As a young woman, I  longed to be heard.

As the daughter of South Korean immigrants, I’ve been shaped by movements of migration and resistance—declarations of love and life—that are synonymous with Bay Area cities that raised me: San Francisco, Hercules, Oakland, Berkeley. Like many girls raised inside an immigrant experience, I struggled with the erasure of heroines and stories that were intentionally beautiful and dignified. It was through programs at local community centers and the deep warmth of poets at open mics, that I understood for the first time that every voice has a purpose beyond speaking for itself.