As an Asian American immigrant and the first to go through the American system from pre-school through law school, I am used to walking into my family home and being sequestered with questions on how to fill out forms or reply to emails. This time, my mom handed me an informational pamphlet on the U.S. Census coming up. “Why does this matter,” she asked me, “it’s just another form we have to fill out.” I sensed her irritation and knew for her the form was another grocery-list item, something to get done. But just like I do when it comes time for elections, I sat her down and walked her through the impact she could have by having her interests represented. Like many Asian American households, my immediate family has felt disenfranchised by the legal-political system. There is a reason that even as the fastest growing minority, our community, is often hesitant to get involved. I believe that this apathy stems from the lack of representation and cycles back to square one: not having policies, laws or meaningful engagement with the process of governance. This is not a novel feeling in the Asian American community. This is why, last semester I was in communication with Ms. Karen Korematsu. Her father pushed the boundaries, demanding to be treated as an equal with dignity and respect, and she continues to carry that torch. Oftentimes our community distances itself from the reality that the Chinese Exclusion Act and the Muslim Ban are iterations of the same racist ideals. Ms. Korematsu agreed to come to Rutgers Law School and start the conversation with our students and wake people up, galvanize them. Part and parcel of the movement we hope to ignite is remembering the circumstances of those who came before us. In the spirit of keeping our history alive, I worked with New Jersey Assemblyman Mukherji’s staff to draft a bill that would recognize Korematsu Day in the state of New Jersey. The bill is now set to be introduced to the New Jersey legislature. How I intend to support my community is by continuing to honor the histories of the incredible advocates of our past by keeping them relevant and learning from where they succeeded, and more importantly where they failed. Recently, Hasan Minhaj did a special on his show about how much of an impact the Asian American community can have: from defining elections to holding positions of power. But Hasan made an important distinction between our community and the Latinx community among other minority groups: we are not a monolith. Our community is composed of the most diverse sub-groups linguistically, culturally and traditionally. Yet, we have stories that mirror one another. As a young lawyer I hope to unite people in their differences and leverage our diverse tapestry of Asian American heritage to drive social change. We are a critical mass.

"We should push the dosage..." my healthcare provider's words started to fade out as I reconciled with an increased amount of my medication, having to deal with side effects all over again, not knowing what my mood swings would do to my loved ones, holding on to the idea that maybe I could have been seizure-free if I just didn't choose the law school path. For 6 years I was a seizure-free epileptic. Now, with the bar exam looming, I had my second convulsive fit ever. Even as I write this, the reality is slowly setting in. I am picturing the array of medical screenings, tests, and visits to come, wondering how I wound up where I am; about to finish law school, married to my best friend, and starting a career that I thought wasn't possible for "someone like me." Legacies are about what lasts longer than us, longer than our footprints in the sand. My legacy is embedded with the legacies of others, inextricably linked to the successes, challenges, ups and downs of the people in my life. What I know will last longer than my physical existence is the time I had with my friends and family and the immeasurable impact we made on one other. "Rahimah?" my healthcare provider paused to ask if I had any questions. I knew this time would be different from my first seizure and diagnosis, accompanied by a slew of hospital visits. I took a breath and hung up the phone. I knew I would be fine because my legacy of being a queer woman of color with an invisible disability navigating the legal industry did not belong to me alone. My mother's strength and inability to give up on me propelled me to push through the hardest of times. My now-husband's calm acceptance of the things that cannot be controlled, taught me to accept the unchangeable. My siblings sitting at dinner cracking jokes at my expense sharpened my wit, kept me on my toes, and trained me hard for life as a litigator. My best friend oceans away from me pushing through endless hours of video calls on a strained internet connection reminded me that the first and hardest step of any challenge was to show up. Before my recent seizure, my mentor, the only example of a strong female lawyer in my life, messaged me to say: "love you giving back, this is what it's all about". I felt a rush of emotions then but the gratitude lingered. My mentor took me under her wing after I was rejected from her corporation and she continued to pour her wisdom into me regardless of the outcome with her corporation; because she as a child of immigrant-refugees, related to my experience and saw the value I could add to the legal industry as an immigrant, the "first" to be a lawyer in my family. My legacy is a mosaic of all these people and their love for me. My legacy cannot be taken away because of an upsetting, world-shifting medical diagnosis. I am held together by more than my successes or failures, and that is what makes me unending in that epic sort of way. My legacy is to be a part of someone else's legacy in the same way that my mom, husband, siblings, best friend, and mentor have been for mine.

