By Joey Chen

Share:

I learned to articulate my dreams and my fears… Most importantly, this is how I learned to imagine and create for myself a world in which I wanted to live.

I sort the mail my father hands me when he gets home from work, separating the useless—advertisements, brochures, flyers—from the important—health insurance documents, tax documents, utility bills. At ten years old I was barely old enough to understand the concept of “insurance,” but I translated into Cantonese the letters addressed to my father. This was part of our evening routine, a ritual borne out of necessity.

Neither of my parents were able to speak English well, so I often had to step in and navigate for them. I saw how language could either be a form of alienation or of connection. I realized that the future was contained in my voice: I had to take possession of the English language and find a way to harness its power in my favor.

In high school, I became a mentee in a writing program called Girls Write Now. With the support and guidance of a mentor, I practiced the craft of storytelling and slowly developed the confidence I needed to be able to write my own stories. I had never believed my stories to be worthy of telling, because I didn’t know if I had the authority to command that attention from others. I wondered, would these words about my life ever be dignified or deserving enough for the page, for another’s ear? Yet I wrote because I felt it was necessary; it was my right—and my responsibility—to render visible the daily lives and struggles of immigrants like my parents, who did not have the language to talk about their survival. By writing down their stories, I learned how my own identity was shaped by my lineage and ancestral history. I learned to honor the past and use it as a source of inspiration for my thinking. I learned to articulate my dreams and my fears, my hopes and my despair, my love and my longing. Most importantly, this is how I learned to imagine and create for myself a world in which I wanted to live. 

This imagining is an important skill I will take with me as I continue my academic and professional career. My desire to study health law is rooted in the belief that health care is a basic human necessity. My hope is to use my legal background to help create a fairer and more democratic world in which there exists a health system where every individual has access to the care they need to survive. There is no panacea or one-size-fits-all solution when it comes to reform, which is often a slow and frustrating process. Though it might be discouraging to not see change or progress reflected in the work to which I dedicate myself, it begins with a vision onto which I must hold tightly.

Language is a wealth that can enrich the lives of those who learn it. My parents were never voiceless—but they lacked the language to articulate what they wanted to say. I was fortunate enough to have had a space where my voice was amplified and heard. Writing has given me the gift of freedom and possibility. Now, I want to help others navigate and orient themselves through storytelling—an act that allows us to converge, see, and hear out one another—so that they might find that same gift.

Process

I wrote this personal statement for a scholarship application. Drawing on inspiration from the “Turning Epiphanies into Essay Contest Submissions with Meredith” workshop, I turned some of my simple realizations into substance for the statement. I wrote about my love for the English language, which grew out of necessity: as a first-generation child of immigrants, I had to serve as a translator for my parents who were unable to speak or read English. Early on, I saw how language was either a source of alienation or a source of connection. Thus, I recognized the capacity of language in transforming one’s interactions and perceptions of the world. Language became a plastic, malleable tool I used to reify my dreams of the future. I learned to harness the power of language through storytelling, an act which granted me a voice and visibility.