In my phone case is my omikuji. While it was several years ago, I remember the greens of the temple glinting under the sun, the sparrows chirping amidst the shining leaves. As the smell of incense entered my nose, I drew this omikuji at the shrine office. It predicted “Daikichi”: greatest luck. From health, love, to wishes, the slip of paper entailed advice for successfully navigating life. Yet, it failed to foresee what would begin. Every month, waves of searing pain permeated throughout my body, piercing my throat, temples, ears, and joints before my menstrual cycle would start. During these episodes, I would be unable to leave the bed as my face burned with high fevers, my body bound down by fatigue. I struggled with my condition's unpredictable, arbitrary nature, and for a long time, I was confused and frightened as painful symptoms overcame my body. To this day, my condition remains undiagnosed, a constant reminder of how the current healthcare system fails to meet the needs of unique female health concerns, which remain poorly understood, under-researched, and overlooked. As my single mother balanced a full-time job with caring for me during these episodes or taking me to the hospital, I became determined to help others and their family members likewise struggling with chronic illness. Throughout high school, I led multiple fundraisers and household necessity drives, taking the initiative to begin a collaboration with a nonprofit organization supporting local hospitalized children and their families. I championed health literacy by educating my community about breast cancer prevention and the often-overlooked financial and emotional burdens of illness. Furthermore, I planned blood drives and bilingual health campaigns to encourage boundless acts of service among my community. Now, as a student at UC Berkeley, I continue to further my health advocacy and mentorship. As the president and founder of the Pediatric Hope Project Berkeley branch, I lead outreach to local organizations, hospitals, and charities to assist children facing cancer and other life-threatening conditions. Through this foundation, I tutor a middle school student diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia every week on science, Japanese, and maths. Seeing her gain confidence and understanding with each lesson makes each lesson so rewarding, knowing that I can make even a small difference in her life. Building upon health equity within my research, in the BIRCH Lab, I assist in studying racism domains and binge drinking among Asian Americans and addressing Anti-Blackness in mental health disciplines. In the Kim Lab, I focus on how early life adversities and maternal experiences of trauma translate into inequitable disease burden. These roles have been my way of amplifying the voices and experiences of those who are often silenced. Ultimately, as a physician-scientist, I hope to close the gap between women’s health and medicine by continually mentoring, advocating, and leading. Equipped with my multicultural upbringing across third-world and developed countries, I am eager to fight for culturally-responsive care. Channeling my experiences navigating my condition, I wish to further research within the realm of women’s health, particularly those relating to menstrual and prenatal health. I'll ensure that every patient I encounter, regardless of their skin, culture, or gender, will be heard, cared for, and healed. As I continue my studies and volunteer work, whenever I look at my phone case and see my omikuji, I remind myself that the guidance I desperately sought from it is exactly what I can provide to others by pursuing healthcare. The paper was correct in saying I’d be lucky, for through navigating my condition, I found my love for medicine.

15 years ago, my mother found herself raising triplets all alone after my father decided he no longer wished to be a parent. Without a visa, without a four year degree, without a single concrete plan, my mother moved us to New York, determined to give her children every possible opportunity she could muster. I grew up watching her constantly in motion. Even after a full day of work, she’d pick us up and take us to three different extracurriculars tailored to our individual interests: my brother played baseball, my sister art, and I tended to various animals at an animal sanctuary. Back home, she’d patiently help us with our homework or would sit next to me as I played the piano, teaching me how to read each note. On weekends, she filled our day with various activities - I was exposed to artifacts and animals across lands and ages, pored over countless books in the library, and fell in love with the arts at musicals. Every birthday, which my father never attended, my house would be transformed with handmade elaborate decorations, baked enormous cakes topped with our favorite characters, and friends and neighbors so that I would feel surrounded by love. Everything, she did without a sigh nor resentment. Seeing her carry such grace, her feet speeding across the kitchen or to the street with us holding onto her tightly, she left marks across her life’s canvas in calculated yet brave strokes. The greatest gift my mother gave me weren’t the opportunities nor experiences themselves, but the example she set. Like a pianist composing without sheet music, she weaved together notes and beats, balancing the uncertainties of being an immigrant, full-time worker, and single mother, never waiting for someone else to tell her what to do. She taught me that