Meet Roaster! She is my 10-month-old rescue pup. But, as the cliché goes, I didn't rescue her, she rescued me. Roaster is not trained as a working dog at all, yet somehow she knows when I experience symptoms of my seizure disorder, epilepsy. My husband and I brought Roaster home in the hopes of expanding our family. Little did we know that she senses when something is wrong and I zone out for too long, experiencing auras. She will place her paw on my arm and whine, letting me and my husband know something is off. She's my hero.

My body failed me -- I was lying in a stretcher being rushed to the hospital at the age of 19. I had just regained consciousness and the EMT was checking my vitals. I racked my brain for what had happened and how I got where I was. Terrified and alone, I started to gather my thoughts for the EMT's cognitive check. In 2015, I was diagnosed with Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy. The diagnosis came after a week long stay at the hospital where I was constantly monitored by Video EEG for my brain wave activity. Every time I was introduced to stressors, my brain activity roared off the charts and the doctors had to remove me slowly from stimuli to determine that I was responding to my environment in an extremely sensitive manner. My world as I knew it, was transformed. I went through young adulthood adjusting to medication that changed my capabilities and slowed me down cognitively. My body was telling me that I needed to slow down: no more all-nighters, no more traveling to D.C. at the request of national advocates, no more client-facing work with survivors of sexual assault. The things that fueled me to change the world had become my kryptonite. Post-diagnosis, I fought with my own capabilities and the possibilities ahead of me. After some time, I became tired of the fighting. I was exhausted. Something needed to give -- I needed to give, to myself. I started going to yoga three times a week. It was a slow and painful process because I didn't quite regain faith in my body to not give out, to not seize and drop to the ground. I had to learn myself all over again, like someone taking their first steps. Over a period of a couple months, I found myself relaxed, calm and at peace. My diagnosis was just a piece of me. Since getting my diagnosis under control, through lifestyle changes and modern medicine, I have been reinvigorated with a new fire to advocate. As a patient, I saw first-hand the inequities in our healthcare systems and fought, sometimes with doctors and sometimes with my parents, to say loud and clear what it was that I needed. I learned to be smart and allocate my resources before diving into a new week. Most importantly, I learned the power of community. From the EMT who lifted me off of the floor, to the neurologist who diagnosed me, and my friends and family, I was never in it alone. I am lucky. Using the skills that I learned from this failure, the failure of my neurons and their inability to self-regulate, I am now poised to enter the legal profession and help others speak from a space of informed advocacy. No shiny tools, Ivy-league degrees, or family connections exist in my artillery. Instead, I have grit, a community of fighters, and a voice to guide me in what I pursue. My epilepsy is my superpower.

1. I LOVE to shop at NordstromRack because of the varying deals weekly! There is always someone in my family that needs something or someone has a birthday coming up. It is my go-to online shopping spot. 2. Wayfair is also a perfect website for my husband and I as we try and upgrade our furniture and add more character to our home. Because of the pandemic, we have used Wayfair quite a bit to set up our home offices. 3. My local wine store in town has an online shopping feature to help facilitate quick runs to the store in a pandemic bound world.

