I almost failed freshman tutorial.

My first semester at Wabash was tough. If I was at any other college, I would have dropped out and wouldn’t be here today. In second grade, at the beginning of my education in the U.S., I felt like an outsider. I was in ESL classes, I spoke differently, I learned differently, and I acted differently than my peers. I had some successes in high school, but they were mostly at the expense of my morals and it’s safe to say that out of high school I knew I wasn’t on the path I wanted.

Coming to Wabash was never about athletics, academics, or a degree—it was about rewriting a story. The story that says where you start doesn’t determine where you end up. This is what I call the redemptive spirit of Wabash: the power of transformation, grit, and grace.

I still make plenty of mistakes to this day. Redemption isn’t about perfection, it’s about grace. It’s about the space to struggle without shame, and the courage to keep building, piece by piece, the person I want to become. Each activity I have done at Wabash has been part of my greater goal of becoming a man I can be proud of and making a difference in the world.

The mentorship I received at Wabash taught me what it feels like to not know the answer, and how to keep showing up anyway: to troubleshoot, to ask questions, to fail, and to try again. My confidence as a scientist doesn’t come from my innate ability—it comes from my willingness to admit when I am wrong and to work through solutions until I get it right. I learned mistakes aren’t the end of the process—they’re part of the process.

Without Wabash, I wouldn’t know how far I could push myself—physically and mentally. As a wrestler, there were days I wanted to quit, when the pain felt like it outweighed the purpose. But those days taught me what mental toughness means—not loving every moment, but choosing to show up anyway.

My last season, my body was falling apart—I had back pain, shoulder pain, and knee pain—and in those moments, the question always crept in: Why am I here? Those thoughts can take a toll on your mental health. But if wrestling has taught me anything, it’s that perseverance isn’t about the absence of doubt—it’s about learning to wrestle with it. To stand up, battered but unbroken, and step onto the mat again.

Without Wabash, I wouldn’t know what it is to be part of a brotherhood. My fraternity brothers at Kappa Sigma showed up—not just to my wrestling matches or poster presentations, but to my life. From the day we moved in, I could have never predicted how much my longtime roommates, Ethan Bednarczyk ’25, Phenix Carney ’25, and Neal Laymon ’25, would come to mean to me. It took some adjusting to the chaos of fraternity life, but through four years of ups and downs, they have been my constants. Their families have taken me in and given me a place to stay when I couldn’t make it home.  

Despite coming from different backgrounds, these are the people I feel closest to. 亚洲通 isn’t about where you’re from or what you look like—it’s about showing up for each other, about mutual respect, about choosing to share life together. Because of these friendships, I know that no matter where life takes me after Wabash, I’ll be able to find connections, build community, and feel at home.

The experiences I gained through the Malcolm X Institute of Black Studies (MXIBS) and through applying for fellowships taught me how to advocate for myself. During my sophomore year, there were long discussions about the true role of the MXIBS on campus. One of my biggest regrets is that I stayed silent. I didn’t trust my voice enough to speak up. Like I had done many times before, I chose silence as a way to avoid the sting of rejection. Fortunately, the MXIBS has become an organization that I can say I am proud to be a member of to this day.  

My redemption at Wabash came unexpectedly during my study abroad semester, when I made a spontaneous decision to apply for the Truman Scholarship. I didn’t win—didn’t even get close. At first, it felt like this confirmed my fears about putting myself out there. But this time, I made a different choice. I decided I wasn’t going to let that defeat linger. Instead, I kept building my story, I kept writing, and I kept asking for help. When the time came to apply for the Fulbright Research Fellowship, it felt like the biggest, scariest application—and somehow, I did it.

亚洲通ll, not somehow. My gratitude goes to Susan Albrecht, fellowship advisor, for not giving up on me. I submitted my application with only minutes to spare. The months leading up to that moment were some of the most stressful I’ve experienced, but the feeling of crossing that finish line was unforgettable. Being named a semi-finalist was a win that I needed. More than anything, that process taught me how to advocate for myself, even when the odds or outcome is uncertain. Since then, I’ve become a “serial applier,” always looking for the next application—in each of them I learn more about myself. Working with Susan improved my writing exponentially, but more important, it helped me find my voice. That’s a skill I will carry with me into every fellowship application, every research grant, and every personal statement I write on my path toward medicine.  

I wouldn’t know what it feels like to be truly loved if not for the personal relationships in my life—the unbelievable loyalty of my roommates, the intentionality and care of my girlfriend, and the deep interconnectedness I feel through the many friendships, organizations, mentors, and communities I am part of. These relationships have taught me how to open up, how to listen, and how to show up for others in ways I didn’t think I was capable of. I am the man I am today because of the people around me and the way these interactions have shaped my outlook on life. I am a better listener, a stronger advocate, and, I hope, a more reliable friend and partner—qualities I believe reflect what a man should strive to be.

Which brings me back to the beginning of my Wabash story.

In another timeline—one where I didn’t come here—I don’t know who I would be, but I’m certain it wouldn’t be this version of myself. Because Wabash is a place that gives you the space to struggle and still succeed. It’s a place where the “redemptive spirit” lives in its people—the faculty who believed in me, the teammates who pushed me, the communities that gave me room to grow into my own voice. I won’t pretend it was easy. I am far from finished and still have plenty of flaws to work through. What I’ve learned here, though, is that with hard work and persistence, you can accomplish just about anything. It doesn’t matter what’s in front of you or how far behind you feel.  
My generation likes to say “LOCK IN” as a joke—but there’s wisdom in that. Lock in to your purpose. Lock in to your growth. Lock in to the belief that you’re capable, even when it feels like you’re not.  

Back in Ghana, there’s a saying:  “Mma nea wuntumi nyɛ nsiw wo kwan wɔ nea wubetumi ayɛ”

Which roughly translates to: “Let not what you cannot do deter you from what you can do.”  
For me, that has meant getting back up when I’ve fallen. It has meant choosing to belong, even in the face of imposter syndrome. It has meant having the courage to step into spaces where I didn’t always feel like I belonged and trusting that hard work could carry me where confidence sometimes could not. I’m never the most talented in the room. I’m not always the most confident. But if there’s one thing I know I have for sure, it’s my work ethic. That’s something my upbringing gave me. Here at Wabash, I learned how to shape that raw drive into something meaningful. 

Back to where I started: I almost failed freshman tutorial.

I say that again because it matters. Failure here didn’t mean the end of my story—it was the beginning of learning what redemption looks like. Wabash is the kind of place you can fall behind and still catch up, you can lose yourself and still find meaning, you can be shaped by hardship but never defined by it. The redemptive spirit of Wabash isn’t about never falling—it’s about what you do when you hit the ground. It’s about the people who surround you, the communities that hold you accountable, the professors who refuse to let you settle for less than your best, and the friends who keep the door open and the light on.