made better by the love that goes into it. My mother, a woman of unyielding will and limitless love, has always been the heart of our home. She’s the kind of person who believes that a good meal can solve any problem, and I’ve seen her prove it time and time again. Whether it was a bad day at school or the weight of the world pressing down on my teenage shoulders, there was always a plate of Oliviyé or a bowl of borscht waiting to set things right. Her kitchen, like her arms, was a place of comfort and warmth, where the problems of the world seemed a little smaller and the future a little brighter. But it wasn’t just about the food. My mother’s approach to life—her unshakable belief in tradition, her insistence on the importance of community, and her fierce love for her family—shaped my understanding of the world and my place in it. From her, I learned that life isn’t just about what you achieve; it’s about how you take care of the people around you. It’s about offering help to a stranger on the side of the road, even when you’re in a hurry. It’s about listening to someone’s story, even when you think you’ve heard it all before. My father, on the other hand, taught me the value of hard work and resilience. A man who believes that no problem is too big to tackle and no goal too far to reach, he instilled in me the belief that with determination and a bit of creativity, anything is possible. His stories of navigating life’s challenges—often with humor and a good dose of stubbornness—gave me the confidence to face my own obstacles, knowing that setbacks are just stepping stones to success. Together, my parents taught me that life is a delicate balance of strength and compassion, tradition and innovation. They showed me that the world is a place where you can make a difference, not just through grand gestures, but through the small, everyday actions that bring people together and make life a little better. As I look to the future, their lessons have shaped my aspirations in profound ways. My interest in the intersection of AI, legal reasoning, and human agency is a direct reflection of the values they instilled in me—the importance of using knowledge and technology to help others, of making sure that progress is guided by empathy, and of always seeking to understand the human stories behind the data. In many ways, my career aspirations are an extension of the lessons I learned at my mother’s kitchen table and through my father’s stories. They’ve taught me that success isn’t just about reaching the top; it’s about lifting others up along the way. It’s about using the skills and opportunities you have to make a positive impact on the world, just as they’ve done in their own ways. So, as I move forward in my studies and my career, I carry with me the borscht-stained blueprint my parents laid out for me—a blueprint that reminds me to stay grounded, stay connected, and always, always find time to share a meal with those I love.