As an Asian American immigrant and the first to go through the American system from pre-school through law school, I am used to walking into my family home and being sequestered with questions on how to fill out forms or reply to emails. This time, my mom handed me an informational pamphlet on the U.S. Census coming up. “Why does this matter,” she asked me, “it’s just another form we have to fill out.” I sensed her irritation and knew for her the form was another grocery-list item, something to get done. But just like I do when it comes time for elections, I sat her down and walked her through the impact she could have by having her interests represented. Like many Asian American households, my immediate family has felt disenfranchised by the legal-political system. There is a reason that even as the fastest growing minority, our community, is often hesitant to get involved. I believe that this apathy stems from the lack of representation and cycles back to square one: not having policies, laws or meaningful engagement with the process of governance. This is not a novel feeling in the Asian American community. This is why, last semester I was in communication with Ms. Karen Korematsu. Her father pushed the boundaries, demanding to be treated as an equal with dignity and respect, and she continues to carry that torch. Oftentimes our community distances itself from the reality that the Chinese Exclusion Act and the Muslim Ban are iterations of the same racist ideals. Ms. Korematsu agreed to come to Rutgers Law School and start the conversation with our students and wake people up, galvanize them. Part and parcel of the movement we hope to ignite is remembering the circumstances of those who came before us. In the spirit of keeping our history alive, I worked with New Jersey Assemblyman Mukherji’s staff to draft a bill that would recognize Korematsu Day in the state of New Jersey. The bill is now set to be introduced to the New Jersey legislature. How I intend to support my community is by continuing to honor the histories of the incredible advocates of our past by keeping them relevant and learning from where they succeeded, and more importantly where they failed. Recently, Hasan Minhaj did a special on his show about how much of an impact the Asian American community can have: from defining elections to holding positions of power. But Hasan made an important distinction between our community and the Latinx community among other minority groups: we are not a monolith. Our community is composed of the most diverse sub-groups linguistically, culturally and traditionally. Yet, we have stories that mirror one another. As a young lawyer I hope to unite people in their differences and leverage our diverse tapestry of Asian American heritage to drive social change. We are a critical mass.

My body failed me -- I was lying in a stretcher being rushed to the hospital at the age of 19. I had just regained consciousness and the EMT was checking my vitals. I racked my brain for what had happened and how I got where I was. Terrified and alone, I started to gather my thoughts for the EMT's cognitive check. In 2015, I was diagnosed with Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy. The diagnosis came after a week long stay at the hospital where I was constantly monitored by Video EEG for my brain wave activity. Every time I was introduced to stressors, my brain activity roared off the charts and the doctors had to remove me slowly from stimuli to determine that I was responding to my environment in an extremely sensitive manner. My world as I knew it, was transformed. I went through young adulthood adjusting to medication that changed my capabilities and slowed me down cognitively. My body was telling me that I needed to slow down: no more all-nighters, no more traveling to D.C. at the request of national advocates, no more client-facing work with survivors of sexual assault. The things that fueled me to change the world had become my kryptonite. Post-diagnosis, I fought with my own capabilities and the possibilities ahead of me. After some time, I became tired of the fighting. I was exhausted. Something needed to give -- I needed to give, to myself. I started going to yoga three times a week. It was a slow and painful process because I didn't quite regain faith in my body to not give out, to not seize and drop to the ground. I had to learn myself all over again, like someone taking their first steps. Over a period of a couple months, I found myself relaxed, calm and at peace. My diagnosis was just a piece of me. Since getting my diagnosis under control, through lifestyle changes and modern medicine, I have been reinvigorated with a new fire to advocate. As a patient, I saw first-hand the inequities in our healthcare systems and fought, sometimes with doctors and sometimes with my parents, to say loud and clear what it was that I needed. I learned to be smart and allocate my resources before diving into a new week. Most importantly, I learned the power of community. From the EMT who lifted me off of the floor, to the neurologist who diagnosed me, and my friends and family, I was never in it alone. I am lucky. Using the skills that I learned from this failure, the failure of my neurons and their inability to self-regulate, I am now poised to enter the legal profession and help others speak from a space of informed advocacy. No shiny tools, Ivy-league degrees, or family connections exist in my artillery. Instead, I have grit, a community of fighters, and a voice to guide me in what I pursue. My epilepsy is my superpower.

After grabbing lunch with a friend on campus, she admitted to me she struggled to eat well on a daily basis due to financial difficulties. Because of her, I set out to establish the first student-led food pantry in the state. Just this year, in 2020, the Bon Jovi’s opened up a soul kitchen on our Rutgers – Newark campus. The Bon Jovi’s chose Rutgers – Newark in large part because of the tremendous accomplishments of the pantry that are attributable to the staff and students who started it with me in 2016 and those who run it now.

