Drexel Gallery

As a Bridging the Gaps  intern working with Education for Educators (E4E), one message has remained constant from the very beginning: Philadelphia's youth deserve greater access to resources, exposure, and opportunities that allow them to become whoever they aspire to be. One of the greatest lessons my preceptor taught me was that meaningful change begins by meeting students where they are. Before we can help, we must first understand the circumstances that shape their lives and recognize the barriers they navigate every day.

Working alongside these students has challenged the way I think about opportunity. I do not believe the problem is a lack of talent or ambition. Rather, too many children are never given the chance to dream because those dreams are limited by circumstances beyond their control. When young people are overlooked, entire communities lose the opportunity to benefit from their gifts.

I chose this image of stained glass because it reminds me of Philadelphia's youth. At first glance, stained glass can appear to be nothing more than individual pieces placed side by side. It is easy to judge it at the surface, just as we often judge young people based on perceived dispositional traits rather than the situational factors that have shaped their lives. We are quick to label a student as unmotivated, disruptive, or uninterested without taking the time to understand the environment they have been asked to grow in. What we fail to realize is that the beauty was always there. Stained glass is not beautiful because someone paints light onto it; it is beautiful because light reveals what has always existed within it.

I believe mentorship, education, exposure, and opportunity are that light. These students do not need someone to change who they are, they need people willing to invest in who they can become. We are not creating potential; we are revealing it. My hope is that more people recognize the importance of pouring into our youth because when we invest in them, we strengthen not only individual lives but our entire community.

This is a photo of graffiti drawn on the side of a building near the Strawberry Mansion Health Center (SMHC) which reads, “What have you done on this day to make you...neighbor, city, state, community...your family & the world better?" Surrounding the quote is the word “VOTE” written repeatedly.

While the message is simple—everyone should take part in making the world around them a better place; the location of the art helps give it a deeper meaning. Painted on the side of a worn-down and abandoned building, the irony of the positive message is evident when considering the condition of the structure it's on. This photo is significant because it reflects a challenge many communities face when trying to create change, which is that they must also overcome the disinvestment and neglect from larger structural powers. At the same time, the image illustrates that voting is an important way communities can advocate for themselves. Through voting, individuals can directly influence the people who represent their community and therefore the policies, resources, and funding that can shape their neighborhood.

While this photo explicitly shows the importance of civic engagement, it does not capture the everyday challenges many Strawberry Mansion residents face. One example is the limited access to healthy food options. The closest places to buy food around where this photo was taken are a fast-food restaurant (KFC) and a dollar store. Furthermore, through working at SMHC, I have seen how structural barriers, like living in a food desert, can impact a community’s health. Hypertension and diabetes are common among patients at SMHC, as the health center even has a hypertension navigator to help address this problem. Additionally, in my role helping patients enroll in prescription assistance programs, the medications I most frequently help patients receive are for diabetes and weight-loss. While there are many factors that contribute to hypertension and diabetes, access to affordable and healthy foods is an example of a risk factor that individuals cannot necessarily control on their own.

Overall, I feel that this photo is powerful because it illustrates that although we should all strive to make our community better, lasting change also requires addressing the structural barriers created by those in positions of power. As citizens, one way we can do this is by exercising our right to vote. However, it is also the responsibility of those in positions of power to listen to the needs of their community members and follow through on their promises. Therefore, I hope this photo can be used to educate decision-makers regarding the impact that their policies have on the health and well-being of neighborhoods like Strawberry Mansion and encourage them to invest in resources to uplift communities which have historically been ignored.

It is difficult to highlight some of the challenges that I am focusing on at Gaudenzia via photos due to patient privacy reasons however one challenge I have been facing is a lack of access to medical appointments. While we often talk about making healthcare more accessible, it is usually thought of as rural areas not having access to hospitals nearby but there are many facets to healthcare access inequity. This is something I have come across when trying to secure neurology appointments for some of the residents at our site. This has proven to be more difficult than anticipated because only one hospital has available appointments and takes Medicaid insurance in the area. This hospital is 30 mins away and has an extensive process to get new patients scheduled. This requires medical records, referrals, and past office notes to be faxed to their office. This means that the resident's PCP has to fax them over but since they are an incredibly busy site, it can be incredibly difficult to get someone on the phone to get this information sent over. This photo shows the calls that I have to do in a day which is only a handful of the calls I am making in the day. There is a lot of back and forth and particularly in this picture, I missed a phone call from someone I have been trying to reach for several days as I was doing an intake with a resident. I started the process of scheduling these appointments when I started at Gaudenzia Philly House and I only was successful after a month of work. It was this challenging for me to schedule a neurologist appointment that wasn’t a year and half away even with me knowing how to navigate the healthcare system. Undoubtedly, it would be doubly hard for someone who does not understand the technical medical jargon or who has to work all day so they do not have time to keep calling medical facilities. Overall, this photo highlights a larger problem within our healthcare system. Primary care and specialists appointments being so far away leave patients struggling with their medical issue until they are able to see a doctor. Thus we should aim to reduce waiting times for patients and also reduce barriers to scheduling appointments such as streamlining medical record transfers and providing easy access to appointment scheduling services for those who do not have their own phone. However, these changes can be difficult to instill so providers should be aware that they exist and do everything in their power to streamline this process.

This photo was taken at the Legacy Youth Tennis and Education Center in Philadelphia. It shows a large steel sculpture of a tennis racket hitting a ball in front of the tennis courts, surrounded by engraved bricks that recognize donors and supporters of the center. At first glance, it looks like a place built for recreation, community, and opportunity. The sculpture stands out as a symbol of strength and growth, while the tennis courts behind it represent a safe space where young people can learn, compete, and spend time in a positive environment.

What this photo doesn't show is the bigger story behind why places like Legacy are so important. It doesn't capture the challenges many kids in Philadelphia face, such as growing up in neighborhoods with fewer safe parks, limited after-school programs, or not having access to organized sports. It also doesn't show the financial struggles that can make activities like tennis feel out of reach for many families. While this center provides incredible opportunities, not every community has access to spaces like this.

The structural issue behind this photo is unequal access to resources. Where someone lives often determines the quality of recreational spaces, educational programs, and extracurricular activities available to them. Communities with more funding and private support tend to have better facilities, while others are left with aging parks or few opportunities for youth. Organizations like the Legacy Youth Tennis and Education Center help close that gap by giving young people access to sports, academic support, and mentorship, regardless of their background.

I hope this photo helps people, especially decision makers, realize that investing in places like Legacy is about much more than building tennis courts. It's about creating opportunities for kids to stay active, build confidence, and develop skills that can help them later in life. Programs like this can have a lasting impact on education, health, and even future careers.

To me, this photo represents what a community can look like when people invest in their youth. My hope is that it encourages leaders to continue supporting programs like Legacy and to bring similar opportunities to more neighborhoods across Philadelphia, so every young person has the chance to grow in a safe and supportive environment.

My site for Bridging the Gaps is the Young Dragons STEAM camp, a free summer camp for middle school students living in West Philadelphia. The mission of the Young Dragons camp is to provide an opportunity for middle schoolers to challenge themselves and develop their interests in science, tech, engineering, arts and math. Rather than just focusing on memorizing content, we want the students to grow by exploring challenging topics that they may not be exposed to in school. The Young Dragons camp is an example of how valuable out-of-school time can be in a child’s development. The photo I took shows a few of the posters that students created during Health Sciences Week while learning about public health PSAs. Each group got to select a topic that they wanted to educate the community about, and they created short videos and presentations to share health tips with the class. This was the last activity of Health Sciences Week and it was a strong end to a very successful week where students got to learn about body systems, visit the Drexel Health Sciences building, take field trips to places like the Mutter Museum, and learn more about health science careers. At the beginning of the week, when we asked the students if they were interested in a career in health, very few students raised their hands. A lot of them were apprehensive about dealing with diseases, blood, and “gross/creepy things.” However, since the BTG interns were all medical students, we were able to use our relationships with the kids to encourage them to push themselves to participate and keep an open mind. By the end of the week, we had a lot more students interested in medicine, including a lot of students interested in neurosurgery! This week was a great example of why it is important to have free and accessible out-of-school experiences where students can explore educational topics in a low-pressure environment under the guidance of positive role models. Students who initially seem disinterested in a topic may just need more personal attention and a more creative learning experience in order to unlock their potential. It has been very rewarding to watch the students gain confidence in themselves and their abilities through exploring challenging topics such as robotics, architecture, and health sciences, and I am excited to continue watching the students grow in the last few weeks of this program.

