I moved to America when I was three, and from the moment I stepped off the plane, I’ve been forced to assimilate to American culture. From the clothing I wore to the food I ate, I was told that being American was better than being just Asian. This belief was reinforced through what I saw in the media, who I saw in positions of power, and how other people described my culture. I tried, as many do, to shed my Asian culture and appear as American as possible. As an Asian woman, I’ve faced my fair share of stereotyping. I’ve been competing in mock trials since I started college, and I’ve run into many judges who have told me that I was too timid and too emotional. Before I even opened my mouth, they'd already made a pre-judgment of my performance. If I’m not loud enough, I’m perceived as timid. If I’m too loud, I’m perceived as emotional. After hearing the same feedback, over and over, it becomes difficult not to wish you looked a different way. Luckily, my coaches have always been perceptive of these issues. I’ve been fortunate enough to have mentors who encourage me to be the best I can; to put the best case forward; to argue as well as I know how. They helped me find the courage within myself to realize that I am more than the stereotypes that were cast upon me. Beyond that, they’ve helped me see that being an Asian woman is an absolute strength. I didn’t realize how crucial my identity was until I started working with clients who brought their problems to our offices, looking for any shred of help or guidance we could offer. In particular, as an intern at my college’s legal aid office, I met someone who helped me see how I could use my unique background as an asset, instead of a hindrance. He was an international exchange student from China who was getting scammed by a car dealer. He came to our office, desperate and on his last dollar, and I happened to be the one who handled his intake. During our conversation, I noticed that he was struggling to explain what had happened. I asked him if he might be more comfortable doing the intake in Mandarin, and an immense look of relief and gratitude washed over his face. I served as a translator between him and the attorney, and we were able to solve his issue by helping him file a case in small claims court. That experience taught me the importance of recognizing what I bring to the table as an Asian woman who speaks Mandarin. If I had been solely focused on accomplishing the task at hand – getting information for the intake – I wouldn’t have picked up on his discomfort. As women, we are taught from a young age to be caretakers. While I wish these gender stereotypes were not forced upon us, having a strong emotional intelligence is something that helps me be a better advocate on a daily basis. I’ve found that clients want to be heard, first and foremost. I cannot be a good advocate unless I am able to perceive my client’s needs – both spoken and unspoken. As an extern with the Safe Families Office in the Atlanta Volunteer Lawyers Foundation, many of our clients have experienced brutal interpersonal violence. On paper, my job is to get cold, hard facts to fill out legal pleadings. In practice, however, I can’t treat an intake like I would a regular interview. Instead, I am patient; I am kind; I am understanding; I do not rush their stories; I make them feel heard. Every day I am learning new skills that I hope to take with me into practice. As a minority and someone who immigrated to the United States, I have struggled to find community, plant roots in a foreign country, and navigate a field that was not built for people who look like me. Even now, I am still struck by moments of imposter syndrome. I have no lawyers in my family, and it is difficult to navigate this field that is so reliant on the connections you have and the people you know. I have had to work harder to seek those connections, build relationships, and find resources for myself. I’ve also had to find ways to ease my family’s financial burden. As soon as I could, I started working a part-time job. While it does alleviate some financial stress, it takes valuable time. As a student who is dedicated to public interest, I am constantly wrestling between doing something that I’m committed to versus trying to find a job that will pay me. Receiving a generous scholarship like the Imagine Dragons Origins Scholarship would give me more financial freedom to pursue a public interest career path.

Throughout high school, I volunteered every week at a local shelter that housed women escaping from domestic violence. Between bringing hot meals and playing dress-up with their children, I was able to slowly gain these women’s trust. Through tears, these women told me about the trauma they had been through, from abusive husbands to sexual assault. The worst part, they said, was that these men still had a tangible claim to the children they had fathered. The scariest moment I experienced while at the shelter was when one of the abusive husbands came storming into the yard, looking for his child. The mother firmly planted herself in front of this man, while I hid the child behind me. Unfortunately, because the mother and I had small frames, the man threw both of us aside with no effort at all, triumphantly picked up his screaming child, and stomped away. That was the day that I promised myself if I couldn’t protect these people physically, then I would do it in the courtroom. For the longest time, I didn’t think emotion had a place in law - I thought the two had to be disconnected and that people left their tears outside the courtroom. After spending a summer at the DC Superior Court, I was astounded at how wrong I was. Every day, I heard arguments, screams, and wails echoing through the hallways, and no one was considered weaker for it. I had no real training in the law, so my strongest skill became my empathy - it made clients feel as though they could be completely honest and vulnerable with me. From what I saw, the strongest attorneys were the ones who were able to truly empathize with their clients and, in turn, make the judge clearly understand their stories as well. Even in the sweltering summer heat, the atmosphere in the courtroom was always chilly. A tired mother sat as far away as possible from who I presumed to be the father of the child sitting quietly in the corner. Time and time again, I heard the judge explain with thinly veiled irritation that child support should cover more than just the basic needs of life - educational experiences are less meaningful if those children can’t go on field trips, buy books, or afford glasses. It was in this underbelly of the D.C. court system, amidst fighting couples and howling babies, that I discovered my passion for family law. I got to see firsthand how child support, civil protection orders, divorce, and juvenile cases were settled. Everyone I saw there was experiencing some kind of hurt and they had turned to the court to remedy that hurt. Before seeing what family law was, I thought that what happened in courtrooms was distant, calculated, and inflexible. Seeing attorneys and judges work together to make sure the law was upheld made me realize that it can accommodate for broken families, aid people looking to adopt and bring someone new into their home, and provide for children who need money for food, clothing, and school supplies. By attending law school, I hope to obtain a degree that will help me do exactly what I vowed to do - protect those who need it. More than that, however, I want to be able to use a law degree to supplement my compassion for the people I encounter and be an advocate for people who haven’t yet experienced how empathetic the law can really be.