The moment I keep thinking about is not a crisis. It is a discharge. As a mental health worker in Sutter Health's Herrick hospital, I watch patients stabilize on an inpatient psychiatric unit and then leave with a printed list of referrals and a follow-up appointment months away. The hospital did its job. Then the person walks back into a city where the outpatient psychiatrist does not take Medi-Cal and no one ever explained which of those phone numbers was worth calling. Readmission is not a personal failure there. It is what happens when a system funds crisis care and almost nothing on either side of it. I am pursuing psychiatry, and I a real share of my career will be in health policy: reimbursement rules that make community mental health survivable, county contracts that fund school-based and mobile teams, and licensure pathways that let peer counselors deliver support outside a clinic. Getting there runs through storytelling. Policy moves when someone makes a stranger's ordinary Tuesday feel real, and I learned that representing at autism awareness events for families who qualified for services nobody had ever explained to them. The data opened the door. The stories got people to walk through it. I play bass too, and the bass is not the melody. It holds the room steady underneath so everything else can happen. Good mental health care works that way too. My goal is to expand health care to farther outside of hospitals, and into places people already are.

On an inpatient psychiatric unit, the chart arrives before the person does. By the time I meet a patient as a mental health worker in Sutter Health's float pool, someone has already written down what they think is happening in that person's head. Most of the time that assessment is careful and correct. Sometimes it is a story about who the patient appeared to be in an emergency department at three in the morning, when they were frightened and unfamiliar and in front of someone who had never met anyone like them. I have watched how much the second kind costs. A patient's guardedness gets recorded as paranoia rather than as a reasonable response to being restrained by strangers. Agitation gets read as a threat instead of as fear. A patient who knows what medication works for them is painted as drug seeking. The research bears out what the floor shows: Black patients presenting with similar symptoms are diagnosed with schizophrenia at higher rates and with mood disorders at lower rates than white patients, a pattern documented in the literature for decades. An initial misdiagnoses doesn't just mean the wrong medication being given, but a different prognosis, a different label attached to a person for the rest of their life, and one more family that learns not to bring the next crisis to a hospital. My goal is to become a psychiatrist practicing in community and county mental health in Northern California. I am finishing a B.A. in Psychology at UC Davis on the pre-medical track, and I want to work in the settings where most people actually encounter psychiatric care: county clinics, Medi-Cal outpatient practices, school-based programs, and emergency psychiatry. I want to be the appointment patients are told to make and can actually get, and I want to be in the room where diagnostic decisions get made, because that room is where a lot of the disparity lives. Increasing racial diversity in healthcare matters to me for a reason more specific than trust, though trust is real and it is earned or lost fast. Psychiatry runs almost entirely on interpretation. There is no blood test for depression. A clinician listens to how a person talks, watches how they hold themselves, decides what is symptom and what is personality and what is a reasonable reaction to a hard life, and writes it down. Every one of those judgments passes through the clinician's assumptions about normal. When the profession draws from a narrow slice of the country, the definition of normal narrows with it. Black Americans are roughly eleven percent of the population and about four percent of physicians, and in psychiatry the gap is wider still. Diversifying that workforce is not decoration. It changes the accuracy of the diagnosis itself. I have built toward this deliberately. Before Sutter, I spent a year and a half as a registered behavior technician(RBT) with autistic children across the East Bay and performed community outreach so families could actually find services meant for them. I volunteered as a crisis counselor with Crisis Text Line. I have roughly fifteen hundred hours of direct patient care and CPI certification, and I am doing research at UC Davis after designing a study on burnout among behavior technicians, because we lose the people who could become these clinicians long before they get there. I am working my way through school. This scholarship would put more of my hours into coursework and the lab and fewer into deciding which shift I can afford to pick up.