This mural is located around the corner from the center, and I feel it does a great job or representing this message. It has glasses of different shapes, sizes and uses which reminds me of the differences of people in the community. I think about how we are all just as fragile yet strong like glass, and we all have different capacities, capabilities, and appearances. The community here are a mix of different ethnicities, ages, and life experiences that all matter and contribute to the bigger picture. One community member shared “my story is your story, even when it doesn’t sound the same” and that really resonated with me. Something I’ve come to learn from my lived and learned experience is that so many of us are experiencing the same things, we have the same stories with different details and a lot of us want the same things – we often get lost in the differences and individual experiences and forget that we are all part of the big picture. Coming together as people, to me, is where true healing begins. I see culture show up at 11th Street is through how the members interact with one another. They treat each other like family, even calling each other "aunty”, “bro or sis”, and/or other words of relation and affection. They cook for one another, bringing in goodies for us all to share. They respect the boundaries of one another, they share stories, and they laugh with one another. This is the epitome of culture, and what it means to be in community. The picture included for this week’s journal is to represent the blooming beauty of life and culture within the community. It shows how we are all reflections of one another, even with our differences. It shows how leaning in and on one another, can help us grow and catch the light in our own respective ways. We are all part of the same garden, and what truly matters is the seeds we decide to plant to grow. I live by a saying, “what you plant, is what you grow” meaning, what you put out into the world is what you receive back. In this community, I see seeds of wisdom, care, and connection. I see people who understand their differences and celebrate it. I can talk to a member about my Jamaican heritage and connect on the foods we as Caribbeans love to eat and the music we listen to, while also connecting to being Black in America and how our experience is like no other in this country

The title of this photo almost represents an oxymoron. In the interactions with kids at my site, it is clear that many of them behave in ways well beyond their years. From the compliments and blessings they shower us with, to their thoughtful considerations in carrying an extra lunch for that sibling at home, they conduct themselves differently from many of their peers that I have interacted with. When I drive back a mere 40 miles to my hometown and think back to my own childhood, the contrast is especially striking. That, with the praise I offer using the term "mature," I'm unknowingly pointing to the issue of losing the essence of youth. The joy and playfulness that are seldom seen with these patients, instead bogged down by the responsibilities and expectations that surround their daily living. The sheltered freedom to be carefree that was fundamental to my development, replaced by the kind of discipline that is born out of real-world exposure. Because behind every smile as a polite gesture, and every “may god bless you” from children still aged within the single digits, is a variety of survival skills that have been instilled early to promote resilience in the face of hardship. The inspiration behind the picture, and quite frankly what it fails to illustrate, is the deep divide in privilege that separates our life experiences and explains this behavior. What the photo does capture is one of those rare moments of kids being kids. It depicts a volunteer wearing the St Christopher mascot ensemble in hopes of easing a distressed patient heading to the emergency department with her mother. The use of bright colors is intentional to appeal to the universal elements that will attract a child’s attention, even if they might be unfamiliar with the usual Peppa Pig or Bluey. It is just one of many ways St Christopher’s has been able to specialize in the comfort of their patient population, while easing the complex baggage that might otherwise impede the delivery of medical care.

This photo shows the ICE Detention Center at 114 N. 8th Street in Philadelphia. At first glance, it is an unremarkable building with a plain exterior. Nothing about it reveals the fear, uncertainty, and separation that can occur inside its walls. 

I, along with another intern, accompanied our case manager, Louisa, as she supported one of our clients, a queer, pregnant, French-speaking asylum seeker, to a check-in appointment at the facility. Prior to this visit, my perception of ICE detention centers had been shaped by media coverage. Unlike Los Angeles and Indianapolis where the ICE detainings are happening out on the streets, the detainings in Philly are happening in this building. I was surprised to find the building tucked away near the DMV in Chinatown, marked only by a small, nearly invisible sign reading “ICE Detention Center.” Its ordinary appearance contrasted sharply with the profound violence that happens inside. Every time a client enters the building, there is a possibility they may be detained for an unknown length of time. Outside the facility, volunteers from the Asian American Union monitor who enters and exits throughout the day. If someone does not come back out, they notify family members and lawyers. Only clients, attorneys, and interpreters are allowed inside. Because translation services are not provided and many documents are available only in English, navigating the process is especially difficult for non-English speaking individuals. According to Louisa, visitors have to surrender their phones upon entry, and the building’s walls are lined with large portraits of elected officials whose policies have contributed to violent legislation targeting immigrants and asylum seekers. The interior appears to be designed to intimidate. 

While our client successfully completed her appointment, we witnessed another family’s different experience. A woman stood outside crying with her two young children after her partner had been detained during his appointment. Volunteers were already contacting attorneys to file for a Habeas Corpus case. Watching this unfold made the real-life consequences of immigration policy impossible to ignore. There were so many emotions and thoughts in that moment, but I found myself wondering how she would explain to her children their father’s disappearance, how the family would manage financially, and when, or if, they would see him again. It was a heartbreaking reminder that these experiences are not isolated or unique, and are instead a devastating reality to many families. 

This experience deepened my understanding of the work Asylum Pride House does. Many of its clients navigate overlapping systems of oppression, including racism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia, and housing insecurity, while carrying the trauma that led them to seek asylum. In our current political climate, we are seeing a massive and amplified social and legal criminalization of immigrants and refugees. This puts asylum seekers and their traumatic lived experiences under intense interrogation and accusation within our legal system. Although difficult to witness, this experience strengthened my commitment to advocating for patients whose lives are profoundly affected by forces far beyond the walls of a clinic.

In conversation with my site preceptor, I explored the mission, target population, and intervention strategy that define Broad Street Love's approach to community engagement. The organization's mission centers on restoring safety, comfort, and dignity to individuals living in poverty, with particular attention to those experiencing homelessness. While its programming is intentionally open to any member of the community, its target recipients are predominantly individuals facing housing insecurity, chronic poverty, and the compounding vulnerabilities that accompany life without stable shelter.

What distinguishes Broad Street Love's model is its strategy of intervention: meeting basic human needs through low-barrier, unconditionally accessible services. Rather than requiring documentation, appointments, or eligibility screening, the organization operates on a "no questions asked" philosophy that removes the administrative and psychological obstacles so often embedded in traditional social service delivery. This approach reflects a deliberate commitment to what might be termed radical hospitality- an ethic in which welcome and provision are extended unconditionally, prior to and independent of any assessment of need or worthiness.

The mail service exemplifies this philosophy in practice. During my site visit, I observed rows of filing cabinets, each containing individual mail folders maintained on behalf of clients who lack a permanent mailing address. Any individual may open a mailbox without screening or justification and may also receive packages at the site. On its surface, this may appear to be a modest logistical accommodation; in practice, it addresses a critical and often overlooked barrier to stability. Without a fixed address, individuals frequently cannot receive essential documents, birth certificates, Social Security cards, IRS correspondence, that are prerequisites for securing employment, housing, identification, and public benefits. Broad Street Love's mail service therefore functions not merely as a convenience but as an infrastructural intervention, enabling guests to reenter systems that presuppose residential stability.

Beyond its practical utility, the service carries symbolic significance. Receiving mail is a small but persistent affirmation of one's existence within a social and bureaucratic order — a signal that one is known, expected, and accounted for. For individuals who are frequently rendered invisible by systems of care that demand proof of stability before offering support, this service inverts the usual logic: stability becomes something the organization helps to provide, rather than a precondition for receiving help. In this way, Broad Street Love's intervention strategy operationalizes its mission at both the material and relational level, addressing tangible needs while simultaneously affirming the dignity and personhood of those it serves.

This photo was taken in the neighborhood I live in, Mantua. Mantua is about a ten minute walk from the Drexel Food Lab here in West Philadelphia. It has a history of being subject to “studentification” , as the average age of residents in this neighborhood has decreased over the past decade, due to a massive wave of Drexel students moving in. Additionally, it was once a part of a thriving Black neighborhood before the “urban renewal” that UPenna and Drexel played a role in, which displaced many of the residents here. This photo shows a small poster on a pole in the neighborhood that is advertising to residents that they can sell their leftover diabetic test strips by calling a phone number listed. Multiple small posters like this have been displayed in the neighborhood. Philadelphia has one of the highest prevalence rates of diabetes compared to most major US cities, with higher rates in neighborhoods with the lowest socioeconomic status. Mantua, along with Mill Creek and Strawberry Mansion, is one of the city’s most segregated and poorest neighborhoods. It is evident that Mantua, along with other neighborhoods in West Philadelphia, has been deeply impacted by food apartheid. The downstream consequences of this oppression, which prevent people from being able to purchase and consume produce and healthy, high-quality food, manifest in disproportionate rates of chronic metabolic disease.

