When you’re younger no one explicitly ever says what it means to be a hyphenated American. I am Indian-American. There’s always a conversation that I’m not Indian enough or American enough, but what does it mean to just be Indian-American. Following 9/11, my family moved back to India, where I got spend my formative middle school years as the “American” and when I came to the US for summer breaks as the “fob”. Through this inter-continental divide, I have learned so much on what it means to be a hyphenated American. Like my fellow AAPIs are not monolithic, Asia is not a monolith, and yet it keeps being brought up as one. My AAPI culture means that I can rock out to Biggie all while understanding and appreciating KJ Yesudas. It also means that while I attempt to do ballet, my Bharatanatyam doesn’t stay in a dusted closet. AAPI culture isn’t monolithic, and one of the reasons why I am going to graduate school is to continue to push for disaggregated data around AAPI experiences, needs, and services. I work in youth development; for anyone reading this essay not from the non-profit world, youth development typically equates to anything young people do outside of the classroom like sports, dance, theatre, afterschool. As an after-school director, there were two distinct moments that reminded me of why I had chosen this field. The first, in a middle school, when a shy sixth grader sought me out because they were afraid to ask an adult for prayer space but saw me in a kurta and knew it was okay to ask. The second, a high school student who came into my office to discuss their real fears around “looking Asian” at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. As a youth developer, I know that a part of the reason that these students sought me out was because of how I looked. My hyphenated brown skin self, made sense to these students. In my professional role, I also serve as the chair of the AAPI affinity group to ensure that my workplace practices includes AAPI voices. Outside of my professional experience, I volunteer with my sorority, Alpha Chi Omega, as an alumna. I often tap into my Indian-American experiences to bring cultural diversity to an otherwise typically all white woman’s organization. I have had an opportunity to serve as a college advisor and regional officer, utilizing my experiences as a first-generation college student to bring inclusive experiences to the sorority experience. I am currently in graduate school for a Master’s in Public Administration. I chose this path because I believe that our AAPI community is underserved by the social sector. In NYC alone, 21% of Asian Americans are considered under-insured and 40% of Asian Americans are enrolled in Medicaid (Coalition for Asian American Children and Families, 2022), and represent 18% of NYC’s population yet on average receive only 3% of the discretionary funds allocated for public services. This is not an anomaly, across the country, AAPI communities are often under looked and underserved. There is much work to do around elder needs, housing and aging with dignity in the US, child care, and family life that encompasses our communities’ traditions and diversity. I hope to use my graduate degree to support with the needs of child care and having more young people exposed to AAPI leaders, artists, and authors and create workplaces where my hyphenated self can thrive.

“When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.” - The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho When I was sixteen, I created a bucket list in hopes it would help with my anxiety. With this bucket list in mind, I had an incredible opportunity to travel to Cuba solo a few years ago. Practicing some rudimentary Spanish skills and embracing the broke college student trope, I embarked on an adventure to explore. My arrival was not as smooth as any traveler hopes it to be – reading the airport gate wrong to almost missing my flight and hadn’t done my research on Cuba to know that I would not have access to money readily. The trip to Cuba was the first time I had ever read The Alchemist. The first time I felt connected to a book. The first time I felt my own feelings expressed – scared, alone, and still curious. There was a strong sense of magical realism that couldn’t be escaped, and I could image the “soul of the universe” talking to me. The first time a book didn’t bring me to another world – it brought the magic into my reality, encouraging me to explore, be brave, and be bold. I have read the Alchemist every year since that trip. It helps ground me and with this pandemic, has reminded me that the universe still conspires for good.

The first time I though of myself as American was in 2002. Although related to 9/11, my first-generation self couldn’t see what it meant to be American until I was transplanted from my parents’ apartment in New York to my grandmother’s home in India. There I was, a first-gen American, now an immigrant to the country that my parents had called home. Through the next four years, I made it through what I call the best worst years – what else do you call middle school? Fast forward, in a true American spirit of “getting my way”, I got into a high school in New York and I was stateside again. Although I am not Muslim, my sun-kissed skin, my father in-and-out of jail, and my mom’s broken English, meant that the best way that my mom knew how to protect her brown skinned daughter in a post-9/11 world was to send her to India. The challenge of having an incarcerated parent is difficult, add on top of that the stigmas of a culture that doesn’t believe in divorce – the recipe for domestic violence. There is so much about my background that would make you, the reader, believe that I was not loved and did not dream. This was never true; I am loved by a stubborn grandparent, a sibling, and neighbors who carry their own share of challenges. I often dream of what it would be to not be afraid. The fear that my mom’s hard work is gone because I went chasing an “impractical dream”. The fear that just as my dad was caught in the cycle of prison means that the best, I can hope for is not ending up in jail myself. My first-generation experience is not unique. I am trying to create space in this country where my brown skin, outspoken self is not always welcomed. My hyphenated identity is the most American and what helps me dream. My dreams have often shifted between the practical and the impossible. In high school, I was told to try out diplomacy because I was a “peace maker” – I think that’s just an easy word for pushover. In college, I ran my best-friends’ student body president campaign and I was told that could be something I do. Between the impossible and the practical, my dream is to be a not-for-profit executive. My goal of becoming a not-for-profit executive is because there are nonprofits that are changing the world and making sure their staff has their Maslow needs met. The impossible is because very few organizations are led of women of color. In my professional career, I have worked and volunteered for not-for-profits that focus on immigrant communities, young people of color, domestic violence agencies, disaster relief, and single-sex organizations. Here's the reason why I am applying for this scholarship: I have started graduate school. My mom got her bachelor’s degree a few years ago, and my dad never made it past middle school. The idea that my parent can help with school has been long gone. My goal is to move up in my industry and I recognize that without a graduate education, I will always be stuck somewhere in the middle. I am continuing to work full time and hoping that scholarships will lessen the burden of tuition and fees (the fees!) while I study part-time. My dream is not lofty, its to do more than survive. It is to bring up with me the communities I belong.