I learned zealous advocacy by accident – I am the oldest of three, daughter to immigrants. As the eldest, my role at home was to convince my parents to enact revisions on their household rules and walk them through the obstacles of everyday life. I am the first to go through the school system, the healthcare system and have seen aspects of the justice system. Armed with an essay, I pitched my argument to my parents, “Why I Should Go to Sabrina’s Sleepover.” I must have made a strong case because once I went to the sleepover at the age of 12, the precedent was set. The case of Rahimah v. Parents would forever affect future decisions regarding sleepovers. The hunger to create change persisted as I grew older, and as I entered into my college career, only grew stronger. As an undergraduate, I was fortunate enough to be elected as student body president twice. As the representative of the undergraduate community I found myself in a conflicted space. My values and ideals are mine alone – to pursue the goals I saw as critical would mean ignoring the needs of my community at large. Recognizing my own weakness, my first objective was to craft a team of people to be true advocates of their constituencies. My breakout event started with #TakeBackTheNight. I rallied the entire Rutgers – Newark community to march for the end of domestic violence and sexual assault. With the aid of survivors on campus, I was able to push administration to pay attention to the non-compliant Title IX procedures on campus. Because of the march and the student-led/survivor driven work, we at Rutgers – Newark finally got a Title IX coordinator on campus who was not also an administrator in 2017. My tenure as an undergraduate activist climaxed with one final effort: ending food insecurity. After grabbing lunch with a friend on campus, she admitted to me she struggled to eat well on a daily basis due to financial difficulties. Following that day, of the twenty students I surveyed, twelve of those were food insecure. Next thing I knew, I found myself standing up in a board meeting in front of administrators and said to them “60% of the students at Rutgers University Newark I surveyed are going hungry. What are we doing about it?” After some audible gasps, I set out on a journey to establish the first student-led food pantry in the state of New Jersey. I thought I left the pantry in my past as an undergraduate. But just this year, in 2020, the Bon Jovi’s opened up a soul kitchen on our Rutgers – Newark campus in order to fight food insecurity in conjunction with our food pantry. The Bon Jovi’s chose Rutgers – Newark in large part because of the tremendous accomplishments of the pantry that are attributable to the staff and students who started it in 2016 and those who run it now. Giving power to the voiceless, on a personal level, was perhaps the most important aspect of why I campaigned so hard. I was diagnosed with Epilepsy in 2015. I remember the most devastating aspect between the time of my grand mal seizure and diagnosis was the lack of agency and autonomy I felt. Learning to speak up for myself in a meaningful way during that period of my life was challenging—everything I had ever fought against had a solution that could be reached through discourse and compromise. More importantly, I was more dependent on others. I needed to learn to communicate my needs and ensure my voice was heard. I found my voice in advocacy to be more amplified and reasoned after my diagnosis. The thousands of dollars in medical expenses, the fear of the unknowns of my condition, and the limitations on my physical and mental capabilities, all sharpened how I viewed speaking up effectively. My exposure to the law continues to remind me why I want to be an advocate. As a second-year law student I served as a judicial extern to a District Court Judge and was able to see another side of the law in a civil matter. In a non-criminal matter from a non-party perspective, the most challenging aspect was applying the law as it stood and using it to find the most just outcome. I felt most rewarded in my time with the Judge when I was able to clearly find the parameters of the issues being heard before her Honor. As a second-semester second-year law student working for the Immigrant Rights Clinic (“IRC”), I saw again how valuable it is to have a strong foundation of case law to base an argument upon. The first brief I worked on for the IRC was successful and I was part of the effort to stop a victim of domestic violence from being deported to an unrecognizable “home”. I was part of the team that gave a young man a shot at a full life in America. This summer as an associate at a Big Law firm, I worked on cross-border litigation matters during COVID-19. Notably, I spearheaded a deep analysis of compassionate releases nationwide and specifically focused on how to catalyze the release of individuals who are high-risk for contracting the virus. From drafting motions to researching this novel area of the law, I focused on creatively advocating for individuals who are in a life or death situation. While my titles have changed from leader to activist to advocate, who I am has been the foundation of what I do and that is why I have achieved so much. I am a queer woman of color living with epilepsy, working in arguably one of the most rigid professions. The cards may look stacked against me, but, but I believe the scale tips in my favor. Perhaps Maya Angelou said it best. When it comes to creating change in my world, “I come as one but stand as ten thousand.”