Sometimes I wonder how different my relationship with my mom would look like if we both spoke the same language. Not completely foreign or completely familiar, Tagalog will always feel like I’m lost in translation because I can’t fully translate Tagalog to English without losing its meaning of the way it should sound when you speak it. However, Tagalog isn’t the language of my family; Ilocano is what I was raised with. It is the language that my mother speaks to me in while I speak back in English like most second-generation Asian Americans. And for a long time, I thought I was the only one who experienced this strange racial syndrome imposter of being less of my culture because I didn’t fluently speak the language. That was until I surrounded myself with more Asian Americans in college who experienced the same nuanced cultural upbringing as I did. Our language, our identity, and even our history was what we were disconnected with because of American assimilation, and with no regard to the preservation of ethnic teachings within the AAPI community and of any BIPOC community. To say I was upset is an understatement of when I first discovered the historical context of Chinese, Japanese, and Filipino culture in America in my 1940s Asian American Literature during winter quarter of my freshman year. And that was just the surface, because as much as I have learned from that class, I am also very aware of how much Asian American content we didn’t cover both in literature and in history. Just like how many US imperialistic conquests in Asia and in the Pacific Islands have indirectly and directly affected the experiences of Asian Americans born here. Being pinned against the Black community as model minorities and being tricked into believing we are next in line to be treated like white Americans, all while being hated on for starting COVID: Asian Americans have always struggled to find their place in a country where we never really belonged. But that is why I am passionate about Asian American history and language, because even if we don’t have a place of belonging in America, we can still create spaces for ourselves and for others within our respected communities to better navigate our unique Asian American experiences. Using our conversations and our differences as an educational tool to challenge our perspective on what it means to be Asian American. Though oftentimes I witness Asian American kids who are too disconnected with their ethnic roots that they choose to forget about the country or countries where their family lineage came from. And sometimes I wonder again if my mother looks at me in that same manner, if in her eyes, that her daughter has assimilated away from her and her homeland. Blinded by our American privileges and dreams, we lose sight of the sacrifices made by our Asian parents during a time of survival. And I do catch myself falling into this category as well, but I try to hold myself accountable when continuing to practice my broken Ilocano and Tagalog, and to join AAPI communities where I can unlearn the American history taught to me. From being the social media intern for the University of Washington Seattle’s Asian Student Commission to being the internal affairs intern for UW’s Filipino American Student Association to being a podcaster for What’s on Krista’s Mind podcast, I have created a stronger sense of my Asian American and Filipino American identity. By serving the AAPI community in the Greater Seattle Area, I have gained valuable workplace experiences with people who value diversity and inclusivity while also maintaining professionalism and integrity. Not to mention, the podcast I had developed during the peak of Asian hate crimes because I will say it again, I believe conversations on uncomfortable matters is where real learning begins. And I don’t expect to understand my mom on the first few heart to heart talks we have or vice-versa, but I want to believe we will be able to speak the same language and have a better understanding of who we are to each other in the future.