Beyond familiar horizons

Grace, one of our second-year students, talks about her experiences at Our Moon and the experiences that have shaped her.

I've always had a strange relationship with people.

I enjoy being around them, but approaching them has never come naturally. For years, introducing myself felt like a performance I was bound to get wrong. I worried about saying something awkward, being judged, or worst of all, being unremarkable. I didn't want attention. I just wanted to leave a mark in each room I entered.

That contradiction followed me throughout my childhood. I had opinions but kept them to myself. I knew the answers but avoided raising my hand. I wanted opportunities, but only if they came without risk. My academic strength could shine on paper. Out loud was a different story.

Ironically, I was often given leadership positions: class monitor, prefect, even Head Girl in Grade 6. Teachers seemed to see something in me that I couldn't see in myself. Yet those roles never felt earned. Leadership, to me, meant more than being trusted by adults because of good grades and being unproblematic. It meant being trusted by peers.

When I entered junior secondary school, I discovered the student council. For the first time, leadership felt meaningful. It was not about enforcing rules. It was about representing people and improving things for those around you. I wanted to be part of it.

Then reality arrived: To run, I would have to stand in front of my classmates and ask them to believe in me. I couldn't do it. What happens if I lose?

I watched the student body president ask for volunteers and felt my chance disappear as she walked out of the room. I still remember the regret that followed. Not because I lost, but because I never tried. For the first time, I realised that comfort had a cost. Every opportunity I avoided came with a version of myself I would never meet. That moment changed me.

I started small. I introduced myself to strangers. I made an effort to know my classmates. I learned that confidence is rarely something people have before they act. More often, it is something they build afterwards.

The next test came after my Grade 9 examinations. I had the opportunity to attend a more challenging school far from home. The road was so poor that visits were rare. I knew nobody there. Leaving meant giving up familiarity, friendships, and certainty.

I went anyway.

That decision opened doors I never knew existed. I competed in events that required me to speak before hundreds of people. I pushed myself academically. Most importantly, I finally ran for student council.

The night before delivering my manifesto, I barely slept. The night before the results, I slept even less. When I won, something clicked. The fear had not disappeared. Public speaking still terrified me. Rejection still stung. The difference was that I had stopped waiting for fear to leave before acting.

By Grade 12, another uncomfortable question emerged: what did I want to do with my life?

The answer surprised me. Biomedical engineering combined everything that fascinated me: science, technology, innovation, and healthcare. Yet every path I explored led to the same obstacle. Zambia did not offer the opportunities I needed to pursue it fully. The more I learned about cancer diagnostics and treatment, the more I wanted to help solve those problems. The more I researched, the more impossible my goal seemed.

Studying abroad felt unrealistic. Speaking it aloud felt even worse. People treated it as wishful thinking, and sometimes I did too.

Eventually, practicality began winning. I considered abandoning the idea altogether and choosing a safer path closer to home.

Then, by chance, I heard about Our Moon.

At first, I saw it as a possible solution to two problems: access to opportunities and financial support. What I found was much more valuable. Our Moon forced me to confront skills I had avoided for years. I had to think deeply, communicate clearly, collaborate effectively, accept criticism, and learn to express ideas with confidence.

The application process was one of the most demanding experiences of my life. There were essays, interviews, videos, and countless moments where quitting felt easier. Yet every stage reminded me of the lesson I first learned years earlier when I failed to raise my hand for student council.

The outcome mattered, but trying mattered more.

During the programme, I realised I was not as prepared for university as I had assumed. There were gaps in my communication, teamwork, and self-awareness. Rather than discouraging me, that realisation gave me room to grow. Interviews even became my favourite part.

They gave me something transcripts and application forms never could, the chance to show my curiosity, convictions, and personality in a way that paper simply cannot capture. Each university application became another exercise in resilience. Every setback sharpened my sense of direction and forced me to improve.

Eventually, that journey led me to The Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

For me, PolyU was more than just an acceptance letter. It was a place where biomedical engineering exists not only in classrooms but in the surrounding ecosystem of research labs, hospitals, and biotech startups, putting me closer to the cancer diagnostics and treatment innovations that first inspired my journey.

When I received the offer, I thought back to the girl sitting quietly in a classroom in Solwezi, terrified of speaking up. The distance between us is measured in much more than the years elapsed. It is measured in uncomfortable conversations, failed attempts, difficult choices, and risks taken despite uncertainty.

My journey to HKPU is often described as crossing borders. In reality, the hardest border was never geographical. It was the one between who I was and who I was willing to become.

Over the past three months, I have been interning at Victoria Hospital, an experience that has given me a completely different perspective on healthcare. Rotating through different departments showed me how many professionals contribute to a patient's care and how much teamwork and precision is required from registration to discharge.

What surprised me most was the Radiography department. Before this internship, I saw it mainly as X-rays, but I quickly learned how essential imaging is to diagnosing disease, guiding treatment decisions, monitoring recovery, and helping clinicians understand what cannot be seen from the outside. I didn't even realise how essential it is to cancer diagnosis. The experience sparked such a strong interest that, after completing my rotations, I chose to spend the remainder of my internship in the Radiology Department. It has deepened my appreciation for the role technology plays in healthcare and reinforced my desire to explore medical imaging further during my studies at HKPU.

I still have a long way to go. There is so much I do not know, so much I have yet to learn. But every meaningful step in my life has begun the same way: by moving beyond what felt familiar and trusting that growth waited on the other side.