The question I get asked most on the psychiatric floor is some version of "what's next?" I work in Sutter Health's Herrick hospital as a mental health worker, which means I get sent wherever the need is greatest that shift. I have sat with people who have stabilized in a matter of days still had nowhere to go afterward, because the outpatient psychiatrist who could actually manage their medication was booked out for months, didn't take their insurance, or even waiting weeks for placement at a nursing facility or shelter. The acute crisis gets treated. the reason the crisis happened does not. I learned the same lesson from the other direction working as a registered behavior technician for autistic children across the East Bay. I spent a year and a half driving between family homes, and I also coordinated community outreach, representing my company at career fairs and autism awareness events so families could find services that already existed but had never been explained to them. These parents were exhausted from navigating a system that assumed someone had walked them through it. As a volunteer crisis counselor with Crisis Text Line, I saw the endpoint of that same gap: people texting at two in the morning because nothing else was open to them. Roughly fifteen hundred hours of direct patient care later, I have stopped seeing these as separate problems. They are one problem, and it is access. That is what my education is for. I transferred from College of Alameda to UC Davis to finish a B.A in Psychology , on the pre-medical track, with the goal of becoming a psychiatrist. I chose the biological emphasis because I want to understand mental illness at the level where treatment actually happens, and I chose research to understand why treatment so often does not reach people. For my research methods course I designed a qualitative study on burnout among behavior technicians using Maslach's framework, because the workforce shortage in behavioral health is not only a pipeline problem. It is a retention problem. We lose the people who do this work before they ever become the clinicians communities are waiting for. I am continuing research this year in a lab at UC Davis, and I want that thread of my training to stay connected to the clinical one. The people who inspire me are not famous. They are the mother who took a day of unpaid leave to sit in on her son's session so she could learn to run it herself, and the nurses I work alongside who de-escalate a situation with a conversation instead of a restraint, on their fourth twelve-hour shift of the week. They taught me that dignity is not a supplement to care. It is the care. My vision is to practice psychiatry in community and county mental health in Northern California, in the clinics that serve people on Medi-Cal, in school-based and outpatient settings where treatment can start before someone ends up on a floor like mine. I want to be the follow-up appointment that patients are told to make and can actually get. Longer term, I want to help build training pipelines that pull people from these same communities into behavioral health and keep them there. I have worked every year of college to pay for it. This scholarship would let me spend more of that time in the classroom and the lab, and less of it deciding which shift to pick up. I am going to finish this either way. It would just get me there sooner.

At 19 years old, I've sat with people going through the worst time of their lives more times than I can count. As a Mental Health Worker at Sutter Health, I rotate across the inpatient psychiatric units, including a unit where patients receive ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). And before that, I worked as a Registered Behavior Technician not only providing ABA Therapy to autistic individuals, but assisting in setting up community events such as career fairs or Autism Awareness events in the community. Mental health is no stranger to myself. It is the substance of my working life, and the reason I am pursuing a Psychology degree to hopefully become a psychiatrist. As a student and in my working life, I experience mental health on both sides. During the day - helping patients through crises, de-escalating situations, and supporting people whose illnesses have taken everything away from them. At night, I trade in my badge for a notebook and face the same deadlines as any other student. Balancing full-time clinical work with a full course load has taught me that a student's mind is not separate from their success but the sole foundation. I have seen and heard stories of friends and patients who quietly crumble under pressure they could not admit to, after months or years of struggling in silence. The distance between the two is shorter than people think. It only takes 1 breakdown, in the wrong place at the wrong time, to end up on a 5150 hold at a psychiatric unit. Patients in Behavioral Health Facilities are no different than you and I. That is exactly why open dialogue matters. Stigma doesn't prevent mental illness. It only works to delay crisis until one day it may be too late. My advocacy takes several forms. In 2025, I volunteered as a crisis counselor with the Crisis Text Line, supporting people through moments of suicidal ideation, panic, and grief through text. My experience there taught me to listen without judgement and to ask direct questions about safety. These are now skills I use everyday. As an RBT, my advocacy extended beyond my therapy sessions. I helped organized and represent my company at career fairs and autism awareness events, creating spaces where parents could connect with resources that would help their child. Many of the families I have worked with, whether at these events or within session, tell me stories of feeling isolated by diagnoses they did not fully understand. Watching a parent relax because someone was finally able to explain things in a way they could fully grasp showed me that advocacy is often just translation: adding the human touch to robotic sounding clinical terms. This fall I transfer to UC Davis to complete my BA in Psychology. My long term goal is medical school and a career in psychiatry and public policy. I aim to not only provide pro-bono mental health support, but to actually create a system that removes stigma and supports those who need it the most. I am have already accumulated roughly 1500 hours of direct patient care, and every one of those hours strengthens my understanding that: support works best when it reaches people early, speaks their language, and treats them with dignity. I intend to spend my career proving and applying that, starting now, one shift, one conversation and one crisis text at a time.

