3:30 PM. After two intense hours of algebra problems, I concluded my Zoom meeting with my younger cousin Alice. When quarantine was implemented, my local library closed as well. In my neighborhood, the library served as a major resource hub for students outside of their schools. Here, students receive access to various critical services including Wi-Fi connection, silent study spaces, and youth programmings. For me, it was essential. It was a haven for me to use computers when my internet goes haywire, study without any distractions, and work with immigrant parents and children during our Sunday reading workshop. As a frequent library go-er, I felt as if I had lost connection to an integral lifeline. When Alice called, I knew that feeling of loss was shared. For her, the struggles with remote learning compounded with troubles at home and having to adjust to high school. Noting Alice’s dispiritedness, I began calling her more often; soon, it became a routine weekly call. We worked on difficult algebra and biology questions, discussed daily life, and ended calls with a dose of empowerment. By setting up weekly calls with her, I provided both academic support and a space for her to share her stories. During a time of incredible isolation, a safe, peer-mediated space was vital. When the semester came to an end, Alice’s grades, especially math, saw immense gains. This experience motivated me to spearhead Project Inspire, a youth-oriented mentorship organization for low-income primary school students. Writing has been nothing less than a remedial medium for me and through organizing this initiative, I sought to provide a haven for diverse stories to flourish. With my team, we designed a summer curriculum, paired mentors and mentees, and organized a virtual story-reading event. At our first Story Exchange Festival, I learned about amusing water park adventures, magical fairies, and tender confessions of identity. As I listened to these stories, a slew of emotions wavered within me. Their stories were in many ways, a refined representation of their raw emotions and experiences. It was striking to me how the audience was connecting to a part of their life through the verbal articulation of sentences stringed together into beautiful words. Yet, too often, low-income students are left behind in the educational system; even when they are positioned to be in the direst need of better resources and opportunities, they often get the least. As I listened to these young narrators discuss the reasoning behind their stories, I once again felt the power of community. Community is an extension of my identity. It is where I can find solace through belonging. Even for completely fantastical stories, I connected with the narrator because we all belonged to a community of storytellers. This community is not defined by boundaries but connected through a shared love for the magic of words. Whether it’s my family, friends, educational advocacy, or writing, I belong to various dynamic communities, and these communities, in turn, define my multifaceted identity. Being a first-generation college student, I seek to use my education to elevate the lives of minority immigrant communities. Specifically, through my writing, through my unique grip on the pen, I hope to diversify the field of literature and media with my own stories. Asian American voices and immigrant stories have long been marginalized and transfixed into demeaning stereotypes bearing ugly scars. But with new waves of diverse writers like myself, I know this will change.