This picture illustrates the wish of a young child named Sam. When doing a wish discovery for Make-A-Wish, the main goal is to provide the most viable wish to produce the most joy for a child and their family going through an unfathomably difficult time. For some, that is taking a trip to Disneyland or Paris. For others, it is taking a shopping spree in the King of Prussia Mall. For Sam, it was helping his local homeless shelter. With the help of Make-A-Wish, he had essentials ordered. Among the essentials were toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, pads, toilet paper, soap, shampoo, deodorant, and so much more. However, Sam didn't just want to help with the essentials; he wanted to give everyone there their best day ever. To do this, he wanted to have a field day complete with free food vendors, a pool party, and the materials for sports and games. Sam didn't want people just to survive; he wanted them to experience joy. 

What the picture doesn't show is Sam and his wonderful mother and father, who had an amazing time organizing boxes, coordinating with Make-A-Wish, and facilitating this field day. I have never seen a child so thrilled to give back to his community. However, it is important to note that it is unfortunate that a child, especially one in such stressful circumstances, has to be the one to notice that homeless shelters are chronically starved not only of essentials for hygiene, but of essentials for basic human experience. I hope this photo lands on the desks of the people who write appropriations bills and set nonprofit funding priorities, and makes them ask an uncomfortable question: why did it take a child's wish to fund something of this nature? Sam's project shouldn't be remarkable. It should be standard. If this image does anything, I hope it convinces one decision maker that dignity and delight aren't line items to cut; they are basic to what it means to be human.

When I took this photograph, I saw two high school-aged boys carefully learning how to apply a tourniquet to one another. On the surface, it looks like a simple first aid lesson. It could easily be mistaken for a health class or an introduction to an emergency medicine workshop. But to me, this photo tells a much deeper story.

Before the training started, I asked the group of 18 students if they had ever been in a situation where a gun was present and being fired. Every single one of them raised their hand. I remember pausing because I wasn't prepared for every hand to go up. Then one young man shared that he had been shot when he was just 11 years old. In that moment, this training became so much more than learning a lifesaving skill. It became a reminder that these young people have experienced things that no child should ever have to experience.

What this photograph does not show is the fear, trauma, and resilience these boys carry with them every day. You cannot see the memories behind their eyes or the stories they didn't tell. You cannot hear the silence in the room after every hand went up. Those invisible experiences are what make this image so powerful to me.

This photo also represents the structural issues that continue to fuel gun violence in many communities. These young people are growing up in neighborhoods where poverty,disinvestment, limited access to mental health resources, underfunded schools, and a lack of opportunities have created environments where violence becomes normalized. They are forced to prepare for emergencies that many other people their age in other communities never have to imagine. It is not due to some inherent nature to make these choices, but it is because they have been born in different circumstances.

I hope this photograph helps people understand that gun violence is not just a headline or a statistic. It has faces, names, and stories. I hope decision-makers see these boys not as victims or numbers, but as teenagers with dreams, talents, and futures worth protecting. My hope is that his image sparks conversations that lead to investments in prevention, education, mental health, and safe spaces for young people. Most of all, I hope it reminds people that while teaching a teenager how to stop someone from bleeding may save a life, our real responsibility is creating communities where they don’t need to use this skill.

This photo shows a handful of chairs and devices for those with physical mobility challenges.  There is also a shelf full of toys such as Legos and trucks.  There are so many components involved in the care of a child with a medical illness that this photo does not show.  What it does not show are the children who deal with this struggle daily.  The multitude of therapists who come in to work with the children are left out of this photo.  This photo does not show the nurses who care for these children day in and day out.  Also not included in this photo are the families navigating their child’s medical illness and the unknowns about his or her future.  This journey is not easy for anyone and the highs and lows of it are not seen in this picture.

The structural issue behind the photo is how consuming the medical illness can be for everyone involved, not only on a physical level, but on an emotional and mental level as well.  Between therapy, medication, and in some cases feeds through a feeding tube, it is very easy for the medical illness to dominate the child’s life.  All this also comes at the expense of play time, as some children can have up to four therapy sessions a day.  In the photo, the chairs and devices are placed at the front of the photo with the toys in the background.  This placement is symbolic of the presence of the medical illness in the lives of the children who deal with this every day.

I hope this photo is used to educate and impact decision makers by giving a glimpse into what life is like for children with medical illnesses.  A lot of the time, one does not understand the life until they are impacted by it.  At the end of the day, they are still children and did not choose to have a medical illness.  I hope that decision makers see how the illness can take precedence over play and become inspired to work towards a world where these children can play and not have to worry about their medical illness all the time.

This photo shows the entrance of St. Christopher's Hospital for Children. Before entering the hospital, visitors and patients must first pass through a security screening located just outside the glass doors shown in the photo. Afterward, they check in at the front desk, where every visitor is required to present identification and receive a visitor pass before being allowed inside. Before volunteering at St. Christopher's, I had never thought much about why such extensive security measures were necessary. That perspective changed during one of my shifts.

While I was working, a shooting occurred just outside the hospital, forcing the hospital into a lockdown. No one was allowed to enter or leave as security officers instructed everyone to stay inside and away from the entrance. My Bridging the Gaps partner and I waited in the gift shop as staff monitored the situation. The experience was unsettling, especially knowing that families seeking medical care for their children were suddenly caught in the middle of a nearby act of violence.

As frightening as the situation was to me, many parents appeared to view it as a familiar part of everyday life. After the initial concern, conversations shifted toward practical worries. Some parents asked when the lockdown would end, while others expressed frustration about being late for work because of the shooting. Their reactions highlighted the difficult reality that, for many families, community violence has become another obstacle to navigate.

The structural issues behind this moment extend far beyond a single act of violence. Underinvestment in neighborhoods, limited access to community resources, and systemic inequities all contribute to environments where violence is more likely to occur. It highlights both the resilience of the community and the unfortunate reality that violence has become an expected part of daily life for many families.

I hope this photo encourages decision-makers to recognize that improving health requires more than providing medical care inside hospital walls. Investments in safer neighborhoods, violence prevention programs, accessible mental health services, and economic opportunities are needed in communities. By addressing these underlying structural issues, communities can create environments where families no longer have to view incidents like this as a normal part of everyday life.

For this interview I spoke with Philadelphia Youth Basketball (PYB) program coordinators and leaders, DaTwan Bolden and Cynthia Wright-Whitley. Both are coordinators for the LaceUp LearnUp and Early Learning Summer Camp. Both have seen the organization grow over the years and can speak to the current moment with that experience in mind.

What is the mission of Philadelphia Youth Basketball (PWB)?

The mission of PYB is to leverage the iconic game of basketball to deliver life-changing opportunities and experiences. Built of, by, for, and with the communities we serve, PYB provides a safe, nurturing environment for young people to build the skill-sets and mindsets they need to succeed on the court and in their education, careers, and lives.​

​What is the vision of Philadelphia Youth Basketball (PWB)?

The vision of PYB is a Philadelphia in which all youth are supported, empowered, uplifted, and thriving. As a leader in youth self-determination and workforce development, PYB will play a key role in fulfilling this vision, driving sustained, positive, generational change in the lives of young people and our communities.

This work involves an ever expanding mission. PYB is more than Basketball it’s Guitar lessons, C2L for junior coaches, media training, more than 60 non classroom related activities.

Building The Generator:  Kinder - Youth - Career PYB works with children as early as kindergarten into a career - once you graduate from the basketball building getting into skill trades, plumbing, electrical work, carpentry, etc. 

Who are its target recipients?

PYB is currently working with young adults, 5-29 age range in Philly but kids come from all over.

What is its strategy of intervention?

Providing the city of Philadelphia’s youth with a safe space by providing different experiences that keep them excited to come back.

The new program - performance pathways - one on one or group training, giving youth something that relates to them Having a variety for the youth so that C2L or media or music lessons can get them in the facility and allowing the youth to Be more creative. PYB also has a Referee academy - training high schoolers to become referees. PYB aims to provide the youth with opportunities that they may not have ever had access to before.