I keep my plan in a spreadsheet rather than a shirt pocket, though I suspect Joe Gilroy will recognize the habit. My goal is becoming a physician specializing in psychiatry, and I've mapped the route there quarter by quarter, dollar by dollar, with a backup path already integrated case the very first 1 bends. The approach starts from in which I stand today. I'm nineteen, transferring to UC Davis this fall as being a junior to finish a B.S. in Psychology with a Biological Emphasis, holding a 3.72 GPA from my community college coursework. I've actually banked the foundation: 2 quarters of research methods, general chemistry, statistics, and calculus, in addition about 1,500 hours of paid patient care. Those time originated from 2 jobs I chose deliberately. As a Registered Behavior Technician, I labored person with kids with autism across the East Bay. Today, as a psychological Health Worker in the float pool at Sutter Health, I staff inpatient psychiatric units, like the ECT service, that puts me within the actual area of expertise I plan to perform. The following 2 years are actually scheduled. I made a six quarter course program at Davis which satisfies my degree requirements and my health prerequisites concurrently, down to certain program numbers. I verified every course title and also unit count against the recognized UC Davis catalog myself, as a strategy built on bad information isn't a strategy. When I discovered that an essential course had enrollment restrictions for incoming transfers, I resequenced it to my senior fall instead of hoping the restriction wouldn't pertain to me. Biochemistry becomes covered through BIS hundred five. Alongside classes, I'm applying to positions that compound my medical and research experience: the Emergency Medicine Research Associate Program at UC Davis, an Or maybe Assistant job at UC Davis Health, and research labs I've actually started contacting. I completed my CITI human subjects research education in advance to ensure that no lab must hold out on paperwork to take me aboard. The budget is definitely the least attractive and foremost page of the program. My resources are my Sutter income, financial aid, in-state tuition, and scholarships this way one. I audited my spending before committing to the transfer and discovered that dining out was my largest cuttable expense, therefore I cut it. Working 10 to 20 hours each week through school is constructed into the program, not squeezed around it, since I plan to graduate with medical time rather than simply debt. I've additionally listed the roads ahead: I compared total debt and earnings across physician, physician assistant, as well nursing paths making use of true income information from my own hospital system before selecting my route. The comparison is additionally my contingency. Joe Gilroy thought through all of the angles, therefore have I. If healthcare college admission doesn't come together on my first cycle, I've identified certain PA programs, like USC, Stanford, and Loma Linda, whose timelines would allow me to use during my senior year without any gap year, along with a second tier of applications for the entire year after. Psychiatry is still the destination; the program just has greater than one on ramp. Each morning prior to a change, I check out the day 's list: shift hours, study blocks, application due dates. It's a spreadsheet doing the job of Joe's index card. This particular scholarship will go straight toward tuition line among that spending budget, though the deeper match here's philosophical. I didn't simply choose a dream. I planned the task. Now I'm working the plan.

I presently work as a psychological Health Worker in the float pool at Sutter Health, staffing inpatient psychiatric units across the hospital anywhere coverage is required, like the ECT service. Float pool work means my schedule isn't really the same twice. I acquire shifts around my classes, that often means arriving to some morning lecture directly away from a shift, along with various other times suggests studying for an examination at the rest room between individual rounds. Before this particular, I invested over annually like a Registered Behavior Technician with Kyo, a traveling job which has taken me across the East Bay to work person with kids with autism. In between these 2 roles I've logged about 1,500 hours of direct patient attention while finishing a full-time course load, keeping a 3.7 GPA, and also generating admission to UC Davis as a transfer pupil this autumn, wherever I am going to pursue a B.S. in Psychology with a natural Focus on my path to medical school. Doing work in healthcare while learning to enter it's been the very best education I might request, though it hasn't been free. The price turns up in little ways: the study group I couldn't sign up since I was mid shift, the weekends which disappeared into back-to-back doubles, the continual math of whether getting another change would pay a bill or even sink an exam grade. The most difficult stretch came during basic chemistry. I was working as a traveling RBT at the moment, so the task didn't stop when a session ended. Drive time between clients across the East Bay ate time that don't showed up on a paystub, and also by the point I got home to my problem sets, my focus was previously allocated to a complete day of behavior treatment with children that needed all I'd. I made a C in that book. It was the very first grade that made me take a seat and acknowledge that effort alone wasn't a plan. Rather than cutting my hours, that wasn't financially realistic, I rebuilt just how I used the people I'd. I began dealing with my study schedule the manner by which my employer treated my work schedule: fixed, down on paper, and non negotiable. I front loaded studying into mornings before sessions, when my mind was still new, instead of saving it for exhausted evenings. I ceased studying passively and also changed to timed practice problems so that a smaller amount of hours produced much more real learning. The results proved the device worked. In the phrases that followed I completed Calculus one and two, Statistics, along with Research Methods as you work, and my GPA climbed to a 3.72 despite that first C. The chemistry grade educated me in anything no textbook could: how you can do under real constraints. Medicine is going to demand precisely that. Residents & doctors don't get ideal conditions, and neither do working pupils. When I walk right into a psychiatric unit at Sutter right now, exhausted but equipped, I'm doing the actual discipline my future career requires. This particular scholarship would relieve the pressure of which weekly calculation in between the paycheck and the lecture as I take on faculty tuition this fall. But regardless of the outcome, I'll carry on doing what working pupils do best: appearing for both.

