A Lab Coat, a Bus Ticket, and a Place at the Table

On the morning of February 11, I watched my little sister tape a hand-drawn constellation to the fridge—dots connected with shaky pencil lines, like she was trying to prove the sky had a pattern if you stared long enough. She called it “The Girl Who Didn’t Quit.” I laughed, but it landed in my chest with the quiet weight of recognition. Science has always felt like that to me: not a straight road, but a stubborn act of connecting points—between curiosity and confidence, between who gets invited in and who learns to knock anyway.

Where the Story Begins

I grew up in a neighborhood where futures were practical. My parents—immigrants who learned Italian the way you learn weather, by enduring it—measured opportunity in bus routes and hourly wages. At school, the science lab smelled like dust and old alcohol wipes, and the computers sometimes froze mid-lesson as if even they were exhausted. Still, I loved numbers because they didn’t care about accents. I loved data because it listened. When I plotted class survey results on a spreadsheet, the mess of our lives became something I could read like a map.

But loving something and belonging to it are different experiences. When teachers praised my writing, it felt natural—almost expected. When I raised my hand in math, I felt like I was borrowing space.

The Invisible Wall

The first time I heard the phrase “STEM isn’t for everyone,” it wasn’t aimed at me directly. That’s what made it powerful. It hung in the air, a soft warning: some people are meant to build the world, and others are meant to adjust to it.

Being both a girl and the child of migrants added another layer. I often translated school letters at the kitchen table, then rushed to finish assignments beside the hum of the washing machine. I learned early that ambition must be efficient. There wasn’t time to “explore” the way other students did. And when I looked online at job titles—data analyst, AI specialist, engineer—I felt the same longing I felt watching trains pass: a sense that movement belonged to someone else.

An Unexpected Bridge

That’s why a report I read about the International Day of Women and Girls in Science 2026 stayed with me. It wasn’t just celebratory; it was practical, almost tender in the way it named obstacles out loud—gender stereotypes, educational poverty, and the quiet exclusion migrants can feel even when they’re technically “included.” It highlighted initiatives supported by Intesa Sanpaolo that sounded like doors opening where I’d only seen walls: STEM scholarships for women in master’s programs, mentoring through YEP, and early encouragement via projects like STEM BY ME and Deploy Your Talents. Even more personal were the programs aimed at migrants and vulnerable youth—free courses in math, coding, Data & AI analysis, UX/UI design, and digital skills, designed so learners could become tutors too. That detail mattered to me. It suggested a different kind of power: not being “saved,” but being trusted.

Trying on a New Version of Myself

I started acting like someone who belonged. I joined a free online coding module and spent evenings debugging while my family watched TV in the next room. The screen light made my hands look pale and unfamiliar, like they belonged to a future I hadn’t met yet. I built a simple project analyzing public data about urban trees—counting species, comparing neighborhoods, finding patterns tied to income and heat. It wasn’t perfect. But it was mine.

Mentorship, even from afar, changed how I heard my own thoughts. Instead of “I’m not ready,” I learned to say, “I’m learning.” Instead of asking permission to take up space, I learned to bring receipts: a portfolio, a question, a graph that told the truth.

What I Learned (and What I Want Next)

The most surprising lesson wasn’t technical. It was emotional: representation isn’t just about seeing someone who looks like you; it’s about seeing a path that makes sense for your life. Scholarships and training programs don’t simply fund education—they reduce the noise of survival so curiosity can speak.

Now, when my sister asks what I’m studying, I don’t shrink the answer into something more digestible. I tell her about algorithms and ethics, about how AI should be built by teams that reflect the people it will affect. I tell her science needs more voices—not as a slogan, but as a safeguard.

And when I look at her constellation on the fridge, I realize I’m still connecting dots. Only now, the picture forming isn’t just a future. It’s a place at the table—one I intend to earn, and then widen for the next girl who’s still waiting at the station.

Reference / Source Link

Intesa Sanpaolo – International Day of Women and Girls in Science 2026 (Feb 10, 2026):
https://group.intesasanpaolo.com/en/sustainability/latest-news-and-insights/sustainability-latest-news/2026/international-day-of-women-and-girls-in-science-2026