What does spreading the word look like?

10 to 15 social media postings per week, word of mouth, outside court rentals, AAU tournaments on the weekends, and Middle school partnership program throughout the year. This spreading can also at times affect programming by reducing the amount of space available for the children but the rentals do bring in revenue that keeps the doors open and the cost low for students.

How to get kids to stay?

PYB offers the Philadelphia school district 125 slots for free - having effective programming - coach mentors build strong relationships to build trust with parents.

The organization is also fairly new and in a rapidly iterating and scaling phase so they are still figuring it all out, still trying to bring more programs to bring to youth and making sure that everything is not a selling point, managing financial situation while trying to maximize benefit to community.

Curiosities I have for the site. What is the conversation between audacity and integrity, ambition and teamwork, rigor and respect? What does rapid scaling with grace look like? Some things change and others fall away. How do we care for the campers, the coaches, the counselors, and the community? With such a diversity of offerings does the organization name change as the mission expands?

At Health Center 2, our mission is to connect individuals who are uninsured or underinsured with comprehensive, high-quality care. Specifically, in my role as the Patient Advocate for the Prescription Assistance Program, I work to enroll eligible patients in programs through which they can receive free or low-cost brand-name medications that do not yet have generic alternatives. Many of these medications are essential for patients to manage diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and autoimmune disorders. It is widely known that brand-name medications can be extremely expensive, and when a patient does not have prescription drug coverage, they are typically responsible for paying the full cost. While the costs that pharmaceutical companies pass on to patients represent a broader societal issue worthy of discussion, the Patient Assistance Programs (PAPs) they offer provide increased access to such medications. However, like many other programs that exist to support individuals financially, people may be unaware that these resources exist or face challenges navigating the processes required to access them. I thought about how I could best capture the idea that, even during times of funding crises, resources may still be plentiful, but access certainly is not. I had a difficult time figuring out how to portray the second piece of this idea until I had a random thought about utilizing the life-size chessboard on the roof of my apartment building. I realized that I could arrange the board in a way that used a single pawn to represent a patient surrounded by multiple opposing pieces, symbolizing the larger systemic barriers they must navigate. In my photo, I aim to metaphorically demonstrate how pathways forward (resources) do exist, but finding them requires an understanding of the game (system) to know which moves to make (steps to navigate). Social workers and patient advocates serve as the “chess masters” who understand the resources available to the populations they serve and can help guide patients through the processes required to reach them. Unfortunately, this photo does not address the specific resources are, insurance gaps, or medication costs. These issues can get very complicated, and I aimed to create a simple photo to capture my main theme. I hope that decision makers realize the importance of funding healthcare roles that help patients access the resources and care they need.

Frankie's World is a medical daycare for children with chronic diseases in North Philadelphia, can build friendships and do not have to feel different all while receiving the medical care they need. The idea began with Conny Lockwood, an incredible mother whose daughter, Frankie, required constant medical support because of her chronic illness. Like any other child, Frankie simply wanted friends and the chance to experience childhood. Inspired by a similar program in Florida, Conny created her own solution: a medical daycare where children with complex medical needs could safely play, learn, and grow together in Philadelphia.

At first glance, this photo simply shows two backpacks charging against the wall. What it does not immediately show is what is inside them: feeding pumps for children with G-tubes. These pumps provide nutrition directly into a child's stomach for children with conditions such as cleft palate, esophageal atresia, neurological disorders, or other medical conditions that make eating by mouth difficult or impossible. To most people, tube feeding might seem like something that would keep a child sitting still or separated from their peers. Instead, Frankie's World has found a simple but life-changing solution. Each child carries their feeding pump in a small backpack, allowing them to receive nutrition while running, dancing, learning, and playing alongside their friends. The backpacks charging between feeds represent far more than medical equipment, they represent independence and inclusion.

What this photo does not show are the structural barriers that make places like Frankie’s World so essential. Many traditional daycare centers are unable to care for children with complex medical needs because they lack nursing staff, specialized equipment, or financial resources. As a result, many parents struggle to maintain employment while ensuring their children receive safe care. Frankie’s World addresses these barriers by combining skilled nursing care with a normal childhood environment, allowing both children and families greater freedom and stability.

I hope this photo encourages healthcare providers, policymakers, and community leaders to think beyond simply delivering medical treatment. Effective healthcare should not only keep children healthy but also allow them to participate fully in childhood. Sometimes the most meaningful innovations are not new medications or surgeries, but thoughtful solutions, like a backpack, that make medical care fit into a child's life instead of forcing a child's life to revolve around medical care.

At first glance, this may look like just an ordinary BARTA bus. But to me, it represents something much greater.

The Olivet Boys and Girls Club is a cornerstone of the Reading community. It is a place where children of all ages can build friendships, play sports, compete in Mario Kart, discover new interests, and simply enjoy being kids in a safe, welcoming environment. More importantly, it is a place where lifelong memories are made and where positive experiences can shape a child's future.

What makes Olivet truly special is the people behind it. The staff and administration pour an incredible amount of time, energy, and creativity into ensuring every child has a meaningful experience. Many of the staff members once walked through the very same doors as children themselves. Having experienced firsthand the impact the club had on their own lives, they chose to return and give back to the next generation. That commitment to paying it forward is woven into everything they do.

One of the first lessons I learned when I began volunteering was simple: be engaging. It was not about leading the perfect activity or having all the answers. It was about engaging with the children, making them feel seen and heard, and helping create moments that they would remember. I soon came to realize that this same philosophy extends far beyond the interactions inside the building.

That is what this bus symbolizes.

While many might see it as just a mode of transportation, it is actually a vehicle for opportunity. The Olivet staff use it to take children to the movies, local sporting events and fields, and one of the summer's most anticipated experiences: Blue Mountain Camp. For many of these children, these trips provide opportunities they may not otherwise have. They allow kids to explore new places, build confidence, strengthen friendships, and create memories that extend well beyond the walls of the club.

I have seen other youth organizations where resources are limited and opportunities like these are simply not available. Olivet stands apart because it is committed to going above and beyond. The staff do not settle for simply supervising children, they actively create experiences that inspire curiosity, joy, and growth. They understand that sometimes the most meaningful lessons happen outside the classroom and beyond the Reading neighborhood

This bus is a reminder that community service is not only about meeting immediate needs. It is about expanding horizons and opening doors that children may never have known existed. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give is not a material object, but an experience that broadens a child's perspective and shows them that there is a world of possibilities waiting for them.

To most people, this is simply a bus parked outside a community center. To me, it represents passion, dedication, and the belief that every child deserves opportunities to explore, dream, and grow. It is a gateway to unforgettable experiences, a symbol of a community investing in its future, and a reminder that the impact we make today may inspire these children to one day return and invest in the next generation.

I came into my Bridging the Gaps experience hoping to better understand the social factors that shape the everyday lives of Philadelphians, particularly our city's children. I expected those lessons to come from learning about the hardships many children face. Instead, one of my most meaningful takeaways came from something much simpler: understanding the importance of creating a safe space.

Every morning, the campers at Philadelphia Youth Basketball's Lace Up and Learn Up summer camp reviewed six community agreements: care, integrity, respect, teamwork, trust, and safe space. While the first five focused on how we should treat one another, "safe space" focused on the environment those behaviors create. At first, I viewed it as another expectation for respectful conduct. By the end of the summer, however, it had completely changed how I thought about supporting children.

As the weeks passed, I noticed something unexpected. Although we know many children face challenges such as food insecurity, housing instability, poverty, disability, and family conflict, those hardships were rarely the focus of our interactions. Instead, the gym became a place where campers could simply laugh, compete, encourage one another, and enjoy being children. I realized that in a truly safe space, you may not hear much about the social determinants of health. This is not because they are absent, but because children finally have a place where they do not have to carry those burdens. For a few hours each day, they could set aside whatever difficulties awaited them outside the gym and simply exist as themselves.

This experience reshaped how I think about advocacy. Before this summer, I primarily thought of advocacy as identifying barriers to health and working to reduce them through education, policy, or community engagement. Those efforts remain essential, but I now recognize that creating spaces where children feel safe, valued, and free to experience joy is just as important. A child's well-being is not measured only by the absence of hardship, but also by the presence of belonging, encouragement, and happiness.