My career goal to be a psychiatrist will be directly correlated to fostering the social and emotional well being of children. As someone who was an Registered Behavior Technician, working with a multitude of children and adults with Autism and other learning conditions, I've seen firsthand what these children and their families can experience with on a day to day life. I've seen the our healthcare system fail with my own eyes - whether its a specialist appointment not being available for the next 3 months when a family needs a diagnoses urgently in order to get the correct accommodations that their child needs or even the maze of paperwork required that stands between a family and housing accommodations that they already qualify for. But our system doesn't only fail the neurodivergent, but children from all aspects of life, and often for the same exact reason: we often struggle to support minds that do not fit the mold. What surprised me most in my RBT work was how often intelligence and struggle lived in the same child. Some of the children under my caseload could memorize a plethora of information, solve problems in ways I would never think of or fixate on a complex subject with a depth that most adults would never reach. Yet these children are often dismissed outside of their household, chalking it up to 'behavioral issues' because their intensity simply did not fit the concept of giftedness these adults expected. Gifted children's abilities mask their needs, and these needs mask their abilities. Through my RBT work I learned that when you address the emotional side, you foster their intellectual side to flourish. A child who feels safe, understood, and regulated is a child who can finally demonstrate what they can do. As a psychiatrist, I want to be the specialist that families such as the ones I served could not reach. Adolescent/ Child Psychiatry is one of the most under- resourced corners of medicine and gifted children are especially vulnerable to falling through its cracked. Perfectionism is labeled as anxiety without anyone asking WHY the work in front of them feels meaningless. I want to be the physician who takes the time to tell the difference, because a wrong label placed on a gifted child can and often will follow them for years. Accurate, timely evaluation isn't just a medical service but a gateway to accommodations and enrichment that let them use their minds to the best of its abilities. Lieba stood on a chair to defend a friend because she could not tolerate watching someone be diminished. I have spent my early careers kneeling down on classroom floors and standing in hospital hallways for the same reason. Gifted children such as Lieba do not need to be fixed - but adults who can see the whole child, protect their emotional worlds as well as challenge their intellect at the same time. My career goal is to be one of those adults, one with the patience to listen first.

