I was born in Boston, Massachusetts.

But the truth is, I grew up in the space between fear and love.

My parents aged too fast, and I learned too young that time can be cruel.
While most kids stayed after school with friends, I spent my afternoons in hospital hallways, listening for news no child should ever have to hear.

Life moved strangely for me.
School felt like a blur — one moment in class, one moment in a hospital, one moment somewhere else.

But I was also lucky.
Lucky to have opportunities my parents never had.
Lucky to live a life they once couldn’t even imagine.

They came to the U.S. because staying wasn’t an option.
In the 70s, during the Cultural Revolution, schools shut down. Dreams shut down.
People were sent to labor camps. Education ended overnight.

My parents didn’t finish high school.
They didn’t grow up thinking about college, careers, or “finding your passion.”
They were just trying to survive.

And the stories they told me still sit with me today:

Swimming for hours through open water.
Trekking for days from mainland China to the coast.
Crossing into Macau and Hong Kong with nothing but a belief in a better life.

I grew up hearing those stories.
Reminders of what it cost for me to even have a chance.

So yes — I am lucky.
Very lucky.
I have opportunities they never touched, pathways they never walked, choices they never had.

And because of that, I don’t push myself to impress people.
I push because I want to honor where I come from.

Because if they could survive everything with nothing…
Then I can build something with everything they sacrificed for.

I want to make their journey worth it.