Organizations like Philadelphia Youth Basketball provide far more than basketball instruction. They create an environment where children can build confidence, form friendships, and leave each day with positive experiences that they carry home with them. Playing even a small role in creating those moments reminded me not to take a child's smile or laughter for granted. As I continue my medical training, I hope to remember that caring for children extends beyond treating illness or addressing social needs; it also means helping create spaces where they feel safe enough to simply be children.

This photo depicts a collection of backpacks waiting to be distributed to the FamFrequency students. FamFrequency is a Philadelphia organization that serves high school students interested in music, with the mission of helping young people build careers in the music industry. The summer fellowship focuses on music production, entrepreneurship, business skills, marketing, and branding. FamFrequency’s mission is centered around teaching students how the music industry works so they can succeed within it. Each backpack holds tangible resources, like headphones, keyboards, and audio interfaces, to help students transform their creative ideas into music. These bags represent a fresh start and the anticipation of an exciting summer. They also represent opportunities to explore the arts that are often unavailable because of unequal access to arts and music education across schools, where budget cuts frequently make arts programs the first to be reduced or eliminated.

Beyond this photo is the creativity, talent, and stories that students bring with them to the classroom. FamFrequency’s summer fellowship creates a space where adolescents feel comfortable expressing themselves freely without fear of judgment. Through the relationships and mentorship developed throughout the fellowship, students gain support, guidance, and access to a network they can leverage to achieve their goals. They learn transferable skills like entrepreneurship, marketing, communication, and teamwork that help strengthen students' ability to succeed within and beyond the music industry.

The photo emphasizes the importance of supporting holistic education. It depicts how the arts serve as important pathways for learning and personal growth as academics and athletics. Recognizing music education as an investment in students’ long-term educational, emotional, and economic growth allows adolescents to develop creative skills and build confidence to pursue careers within the industry. Though these backpacks are the most visible part of the photo, the real investment is the opportunities, confidence, and future possibilities they hold for the talented students.

Frankie’s World is a nonprofit pediatric day care center in North Philadelphia that serves children with complex medical needs. Every child enrolled has been deemed by a physician to require a specialized school environment where nurses and other medical professionals provide continuous care. While that determination ensures access to essential medical services, its impact extends far beyond healthcare.

The medical necessity designation also allows Frankie’s World to receive insurance funding that supports many of the children’s everyday needs. The center provides three meals each day and offers a safe, nurturing environment from 7:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., Monday through Friday. Many of the children come from families living at or below 200% of the federal poverty level, and several are in the foster care system. For these children, Frankie’s World is more than a medical daycare; it is a place of stability and belonging where they can play, learn, and build friendships.

This photograph captures two equally important aspects of life at Frankie’s World. In the foreground sits a child’s IV pole with an enteral feeding bag that will be connected to a gastrointestinal tube to provide nutrition during the child’s afternoon nap. It is a reminder of the complex medical care seamlessly woven into each day. Yet surrounding the IV pole is a different scene: a pretend kitchen, student artwork decorating the classroom, and a bin overflowing with well-loved stuffed animals. Just beyond the frame, children rest peacefully on individual cots, wrapped in cozy blankets and clutching their favorite stuffies. The classroom is open and connected to the others, allowing children of different ages to see, interact with, and laugh alongside one another throughout the day.

My hope is that this photograph encourages viewers to appreciate the complexity of a place like Frankie’s World. On paper, it is easy to focus on diagnoses, medical equipment, socioeconomic hardship, or the fact that the center is located in a historically underserved neighborhood of Philadelphia. After spending the summer here, however, those are no longer the first things I notice.

When I think of the children in my classroom, I remember them racing across the gym with excitement, bursting into laughter over a joke from a nurse or classroom aide, and proudly showing off their latest art project. I see children who, despite significant medical challenges, experience the same joy, curiosity, frustration, and wonder as any other child. Their medical conditions may shape aspects of their lives, but they do not define who they are.

Frankie’s World has shown me what is possible when compassionate healthcare, education, and community come together to support children and their families. It is a place where medical care and childhood coexist, where IV poles stand beside toy kitchens, and every child is given the opportunity to simply be a child. I know I will continue to support the people who make this remarkable environment possible, and I hope this photograph inspires others to recognize and invest in the extraordinary work being done within its walls.

This is a photo of the Sanctuary turned food hall at Broad Street Love. Every Monday through Friday from 11:30-1:15, community members, primarily those who are low income or experiencing homelessness, can enjoy a hot meal made in house by a group of chefs and volunteer kitchen staff. When guests come up to the sanctuary, they receive a ticket and then find a seat wherever they like. Volunteers provide water, napkins, and a place setting.

The building itself was constructed in 1887 and the sanctuary is the most beautiful room in all the church. Its Gothic design with high ceilings and arched molding, makes it clear that this was at one time a place of worship. Maybe the sanctuary was chosen as the food hall because of its large size, but I find that it’s very appropriate for the holiest room to provide the most important need- a meal. Some guests come together to enjoy their lunch, but mealtime also offers a time for members to get to know others at BSL and build their community. I appreciate that as long as BSL is open, there is always going to be a meal provided. Rain, shine, cold, or hot, the staff at Broad Street have made sure that BSL is a place that those in need have somewhere they can depend on even when everything else in their life may feel up in the air.

This photograph captures a damaged section of a public concrete sidewalk right along the street curb outside HMS School for Children with Cerebral Palsy. The cracked slabs and weeds growing through the gaps create a major hazard for commuters. What the image does not show is the school itself - leaving out the barrier-free indoor environment defined by smooth ramps, wide automated doorways, and level floors where students move freely. Behind the image lies a systemic structural issue: municipal neglect and urban planning failures that overlook the daily mobility needs of disabled individuals. This creates a stark divide between intentionally inclusive buildings and neglected public infrastructure.

While specialized facilities like HMS invest heavily in barrier-free design, city municipalities often fail to maintain the pathways leading up to them. Seeing these kids every day has shown me that an accessible pathway is everything. Inside the school building, a smooth route gives them the total freedom and confidence to move, learn, and explore without hesitation. However, the moment they roll outside, an uneven slab or cracked curb completely shifts their reality. For a student navigating in a heavy power wheelchair, these broken pathways are not just an inconvenience - they are a dangerous hazard that can be painful to travel over, damage expensive equipment, or completely halt independent travel.

By forcing city planners and local policymakers to confront the physical obstacles that students face the moment they leave school grounds, this photo serves as an important educational tool and call to action. It demonstrates to decision-makers that true accessibility cannot end at a building’s front door. Equity must extend to every street corner, crosswalk, and public pathway. Ultimately, this image urges leaders to prioritize funding for public sidewalk repairs and inclusive infrastructure, making sure that individuals with complex mobility needs can navigate their own neighborhoods with safety, confidence, and true independence.

My photo captures our gym room. It is home to all the resources we procure to help our clients. These are donated by local families and businesses or are procured by the shelter, which is constantly looking to maintain relationships and receive donations from remote businesses.

This is also where we hold client meetings with the case workers, where donations are sorted and sent downstairs for the kids when we have overflow, and where the case workers spend most of their time sorting clothes, building cribs, and cleaning strollers.

What this photo does not show is the life of this place: the clients and the case workers. It does not show the people here who are on their feet all day, doing four more jobs that they have taken on to help keep the shelter running while they are paid for only a fourth of the work.

I think this photo should inform decision-makers of the need to provide more funding, more volunteers, and greater support for these local shelters through fruitful partnerships that actually enable benefits to reach the communities they serve and work for.

Creating incentives for employees at businesses, schools, and government offices should help many places like Mary’s maintain a constant supply of support so that case workers can focus on client-related work and expand the resources and consultation they offer.

Increased government funding can help hire people for janitorial work and the general upkeep of common areas, which are currently shared responsibilities between workers and residents here. Quarterly visits to the shelter to discuss programs and the effectiveness of these programs, as well as to formulate novel outreach strategies with case workers’ input, can more accurately reflect community needs and make the process more effective in achieving its intended goals.

We have a serious problem in our country with how we treat people who want to immigrate here. The criminalization and subsequent treatment of immigrants is objectively wrong. This is a picture of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) office in Philadelphia. In this nondescript building just outside of Chinatown, immigrants are required to check in with officers, without any interpretation, and may be detained, given an ankle monitor, or released. Not pictured are volunteers from Asian Americans United (AAU), who are there during all hours that the office is open. They count how many people enter, and how many leave. Additionally, there was a man protesting outside the building just behind me.