Chess taught me to think before I act. That sounds simple, but in practice it is one of the hardest disciplines to develop, and it has shaped how I approach everything from clinical decision making to long term career planning. I am a Black and Filipino American undergraduate student transferring to the University of California, Davis in Fall 2026, pursuing psychology on the path to medical school and a career in psychiatry. My goal is to practice in underserved communities where access to mental health care is limited and where culturally informed providers are urgently needed. Getting there requires exactly the kind of thinking chess demands: patience, strategic sequencing, and the ability to hold a long term vision while navigating short term obstacles. Chess is fundamentally a game of consequence. Every move creates a new reality, and the player who wins is rarely the one who played the most aggressive game. It is the one who anticipated the most outcomes, managed risk intelligently, and stayed composed when the position got complicated. I have found this to be true in my clinical work as well. As a float pool Mental Health Worker at Sutter Health Berkeley, I rotate across inpatient psychiatric units including the Electroconvulsive Therapy unit, where I support patients in acute psychiatric crisis. In that environment there is no room for reactive thinking. A patient who is escalating requires calm, strategic de-escalation, the ability to read the situation several moves ahead and choose a response that reduces harm rather than amplifying it. Chess trained that instinct in me long before I ever set foot in a hospital. The concept of sacrifice is also central to chess. Sometimes you give up a piece to gain a better position. My career path has required similar thinking. I have taken lower paying clinical roles to build experience that will matter later. I have chosen the longer, harder path toward medical school over faster credentialing routes because I understand what the endgame looks like and what it will take to get there. Casual chess players learn this lesson quickly: short term thinking loses games. Long term vision wins them. Chess also teaches you to study your losses. Every game you lose contains information. The player who refuses to analyze their mistakes is the player who keeps making them. In my work with children with autism as a Registered Behavior Technician, this translated directly into how I reviewed behavioral data after sessions that did not go as planned. What did I miss. What could I have anticipated. What would I do differently next time. That reflective practice is not natural for everyone but chess makes it habitual. Finally chess is a game that rewards preparation. The openings you study, the patterns you recognize, the endgame theory you internalize all become available to you in the moment when the position gets complicated. Medical school, psychiatry residency, and a career in clinical practice are the same. The preparation I am doing now, the clinical hours, the research experience, the coursework, will be available to me when the stakes are highest and the patients need me most. Adrin Ohaekwe understood that chess builds more than strategy. It builds character. I am grateful for what the game has taught me and for scholarships like this one that recognize the connection between how we think and who we become.

I am a Black and Filipino American undergraduate student transferring to the University of California, Davis in Fall 2026, where I will pursue a psychology degree on the path to medical school and a career in psychiatry. My goal is to practice in underserved communities, the same communities where I have spent the last two years working directly with people in crisis, and where the need for culturally informed mental health care is most acute and most unmet. My path into this field has been shaped by direct experience rather than abstract ambition. I currently work as a float pool Mental Health Worker at Sutter Health Berkeley, rotating across inpatient psychiatric units including the Electroconvulsive Therapy unit, where I support patients with severe and treatment-resistant psychiatric conditions. Before this I spent over a year as a Registered Behavior Technician providing therapy to children with autism and developmental disorders, many from low income families navigating systems not built with them in mind. I also volunteered as a crisis counselor with the Crisis Text Line, providing de-escalation and risk assessment support to individuals in acute distress. Every one of these roles has reinforced the same truth: access to mental health care is not equal, and the people who need it most are often the ones the system fails first. The causes I am most actively involved in center on mental health access and destigmatization in communities of color. As part of my outreach work at Kyo, I represented the organization at career fairs and community events, helping recruit providers committed to serving underrepresented populations. Through the Crisis Text Line I directly supported individuals who had no other access to mental health support in their moment of crisis. These are not causes I support from a distance. They are the daily work of my life, and they connect directly to the world I am trying to build through my career in psychiatry. Addie James Hamerter's life represents something I think about often in this work: the power of showing up quietly and strategically for people who have been systematically excluded. The Montgomery Bus Boycott did not succeed because of one dramatic moment. It succeeded because of sustained, organized commitment by people who understood that justice requires persistence. Mental health equity works the same way. It is not solved by one scholarship, one clinic, or one provider. It is built incrementally by people who keep showing up. If awarded this scholarship it would directly support my ability to stay focused on that work during a critical transition year. Transferring to a four year university while building clinical experience and applying to medical school is financially demanding. This scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to invest more fully in the research, coursework, and community work that will prepare me to serve marginalized communities as a psychiatrist. Addie Hamerter believed educational opportunities should be accessible to all. I carry that belief into every decision I make about my career. The communities I come from deserve psychiatrists who look like them, who understand them, and who are genuinely committed to their wellbeing. I intend to be one of them.

