Catherine Shaw
If you’ve never had hot chocolate with cheese, you’re missing out. And no, I’m not talking about sprinkling mozzarella over Swiss Miss. I mean real Colombian hot chocolate, with a cube of salty cheese melting at the bottom of the cup. The balance of sweet and savory is perfect . . . once you get past the initial suspicion that someone just ruined perfectly good chocolate.
Catherine Shaw
In a way, that drink is my life story: a mix of two things that don’t always seem like they belong together but somehow work beautifully.
My parents immigrated from Colombia, leaving the familiar streets of their hometown for the uncertainty of a new country. They came in hopes of giving my sister and me better opportunities, but they carried pieces of Colombia into our new life in the States. While the world outside our front door felt entirely foreign, inside our home, it was as though we had never left. We spoke Spanish, celebrated Colombian holidays, and filled our kitchen with the aromas of arepas; empanadas; and, of course, hot chocolate with cheese.
But as soon as I stepped outside, I was in a completely different world. Most of the time, it felt like I was living two lives, one deeply rooted in my Colombian heritage and the other trying to keep pace with American culture. At school, my lunches didn’t look like anyone else’s. My holiday traditions were met with curious questions. And when I visited family back in Colombia, they’d say I had lost touch with my roots. For years, I tried to mold myself to fit whichever side I was on. Eventually, I realized that navigating two cultures wasn’t a weakness. It was a gift. It allowed me to see the world through multiple lenses, connect with people from different backgrounds, and appreciate that every person brings something unique to the table—even if that something is a slightly questionable beverage combination.
That perspective became invaluable because while other kids my age could focus on just being kids, I was balancing a different kind of responsibility. Growing up with immigrant parents meant that childhood was shorter. By the time I was 10, I had added “translator” to my résumé. I read and explained legal documents, interpreted during medical appointments, and navigated transactions at banks and stores. I was not only helping my parents adapt to life in America but also stepping into roles most children don’t take on until adulthood. At times, I felt like I was the only fifth-grader who knew the difference between a deductible and a co-pay—which, for the record, does not make you popular at recess.
Money was tight, and the lack of citizenship made it worse. My dad worked roofing jobs, and my mom cleaned houses. Without legal protection, they were often paid less than they deserved. When I turned 15, I started working after school—not for “fun money” but to help cover rent and utilities. Every paycheck had two purposes: to help my family and save for my future. I knew from early on that my parents couldn’t pay for my college education, so I started planning. I set aside part of every paycheck, no matter how small, and treated savings as non-negotiable.
By junior year of high school, I was already deep into researching scholarships, deciphering FAFSA, and learning the college application process. That work paid off the day I opened my acceptance letter to the University of California, San Diego (UCSD). By combining my savings, financial aid, and scholarships, I managed to graduate from my four-year program debt-free. That was my first big financial victory, and it became a blueprint for how I would approach bigger challenges ahead.
The seeds of my career path had been planted years before that. One of my earliest and most vivid memories is sitting next to my mom during a medical appointment when, for the first time, we were seen by a Spanish-speaking physician assistant (PA). I watched the tension leave her body, her shoulders dropping as she realized she could speak freely without me translating. That interaction, simple as it seemed, was transformative for me. I understood, even as a child, how deeply language and culture impact healthcare, and I knew I wanted to be the kind of provider who could bridge that gap.
From then on, every choice I made was intentional. In high school, I took anatomy and kinesiology classes and even became an athletic training student, where I learned CPR, first aid, and rehabilitation techniques. When I started at UCSD as a human biology major, I threw myself into my studies. Beginning college during COVID meant adjusting abruptly to remote classes and a faster pace, but the resilience I’d built from earlier challenges helped me adapt. I refined my study habits, sought help when I needed it, and pushed through until I saw my grades improve.
At the same time, I worked as a medical assistant from my freshman year onward, a decision that was both practical and purposeful. The paycheck helped my family and funded my PA school savings account, but the work itself reinforced my calling. I built relationships with patients, especially within the Hispanic community, offering translation and culturally competent care. Every time I saw the relief on a patient’s face, I thought back to that day with my mom and the Spanish-speaking PA. It confirmed that I was on the right path and occasionally made me wonder if I should start a side business teaching other providers how to pronounce “otorrinolaringólogo” without fear.
Now, standing on the edge of starting PA school at California Baptist University, I know the road ahead will bring financial challenges. Graduate school is expensive, and loans are almost unavoidable. But just as I did with undergrad, I began taking a strategic approach: saving early, applying for every scholarship I qualify for, and making intentional spending choices. I’m determined to keep debt as low as possible so that when I graduate, my focus can be on my patients and not my payments.
My long-term goals extend beyond the exam room. One day, I hope to create a nonprofit that serves two vital needs. It would offer free online resources for first-generation, low-income students navigating higher education. These resources would include scholarship databases, step-by-step financial aid guides, and the strategies that helped me graduate debt-free. It would also provide direct support to immigrant families seeking healthcare without the language and cultural barriers that affected my own parents’ care.
When I think about where I started—the girl translating medical jargon at age 10, the teenager saving every dollar she could to pay for college, the young woman working and studying to reach her dream—I see a story that is equal parts hardship and humor, challenge and triumph. It’s a story not just of survival, but of building something better from what you’ve been given. And like that cup of Colombian hot chocolate with cheese, it’s proof that unexpected combinations can be the most satisfying. That a life balanced between two worlds can turn out to be exactly the right mix.