On the day that I took this photo, another BTG intern and I joined the Asylum Pride House case worker to support a client who was seeking asylum from a country that criminalized their sexual identity. This client came in fearing the worst, despite having a strong case for asylum, and being pregnant. We were not allowed to enter the building, but upon our return to the office, the client was allowed to leave the building without any problems. The same is not the case for any other people who entered the building that morning, which was at least four, and that was within the first hour of opening. The family of one man was outside the building, with his wife, distraught, on the phone frantically trying to figure out what was going on. Their son, a toddler, was restless in the stroller. The AAU volunteer was giving the wife resources for what to do next. Words do not do justice to witness what it’s like to see a family be torn apart like that. I felt so inadequate, helpless, and angry.

Some may ask, “Why do people even come to the office if they know they will be taken?” With the way the system works, if anyone is asked to come to the office, and they do not, it is an automatic strike against their case for “legal” status as an immigrant. So, people are completely at the mercy of the ICE officers and the justice system.

Overall, there needs to be serious changes to the immigration system. First, the control of the immigration system should be spread out across different branches of government, as to have some semblance of consistency. The number of immigrants allowed to enter the country, and the subsequent treatment of these people, is completely at the mercy of the president of the United States. As political parties flip back and forth, the immigration system is built up, dismantled, and repeated. This leaves many people in limbo as they prepare their entire lives to come here. Second, immigration should not be criminalized. The fact is that white immigrants built this country and established a majority by enslaving people and stealing the land from the people who were here before. In ICE detention centers, people are denied access to basic human rights and have died, all while corporations like GEO are profiting. Third, the qualifications to enter this country should be lowered substantially. People would not have to be treated as criminals if we just made it easier for people to enter. We should be a haven for people who wish to come, as they are searching for a better life.

We should be ashamed that this is how we treat guests in our country, and anyone that stands by and watches is complicit in the atrocities that occur. There are many organizations fighting to improve the situation for immigrants, but they are tired and need help. As the case worker from Asylum Pride House said, “it is easy to become angry and sit in frustration but use that anger to fight for what you think is right."

At first glance, these photos show colorful cardboard models, craft supplies, and imaginative designs created by middle school students during Architecture Week at Young Dragons. Students were challenged to redesign the Dornsife Center's outdoor courtyard, the same space where they spend recess each day. Working in teams, they brainstormed what world make the courtyard more welcoming, engaging, and enjoyable before bringing their ideas to life through three-dimensional models. Their designs included treehouses, pools, playgrounds, birdhouses, gardens, and even underground food courts. Throughout the project, students learned to collaborate, communicate, solve problems, and think critically about how architecture and design influence the way people interact with a shared space. Watching students enthusiastically explain the purpose behind their creations and proudly present their final models demonstrated how hands-on learning encourages curiosity and confidence in ways that traditional instruction and memorization often cannot.

What these photos do not show are the barriers that make opportunities like this inaccessible for many children. High-quality summer camps and STEM enrichment programs often cost hundreds or even thousands of dollars, placing them out of reach for many families. Without affordable options, students can miss opportunities to explore their interests, develop problem-solving skills, and discover talents that may influence their future education or careers. These disparities are not a reflection of students' abilities or motivation, but rather a result of unequal access to resources and enrichment opportunities.

Young Dragons addresses this challenge by providing free, hands-on programming that removes financial barriers while creating an environment where creativity and exploration are encouraged. These projects are much more than arts and crafts. They demonstrate that when students are given access to meaningful educational experiences, they are capable of designing thoughtful solutions for the communities around them and developing the confidence to share

their ideas.

I hope this photo encourages educators, policymakers, and community leaders to recognize that enrichment programs should not be viewed as optional extras. Experiences like these foster creativity, teamwork, communication, and critical thinking, all of which are essential skills for future success. Investing in free, community-based programs allows more students to access opportunities that nurture these skills regardless of their family's income. Every child deserves the chance to imagine, create, and see their ideas valued, because equitable access to enriching educational experiences is an investment not only in individual students but also in stronger, more innovative communities.

The two photos I selected represent both a challenge and a strength that I observed at my site this summer. The first photo, showing the sign that says, “Only 1 Craft per Child,” is the image I chose to focus on because it symbolizes a larger issue that affects many areas of the hospital. While the sign specifically refers to craft supplies, it reflects a reality that extends beyond arts and activities. Hospitals often have limited resources, including supplies, funding, space, and staffing, yet they must continue meeting the needs of patients and families every day.

When I first made this sign, I saw it as more than a rule about crafts. But it also reminded me that resources must be carefully managed so that as many children as possible can benefit from the programs offered. The craft kits provide children with a chance to be creative, have fun, and momentarily forget the stress of being in a hospital. However, the need to limit participation also highlights the challenge of serving a large number of patients with finite resources. Similar limitations can be seen throughout healthcare, where staff members often balance many responsibilities while working to provide the best possible care and support.

The second photo shows the hospital’s colorful interior, filled with butterflies, artwork, and creative displays. I included this image because it represents how the hospital responds to these challenges. Despite limitations, staff and volunteers continue to create an environment that feels welcoming, imaginative, and comforting for children and their families.

Together, these photos illustrate the idea of “Limited Supplies, Unlimited Creativity.” The first image highlights the reality of resource constraints, while the second demonstrates how creativity, dedication, and teamwork help overcome those challenges. They capture both the needs of the organization and its commitment to providing meaningful experiences for the community it serves.

 I walked down two flights of stairs from the volunteer office; at the second floor I couldn’t remember if the resident I was supposed to transport lived on the north or south wing. I open the door from the stairwell and… Nothing; no beeping of the call bell from the rooms, no sounds of the residents’ tv shows, no nurses walking around their stations. Even the smell- it smelled sterile, and stale as if no one had breathed the air there for months - years. I had found myself in the shut down wing of Inglis, abandoned after covid. Plastic isolation curtains and covid signage still hang from the ceilings and walls. Old equipment left behind from a hasty evacuation, empty rooms and silence. 

What’s left unseen is the months and months the residents had to stay locked in their rooms, no access to programs or the outside world. Tight hallways and small doors, remnants of a design not meant for the new power chairs most of the residents have at Inglis. A smoking lounge in the basement floor, and old ac units that sometimes leave a floor muggy and stuffy. All part of operating out of an older building. As much as adapting is possible - like turning a whole wing into an isolation ward - cost of living adds up; daily medications, custom meal plans, daily rec programs and outings, onsite OT and PT and customized chairs. Inglis is better funded than the average nursing home; medicaid and grants pay for the vast majority of the resources needed to make Inglis what it is, but it’s still stretched thin. After the pandemic, the entire south wing of the second floor was cut; the residents and staff that would have been accommodated would no longer fit into the budget. The “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” promises that medicaid will be stretched even more. The eligibility of some of the residents, number of residents able to be supported and maintenance of the staff all hangs in the balance for Inglis in the upcoming years. This issue will be devastating to other nursing facilities that already run on a paper thin budget, and will disproportionately affect those facing struggles with low income, disability and poor access to care. 

The empty hallway stands as a reminder of the lives lost, the lives pushed to the side, and denied care when the people affected by funding cuts are not considered in policy making.

At first glance, this photograph shows an ordinary doorway. For many people, walking through a door requires little thought. However, during my time at Inglis House, I have learned that for individuals who use wheelchairs, particularly larger or highly customized wheelchairs, the width of a doorway can determine whether they are able to enter a space at all. What appears to be a simple entrance can become a physical barrier to participation and inclusion.

What this photograph does not show is the work that happens behind the scenes to ensure residents can safely participate in activities outside of Inglis House. My supervisor explained that when planning community outings, staff cannot always rely on a venue simply stating that it is ADA accessible. They may need to call ahead and ask for exact measurements of doorways and entrances or even visit a location themselves. A space that technically meets accessibility standards may still be difficult or impossible for some residents to navigate. Accessibility is not one size fits all, particularly for people whose mobility needs extend beyond the minimum standards used to design many public spaces.

The structural issue behind this photograph is the gap between compliance and true accessibility. Policies such as the Americans with Disabilities Act have established critical protections for people with disabilities, but meeting a minimum standard does not necessarily mean that every person can meaningfully access or participate in a space. When buildings and public environments are designed around minimum requirements rather than the diverse realities of people with disabilities, the burden often falls on individuals, caregivers, and organizations like Inglis House to determine whether a space will actually accommodate them.