I did not arrive at mental health work through a textbook. I arrived through observation, through watching people in my community navigate pain without language for it, without access to care, and without providers who reflected their lived experience. That observation became a calling. I am a Black and Filipino American undergraduate student transferring to UC Davis in Fall 2026, pursuing psychology on the path to medical school and a career in psychiatry. I currently work as a float pool Mental Health Worker at Sutter Health Berkeley, rotating across inpatient psychiatric units including the Electroconvulsive Therapy unit, where I support some of the most acutely ill psychiatric patients in the hospital system. Before this I spent over a year as a Registered Behavior Technician providing one on one ABA therapy to children with autism and developmental disorders, many from low income and immigrant families. I also volunteered as a crisis counselor with the Crisis Text Line, supporting individuals in acute emotional distress who had nowhere else to turn in that moment. Across every setting a pattern has emerged that I cannot unsee. The patients and clients who arrive in the deepest crisis are disproportionately Black, brown, and low income. They are people who waited too long because they could not afford care, because they did not trust systems that had historically harmed them, or because the stigma in their communities made asking for help feel like failure. As a Black and Filipino American who grew up surrounded by that same silence, I understand it personally. Mental health is not something openly discussed in many communities of color. Struggle is managed privately or not at all. By the time someone reaches an inpatient unit or a crisis line, the suffering has usually been building for years. This reality drives everything about my career goals. I am not pursuing psychiatry for the credential. I am pursuing it because a Black or Filipino American patient sitting across from a psychiatrist who shares their background, who does not need to have cultural context explained, who already understands the weight of what it took to walk through that door, is more likely to engage in treatment and more likely to get better. Representation in mental health care is not symbolic. It is clinical. It changes outcomes. My plan after completing medical school and a psychiatry residency is to practice in community and safety net settings, the federally qualified health centers, the county behavioral health departments, the underserved urban clinics where the need is greatest and the providers are fewest. I want to build a practice that is culturally informed, trauma aware, and accessible. I also want to mentor the next generation of BIPOC students entering mental health fields, because the pipeline matters as much as the practitioners already in it. Arnetha V. Bishop understood that mental health services being available is not enough. They have to be trusted, accessible, and delivered by people who are genuinely invested in the communities they serve. That is the standard I am working toward every day, in every patient interaction, and in every step of the academic path ahead of me. This scholarship would support that path directly, easing the financial burden of my transfer year and allowing me to invest fully in the clinical and research work that will prepare me to serve marginalized communities for the rest of my career.

Mental health stigma exists across many communities, but within the Asian American community it carries a particular weight shaped by generations of cultural expectations, immigration trauma, and a collective silence that has cost lives. The pressure to appear strong, to prioritize family honor over personal struggle, and to view mental health challenges as weakness rather than illness creates a unique barrier to care that cannot be addressed by simply making services available. The services have to be trusted, culturally informed, and delivered by people who understand what it means to carry both the pride and the pain of that identity. I am Filipino American, and I have seen this silence operate up close. Mental health is not something openly discussed in many Filipino households. Struggles are managed privately, if they are managed at all. By the time someone seeks help, the crisis has often been building for years beneath a surface of functionality. This is not unique to Filipino Americans. Across East Asian, Southeast Asian, and South Asian communities, the data consistently shows lower rates of mental health service utilization despite comparable or higher rates of psychological distress. The gap between need and care is not a coincidence. It is a cultural and structural problem that requires advocates who can speak to both. My path into behavioral health was shaped by this understanding. I have worked as a Registered Behavior Technician providing therapy to children with autism and developmental disorders, many from immigrant and minority families navigating systems that were not designed with them in mind. I have volunteered as a crisis counselor with the Crisis Text Line, supporting individuals in acute distress including young people who had nowhere else to turn. I currently work as a float pool Mental Health Worker at Sutter Health Berkeley, rotating across inpatient psychiatric units including an Electroconvulsive Therapy unit, where I witness daily how inadequate early intervention compounds suffering over a lifetime. In every setting the pattern is the same. The people who arrive in crisis are often the ones who waited the longest to ask for help. I am transferring to UC Davis in Fall 2026 as a psychology major on the path to medical school and a career in psychiatry. My goal is to become a psychiatrist who serves underrepresented communities, including Asian American patients who have been failed by providers who did not understand their cultural context or who reinforced stigma rather than dismantling it. Representation in psychiatry is not a symbolic issue. A Filipino American patient who sits across from a provider who shares their background, who does not need to explain what their family will think or why they waited this long, is more likely to engage in treatment and more likely to heal. This scholarship would directly support my ability to focus on that path. The financial support would ease the burden of my transition into a four year university and allow me to invest more fully in the research, clinical experience, and academic work that will prepare me to serve the communities that need this most. Mental health advocacy in the Asian American community is not about adding one more cause to a long list. It is about breaking a silence that has been costing people their lives for generations. I intend to be part of breaking it.