What does being a member of Rewriting the Code mean to you?

Being a member of Rewriting the Code feels like finding a community that actually means it. It’s that rare feeling of knowing that if you’re going through something searching for opportunities, figuring out your next move, feeling lost in the process someone else in this community is going through the exact same thing and genuinely wants to see you come out on the other side.

What sets RTC apart for me is that the support doesn’t feel performative. A lot of people join clubs just to put them on a resume and move on. RTC feels different. The community is investing in your growth, not just while you’re in school but beyond it through early career programs, graduate opportunities, internships, conferences, and connections that go somewhere. That continuity matters because the real world doesn’t care about your graduation date, and neither does RTC. More than anything, RTC made me feel like I’m not doing this alone. There are people here from all different backgrounds and interests who all want the same thing — to grow, to get in the room, and to bring others with them. That’s the kind of community I didn’t know I needed until I found it. I’m genuinely grateful to be a part of it.

You describe your work as sitting at the intersection of design, code, and purpose. When did you first realize those three things could live together in one career?

I think I’ve always been someone who wants to dabble in everything: design, code, people, problems and for a long time I thought that made me unfocused. But somewhere along the way I realized that those things don’t compete. They actually hold each other accountable. Design without code is just a pretty picture. A code without design is just a function. And neither of them matters without a purpose behind them.

When I think about my work, I always come back to the same questions about what we are making, why it needs to exist, and how do we make it work for the people who need it most. Those questions are what connect design, code, and purpose for me. They’re not three separate things. They merge into one when you’re building something that’s meant to solve a real problem.

Public health is what gave me why. It’s where I found the story behind everything I wanted to build. I don’t just want to design things that look good or code things that function; I want to create systems that mean something. That helps someone. That makes life a little easier or safer, or more dignified for people who deserve that. Everything has a story, and everything worth building has a purpose. That’s the intersection I want to live in.

As an IT Intern at Fulton County, you brought human-centered design into a government setting. What has that experience taught you about who technology is really built for?

Working in Fulton County taught me that technology is only as good as the people it reaches. When I was interning with external affairs and working on Experience Fulton, every decision came back to the same core question what do the people want to see, what do they need to find, and how do we make sure they can actually access it? Not just the people who are already comfortable with technology, but everyone in the county, regardless of their background or experience level.

That work has entirely shifted how I think about design. In a government setting, re not designing for a target demographic or an ideal user you’re designing for everybody. That means usability isn’t nice to have. It’s the whole point. If someone can’t easily find information about their community or navigate a platform that’s supposed to serve them, then the technology has failed, regardless of how well it was built on the backend.

It also taught me to be incredibly intentional about the details. In government work, the information you put out matters. It must be accurate, clear, and accessible because real people are relying on it to make real decisions about their lives. That level of responsibility made me a more careful and more purposeful designer. It reminded me that behind every screen is a person and that person deserves technology that was actually built with them in mind.

You're wrapping up your B.S. in Interactive Design and already planning a master's in Public Health. What is it about the health space that feels like the right place to take your skills next?

Honestly, public health chose me before I even knew what it was.

My freshman year, I was researching campus safety and asking questions like why security is this way, how do we prevent this, what systems are failing, and who do they fail most. I was writing about it, pushing for communication strategies, and thinking about technical solutions. I had no idea that was public health. I just thought I was passionate about fixing things that weren’t working for people.

Then it got personal. I lost two uncles to sudden heart problems. My grandmother passed away from breast cancer just days after I was born. Those losses made the numbers feel real to me. Behind every statistic is a family. Behind every gap in the healthcare system is someone who deserves better access, better information, and better care.

What drew me deeper into public health was realizing how broad it actually is. It’s not just diseases and hospitals, its transportation, housing, mental health, campus safety, beauty products, hair care, and environmental factors. It touches everything. And that’s exactly where my skills fit. Because public health isn’t just about identifying problems, it’s about communicating solutions, designing systems that reach people, and making sure the right information gets to the right person at the right time.