resilience means showing up, facing life’s challenges and unknowns, and moving forward despite it all. My mother refused my Japanese family’s expectations to stay with her husband, to focus only on the home, and to stay within a prewritten storyline. Instead, she built one herself, one obstacle and one accomplishment at a time. Watching her, rather than waiting for opportunities to fall into my lap, I’ve learned to create them. Rather than accepting inequities around me, I’ve learned how I can help change them. She has taught me that I must pick up my own pen and write my own narrative instead of letting cultural expectations or set circumstances define it. At UC Berkeley, as the founder and president of the Pediatric Hope Project Berkeley chapter, I lead outreach to hospitals, charities and community organizations to support children facing critical illnesses while tutoring a student undergoing treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Through my research, I study racial health inequities and the ways maternal trauma and early-life adversity perpetuate disparities in disease burden. Through publishing pieces in Her Campus, I encourage young women around the world to navigate societal expectations authentically and bravely, just as my mother taught me to do. In the future, I aspire to nurture and care for others like my mother by pursuing medicine, acquiring the higher education which she couldn’t. Following her footsteps, I hope to be strong for those around me and persistent towards my goals, which is ultimately to heal those suffering from pain or sickness. Ultimately, as I reach towards my personal and professional goals, I hope to support my mother, just as she has for me.

In my phone case is my omikuji. I remember the greens of the temple outside glinting under the sun, the sparrows chirping amidst the bundles of leaves. As the smell of incense entered my nose, I drew this omikuji at the shrine office several years ago. It predicted “Daikichi”. The greatest luck. From health, love, to wishes, the slip of paper entailed advice for successfully navigating life. Yet, it failed to foresee what would begin. Every month, waves of searing pain permeated throughout my body, piercing my throat, temples, ears, and joints before my menstrual cycle would start. During these episodes, I would be unable to leave the bed as my face burned with high fevers, my body bound down by fatigue. I struggled with my condition's unpredictable, arbitrary nature, and for a long time, I was confused and frightened as painful symptoms overcame my body. To this day, my condition remains undiagnosed, a constant reminder of how the current healthcare system fails to meet the needs of unique female health concerns, which remain poorly understood, under-researched, and overlooked. As my single mother balanced a full-time job with caring for me during these episodes or taking me to the hospital, I became determined to help others and their family members likewise struggling with chronic illness. Throughout high school, I led multiple fundraisers and household necessity drives, taking the initiative to begin a collaboration with a nonprofit organization supporting local hospitalized children and their families. I championed health literacy by educating my community about breast cancer prevention and the often-overlooked financial and emotional burdens of illness. Furthermore, I planned blood drives and bilingual health campaigns to encourage boundless acts of service among my community. Now, as a student at UC Berkeley, I continue to further my health advocacy and mentorship. As the president and founder of the Pediatric Hope Project Berkeley branch, I lead outreach to local organizations, hospitals, and charities to assist children facing cancer and other life-threatening conditions. Through this foundation, I tutor a middle school student diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia every week on science, Japanese, and maths. Seeing her gain confidence and understanding with each lesson makes each lesson so rewarding, knowing that I can make even a small difference in her life. Additionally, I publish articles for Hercampus, utilizing my love for creative writing to empower women to navigate wellbeing and the pressures placed upon us. Building upon health equity within my research, in the BIRCH Lab, I assist in studying racism domains and binge drinking among Asian Americans and addressing Anti-Blackness in mental health disciplines. In the Kim Lab, I focus on how early life adversities and maternal experiences of trauma translate into inequitable disease burden. These roles have been my way of amplifying the voices and experiences of those who are often silenced. As an Asian American woman in healthcare, I ultimately hope to close the gap between women’s health and medicine by continually mentoring, advocating, and leading. Equipped with my multicultural upbringing across third-world and developed countries, I am eager to fight for cultural understanding within care. Channeling my experiences navigating my condition, I wish to further research within the realm of women’s health, particularly those relating to menstrual and prenatal health. As I continue my studies and volunteer work, whenever I look at my phone case and see my omikuji, I remind myself that the guidance I desperately sought from it is exactly what I can provide to others by pursuing healthcare. The paper was correct in saying I’d be lucky, for through navigating my condition, I found my love for medicine.