Before working at Inglis House, I rarely thought about the width of a doorway. Now, when I see one, I find myself considering a question I had never asked before: Who can actually pass through it? I hope this photograph encourages decision makers, businesses, and community organizations to ask the same question. True inclusion requires moving beyond simply checking a box for accessibility and listening to the people who experience these barriers every day. Sometimes, the difference between being welcomed into a space and being left out can be measured in just a few inches.

This photo was taken during a morning workshop on public health led by Dr. Tariem Burroughs from the Drexel University Dornsife School of Public Health. Dr. Burroughs gave a presentation to the girls in my camp, where they discussed what public health is, the effectiveness of promoting health in the community through public service announcements, and ways to combat food insecurity in the various neighborhoods across Philadelphia. After the workshop ended and it was finally lunchtime, my site preceptor Stacey asked the girls for feedback. They immediately stated the workshop was boring until the case studies and discussion questions were presented. Ultimately, the girls did not like being lectured to and preferred more interactive activities. If this photo was a panoramic view of the classroom, it would show some girls paying attention to Dr. Burroughs and others scrolling on their phones to view something more entertaining. This is a big challenge at my site: getting middle school girls engaged and interested in STEM-related topics.

The mission of Girls Inc is to inspire all girls to be strong, smart, and bold while equipping them with the resources and attitudes to excel in their chosen fields. The goal of the specific camp I am involved in is to introduce 7th and 8th grade girls to various STEM topics, wellness activities, and careers through educational games and workshops, arts and crafts, field trips, and virtual career panels. What makes it difficult to carry out this goal is getting the girls to pay attention to the activity in front of them and resist the temptation to play on their phones. My team members and I navigate this through balancing the activities that require more mental effort with activities designed for pure enjoyment. Prior to the public health workshop, we led an icebreaker activity where the girls split up into teams and guessed the title of the song they were listening to. The tally marks on the board in the image above indicate how many songs the girls correctly guessed as well as how interested in the activity they were. The overall chaos of the smartboard, where a slide about food deserts is battling for the audience’s attention with drawn figures and random scribbles, illustrates our main challenge at Girls Inc. We are continuing to take note of which activities leave an impact on the girls and use that information to enhance our sessions moving forward. There is no lack of ability or ambition in our girls, it is instead captivating their full attention in a screen-centered world that makes the work challenging. The girls are incredibly curious and creative and therefore the educational activities we plan for them must connect to these strengths.

This image shows “Ant City,” created by two students at one of Legacy’s tennis camp sites in Center City. The young boys used their free play time at camp to work on this creation. They collected various items from nature and from their finished lunches to create a city for the ants to live. They had a plastic bag filled with water to be the ocean; small piles of leaves, flowers, and tanbark to be ant homes; pinecones for work buildings; an empty tipped-over milk carton as another home. They also used the tennis racket as “protection from natural disasters.” This image shows creativity and how Legacy’s programs allow students to foster friendships and collaborate and allows them to be involved in nature and be imaginative.

Legacy Youth Tennis and Education Center’s mission is to provide tennis lessons as well as educational opportunities to students in Philadelphia. The program is open to students in grades K-12, and there are several programs within the Legacy Center. They have after-school programs throughout the year which then transitions into a low-cost summer program that teaches the students topics in various areas such as nutrition, reading, health and wellness, as well as tennis instruction.

Students today have grown up with technology surrounding them, which can, at times, negatively affect their education and wellbeing as well as their creativity and imagination. Instead of playing with toys, many children play on a tablet. This could be due to lack of access to safe outdoor areas for children to play. This issue can then bleed into education, where students use technology to further themselves along in school without fully grasping material or truly working to understand it. “Ant City” represents how city programs, such as Legacy, encourage students to be active and provide safe outdoor venues and programs which can allow for an unplugged fun environment for students that might not otherwise have the opportunity.

In my time serving at 11th Street Family Health Services, I have noticed the lack of available green space in the surrounding neighborhood. Growing up, I had several green spaces within walking distance of my home. There were park benches for older people to sit and multiple playgrounds for children to play on. However, I don’t see these types of resources available in the lower North Philadelphia neighborhoods surrounding 11th Street. While I typically work with seniors and adults at 11th Street, I know that many of the community members have children, grandchildren, nieces, or nephews whom they take care of. A playground with some park benches would be a great opportunity for the community members of all ages to interact with each other.

One day, when I got off the bus a little past where I typically get off, I noticed that there was a building right next to 11th Street Center with a large amount of green space. I did some research and found out that the building right next to us is the John F. Street Center. As I looked into some of the services that they offered, I saw that they offer after-school programs and summer camps for children and also give out free lunches to the children in the area. Additionally, it serves as a place where neighborhood residents can pay their rent and offers a gym for community members to use. I wondered to myself if that green space could be used for the 11th Street community as a potential playground area for children, with park benches for older people. So, I investigated further and asked some of the administrators at 11th Street whether they had any relationship with Street Center. Come to find out, they had been working together for years. I spoke with Kathleen and another administrator, Jenelle, to get more information.

When speaking with Kathleen, I found out that in the past, 11th Street and the Street Center had collaborated on certain events over the years. I also let her know my idea about the playground and the park benches, which she acknowledged would be a great opportunity, as it would allow both young and old to interact with each other as well as get more time for play and fresh air. However, I also acknowledged that I had little control in trying to make this a reality, but still wanted to float out the idea that the green space could be used for other activities. I brought up using the green space for yoga, qi-gong, and mindfulness exercises, which are part of our daily programming for community members. Kathleen stated that, hypothetically, that would work, but I would need to speak to Jenelle, as she communicates with the Street Center more frequently.

When speaking with Jenelle, I learned that the relationship between 11th Street and the Street Center had become strained. Jenelle recounted that back in June both organizations had agreed to collaborate on the Juneteenth Celebration. However, on the day of the celebration, the woman who was the point person at the Street Center said that all the caterers had canceled due to the forecast rain. When Jenelle reached out for further explanation, she got no response, and ever since has been unable to get in contact with the point person. After hearing this, I was a bit disappointed, as I wanted, at the very least, the community members to have a green space they could use for healing.

Ultimately, this green space in front of the Street Center represents potential. It could be a place for the neighborhood children to play and for older people to rest. It could be used as a space for the wellness activities that 11th Street runs. I also believe it represents a relationship that could hopefully be mended, so that one day both organizations can collaborate to serve the community better. 

This photo captures a contrast I have noticed while working at the Dornsife Center. In the background is the center’s community garden, a green space where vegetables are grown and children can spend time outside. In the foreground, however, discarded cardboard, bags, and a large broken item have accumulated beside a utility pole. Although these spaces are only separated by a street, they communicate two very different realities: one reflects intentional community investment and care, while the other reflects neglect.

Standing at this intersection, it would be easy to focus only on the trash and allow it to shape one’s impression of the neighborhood. Yet just beyond it, the garden reflects the work of people who care deeply about their community. Inside the center, children participate in summer programs, families visit the food pantry, and community members use resources ranging from healthcare and childcare to career support and a free computer lab. None of this activity is visible in the photograph. The image freezes one moment, but it cannot capture the relationships and daily effort that sustain the space behind it.

The contrast also raises the question of why community care and visible neglect exist so close together. The trash may appear to be an isolated issue, but its accumulation points toward broader patterns of neighborhood disinvestment, insufficient sanitation services, limited disposal options, and illegal dumping. These conditions can affect far more than a neighborhood’s appearance. They can attract pests, create safety and environmental health concerns, and leave residents feeling that their surroundings are not a public priority. Meanwhile, organizations like the Dornsife Center continue investing their own time and resources into creating safe, welcoming spaces.

For me, the photograph is not simply an image of a dirty street. It shows a community working to create something positive while contending with conditions it did not create alone. I hope decision makers see the garden before making assumptions about the trash. Its presence demonstrates what can grow when a neighborhood receives care and investment. With more reliable sanitation, accessible disposal options, enforcement against illegal dumping, and sustained partnerships with residents, that same sense of care could extend beyond the garden’s fence. This community is already doing meaningful work; it deserves public systems that support and reflect that effort.