I’m a designer who codes and a researcher who cares about people. Public health is the space where all of that has a real purpose. It didn’t feel like a choice I made — it felt like something I kept finding no matter which direction I looked.

So yeah. It chose me. And I chose it right back.

Your LinkedIn bio mentions cozy cafes and green tea. What's the perfect cafe setup for you: a window seat with lo-fi music, or a corner booth with background chatter?

Honestly neither option fully captures my dream cafe setup so let me paint the picture.

First, the music has to be right. I’m talking upbeat about jazz the kind that keeps your energy up without pulling your attention away from your work. Think Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald playing softly in the background. Their voices are so soothing that everything just flows better. Slow jazz, though? That’s a nap waiting for it to happen. It has to be the happy kind.

I’d want tables over booths because booths feel too comfortable, and comfort is the enemy of productivity for me. I need to sit up, at a real surface, in work mode. And the lighting has to be right dimmed enough to feel cozy at night but with little LED desk lights at every station, so you can actually see what you’re doing. That detail matters more than people think.

But the biggest thing? It needs to be 24 hours. Because some days are so packed that by the time I’m ready to focus and do my best thinking it’s one in the morning and nowhere is open. A 24-hour cafe with vending machines and maybe some comfort food available would be everything. Sometimes you just can’t focus on home, something is always happening, something is always pulling your attention, and you need a space that’s always there when you need to reset your headspace.

Cozy but functional. Jazzy but focused. Open whenever life decides to get busy. That’s the dream.

You journal, read, and work out to reset. If you had to pick just one for a chaotic week, which one wins and why?

Reading. Without a doubt.

When life gets chaotic and chaotic for me means twenty tabs open, internship deadlines, club commitments, networking events, weekend shifts, and homework all happening at the same time. My brain needs somewhere to go that isn’t any of those things. Journaling keeps me in my own head, and working out still requires me to show up and push through. But reading? Reading takes me somewhere else entirely.

There’s something about stepping into another person’s world and just living there for a while that genuinely resets me in a way nothing else can. I’m not thinking about my to-do list or the emails I haven’t answered or the project due Friday. I’m just there wherever the book takes me fully present in a story that has nothing to do with my own chaos.

It’s my escape. And I think that’s exactly what a chaotic week calls for. Not more reflection, not more movement, just a full departure from your own reality for a little while so you can come back to it with a clearer head.

Reading always wins for me because it’s the only reset that actually feels like one.

"Human-first systems that make life safer, healthier, and smarter" is a big vision. What experience in your life made that mission feel urgent, not just interesting?

This mission became urgent for me the moment I realized how many systems exist that are technically built for people but weren’t actually designed with people in mind.

So much of what gets built, technology, products, and healthcare tools is driven by profit, visibility, or convenience for the company. The user becomes an afterthought. And when that happens, it’s not just frustrating. It can be genuinely harmful.

I experienced this personally. I’ve been on the Depo-Provera shot for three to four years. And for most of that time nobody, not my doctor, not the apps I was using, not the healthcare portal I had access to, proactively told me what was actually happening in my body. The mood swings. The bone density loss. The weight fluctuations. I was finding out from TikTok, from Google, from other people sharing their experiences online because the systems that were supposed to support my health weren’t communicating with me.

Three years in my doctor casually mentioned I should start taking calcium because of what the shot does to your bones over time. Three years. That information should have reached me in year one. It should have been built into the app. It should have been a notification, a tip, a checkup prompt something. But it wasn’t because nobody designed that system with me in mind.

That experience made everything click. Human first design isn’t a philosophy for me, it’s personal. When systems fail to communicate clearly, when they prioritize anything over the actual well-being of the person using them, real people pay the price with their health, their safety, and their trust.

I want to build things that actually work for the people who need them most. Not because it’s interesting. Because it’s necessary.