The two photos I chose for this project show the outside of Health Center 6 and my office, where all the medications are kept. The outside of the Health Center has a tile mosaic that shows someone being helped, the surrounding community, and prominent figures. On the street, there is an Indego bike stand. The second photo I chose is from my office. It shows where the medications and patient files are stored. One thing I wanted to highlight about this photo was the lock on the fridge. The structural issues at my site include the difficulties patient have accessing their medications, their ineligibility for insurance, and the overall barriers they face to accessing care. The Health Center is a place where patients without insurance or citizenship can come to receive health care for a very low fee. There is a place to get x-rays, labs drawn, and even dental services. There are many societal structural issues that contribute to the obstacles patients face. Without insurance, many patients struggle to get medications they need to live. Without citizenship, many patients are ineligible for insurance. Each obstacle stems from another, like a never-ending loop. I chose the outside of the Health Center as my first picture to show how essential these places are for people. The second picture is what I wanted to focus on, specifically the lock on the fridge. Many patients have diabetes and take GLP-1s to help manage their symptoms and health. However, since many patients don’t have insurance, they are unable to pay out of pocket for their medications. Instead, pharmaceutical companies offer Patient Assistant Programs (PAP) allowing patients to get these medications free of charge. Each company has a different application, each with its own set of requirements. Overall, the main qualifying factor for these patients is having no insurance. Still, there are other qualifications that some patients may not be able to meet. At my site, the lock on the fridge was a recent addition. Before I started at BTG, apparently there had been thefts of medications from the fridge. I want to be clear that the photo is not about blaming a patient. A lock on the fridge, which is full of essential medication, is not a statement about individual choices, it’s about scarcity. When medications become conditional on a maze of applications, citizen status, language barriers, and so much more, people are stuck in desperate situations. The lock is evidence of a system that has made survival difficult enough that theft became a real risk, not evidence of a moral failing among the people that system already fails.

In this image - we see a student, Eyoel, watching intently as Mr. Mike – a local producer and educator within the community, teach his first class on Music Production and Software. When I took this photo – it was before I had gotten to have my one-on-one meeting with Eyoel – before I got to experience his art, production, and his dreams of performing - before I got to encounter his deep passion for creating music that sparks joy in the lives of those around him, a ‘response’ to the harshness of the world and sorrows that may emerge in our lives. 

Eyoel, like all of these students I’ve had the honor to encounter, came to FamFrequency from everywhere across Philadelphia. They come with a deep passion for music, a dream to share their artistry with the world, and to cultivate a community who understands them through their authentic expression. They also all come with a story – lack of access to the materials and education they needed to follow these dreams, common threads of facing adversity, battles with mental health and isolation. Most prevalently – stories about the way this world weighs on them as the youth of Philadelphia, and the ways in which music has guided them through it all.

FamFrequency, then, acts as a haven – a place where these students can come together and see one another in their passions and their stories, and build with one another. This is the kind of healing spoken about in the Community Music Therapy literature – the medicine that is derived from sharing musical space with one another, being seen for who you are – and being seen in the weight of all you carry.

We see this medicine of FamFrequency in this image;

Curly hair and melanin- teaching and learning, different chapters of life united over passion, aspirations made accessible, opportunities for guidance presented, a laptop program open - ready to receive newly imagined sounds, a shared city, a shared culture, a shared belief in one another, a sharing of musical medicine.

The mission of Young Dragons STEAM Camp is to address the gap in out of school time (OST) for students living in West Philadelphia. During the summer is when K-12 students are on break from school. This period of time poses many challenges for students, as school provides a consistent daily schedule, network of friends, and food access. Although there are resources like summer programs and summer school, they are lacking in West Philadelphia, and if they do exist, they are costly and pose a financial barrier

Young Dragons is a six-week camp for middle school students who live in West Philadelphia. During the six weeks, the camp exposes students to various topics in the STEAM field, such as robotics, architecture, health science, chemistry, and design. It runs from 9am to 3pm Monday through Friday. It is completely free to attend, and the students are provided with snacks and lunch. Young Dragons also heavily involves students who attend Drexel University - they are involved in leading ice breakers, planning STEAM related activities, and tending to the needs of the students.

I chose this photo, a chalk drawing done by one of the students, because I felt it encapsulates the theme of my role and the role of the summer camp. Firstly, the summer camp was created in response to the OST gap in West Philadelphia. Young Dragons offers options for OST for students in the area. There are many avenues for change in the camp – from what activities are offered, food options, structure – and after ten years of running, the camp has grown due to the open-mindedness of the leadership and team who lead the camp. Secondly, as a camp counselor and medical student, this role has challenged me to be creative in my methods of teaching and mentoring middle school students. Leading health sciences week has pushed me to think of hands-on, engaging ways of providing health education and activities for the students. In the back of my mind, I understand that Young Dragons provides an invaluable resource to students in West Philadelphia, and knowing that inspires me to be creative and use my expertise to provide an enjoyable and enriching experience for the students.

This is a photo of a make-shift chair placed on the floor for Miles, a seven-year-old student at HMS School. He suffers from more muscle spasticity than other children with cerebral palsy, so he often gets uncomfortable in his wheelchair by the end of the day. The teachers came up with this seating arrangement on the mat to make him more comfortable, but it is always a work in progress since he would get stuck in very stiff, flexed positions when he is trying to breathe. I took this picture because the school does not have a chair that would actually fit him and suit his needs. We had to use an inflatable tire, a few pillows, and one half of a red cushion to make it work. While there are a couple of FDA-approved soft-chairs (called peapods) in the school, they are expensive, shared by all 67 students, and too big for someone as small as Miles. To me, the picture shows how people with disabilities and their caretakes are often forced to find ways around every-day objects, equipment, and devices because none are made to accommodate disabled individuals. Besides this make-shift peapod, many of the wheelchairs that the students used are also made from different parts of many different wheelchairs as well. HMS School technicians, nurses, and physical therapists are constantly maneuvering chair parts to fit the students, especially since all the children are in the process of growing. What the children have at home for comfort and functionality is often even less than what they have at school. This is because a lot of insurance plans provide the bare minimum for disabled individuals (just enough for them to function), and anything more is paid out-of-pocket. Should policy makers look at this photo, I hope it would convince them to increase insurance coverage so that it would cover all wheelchairs and necessary equipment as needed rather than just a limited amount.

For the majority of history, people with intellectual disabilities were deemed not fit for society, hidden behind so-called “ugly laws” and sequestered away into institutions to keep them off the street. While parents were told that these institutions were the best place for their children, the reality was that they were underfunded, understaffed, and overcrowded, often leading to neglect and abuse whether it was intentional or not. People with disabilities had no say in what happened to them and no formal means to advocate for themselves. When their rights were being decided by others, all they wanted was a seat at the table. Thus began the disability rights movement.

The Arc of the United States has been instrumental in progressing disability rights since its founding in 1950. Through its work in legislative advocacy, research funding, and good ol’ fashioned protesting, the organization had one primary goal: to integrate individuals with intellectual disabilities into society, where they belong. In 1977, the monumental case, Halderman v. Pennhurst State School & Hospital, closed Pennhurst, one of the most prominent institutional offenders in Pennsylvania, and in 1983, Home and Community Based Supports (HCBS) became available for individuals with disabilities to live in the community.

HCBS continues to be a foundational part of disability services in Pennsylvania through Medicaid waivers, called such because they waive the state’s requirement to follow the federal Medicaid rules of institutional requirement. These waivers give individuals with IDD integrated access to their community through services like day programs, paid caregivers, supported employment, and residential assistance. Without them, people are left unsupported and isolated, with even those of more affluent status unable to afford all of the costly supports that are needed.

Given the essential nature of these waivers, one would assume that their establishment and maintenance for people who qualify would be a priority; however, this is not always the case. The application process is confusing, the renewal process is tedious, and both are riddled with delays and bureaucratic setbacks. Even once the application is submitted, the office that reviews these documents is significantly understaffed and responsible for processing a volume of cases that is beyond their capacity for efficiency and accuracy. Similar to the institutions of the past, this system is not set up for success and people must put in great effort to maintain the waivers that they need for a fulfilling life.

What most people don’t realize is that when a person loses their waiver, they lose all of their services immediately. This means that they are not able to attend their day program, receive supported employment, or have access to their caregivers the very next day. Getting waivers reinstated can take anywhere from days to years, leaving people without services for extended periods of time. While the disability rights movement made great strides in allowing people with IDD to be accepted in society, the current systems are not set up for this integration to be easy and, as a result, people get left behind. Just because they have a seat at the table does not mean that they are given the means to fill them, leaving empty chairs at half-full tables.