#repdreams

By: Charity Phillip, APIASF Scholar

“No matter where you end up in life; never forget where you came from.”

By: Jean Abac, APIASF Scholar

Celebrating the accomplishment from the recent sixteen weeks brought a newer light to the upcoming adventures ahead. I had no idea how challenging nursing school could possibly be until I completed this past semester’s requirements ending at 10:59 AM after hitting the “Submit” button for our electronic Final Exam this morning.

I will never forget how one of my professors always told my classmates and I, “nursing school is supposed to be hard, you’re dealing with people’s lives.”

By: Anonymous

Being different was not an easy concept for me to grasp upon recalling my memories of high school and early adulthood. Whether it’s the color of my clothing; the way I parted my hair; the way I walked; the way I spoke tinged with an accent of mother-tongue’s dialect; the way I ate with a fork and a spoon simultaneously during nutrition and lunch; my separation from the word “cool” since I only knew it used for the temperature; or the way certain words spoken to me seem to just fly over my head as I feared the truth of my foreign ears not understanding what classmates just said; being different at the time felt like a disconnect, a dead end, a death of the possibility of being a part of something greater and larger than myself.

Emigrating from the Philippines at fifteen years old, I was horrified with the stigma I was bestowed upon in high school labeled with a capital F-O-B; FOB, pronounced /fɑːb/; or fresh off the boat. I despised this term. I felt so ashamed carrying it with me every day, day in and day out. From the moment I leave the doorsteps of our home, to my daily walks to the bus stop, to my bus rides filled with the reminder of how I am different as I saw everyone carrying other things with them (I was born here, I am an American citizen, I am part of a community, I am an individual thinking freely on my own), and up to my first seatings in first period synchronized to the bell ringing cringing my stomach, I felt burdened by this dilemma of being different as a resident of my new home country.

Fast-forward nine years later, after going through a great deal of assimilation and learning, I now find myself so grateful for being different. Knowing two languages is better than one. I am no longer limited to my choice of utensils—chopsticks, knives and forks, handle-less miso soup bowls, forks alone, spoons alone, hands—what a variety! Mother-tongue’s accent can be hidden or manifest—now it is a matter of “to speak or not to speak” with it. Saying “cool” has never been so liberating whether pertaining to the weather or trying to be nonchalant. And whether I catch what the speaker just said or not, I acquainted myself and became friends with honesty as I can now communicate: “I’m sorry. I did not quite get that. May I ask for you to repeat what you just said?” All the time I spent mourning a hypothetical death from feeling disconnected was remedied by simply learning that adaptation is all about learning. Hard work was also necessary in knowing the various tools (such as language) that one may use in being her own person in a new environment.

By: Andy Dinh, APIASF Scholar

With this being my first official submission, I’d first like to introduce myself. My name is Andy Dinh, a biomedical student at California State University: Sacramento. I am a recipient of the 2015 APIASF AANAPISI scholarship and I am a third year here at CSUS. In relation to my introduction, I’d like to share with you guys my dreams, how I use them to fuel my endeavors, and how this scholarship has fulfilled one of my dreams. 

By: Anonymous

Saoimanu Sope | APIASF-NBCUniversal Scholar, 2014 | UC Santa Cruz |

“Saoi” is in her final year at UC Santa Cruz where she is studying Film Production and Community Studies. Following graduation, she has plans to further her knowledge and experience in youth counseling and/or psychological therapy for, primarily, urban youth. Until then, Saoi is in the process of wrapping up her senior capstone for Community Studies after having spent six months working in the Media, Arts and Culture Department of the RYSE Youth Center in Richmond, CA. 

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You may be thinking, “how could anyone love to ‘let go’?” It’s probably easy to make sense of this when it comes to the not so great experiences in our lives, but let me explain myself a bit further.

The idea of “letting go” has too often been associated with the understanding that if you're letting go of something, it must be because that something has caused you more harm than help. And let me just say that in some cases—probably more than both you and I have ever considered—that isn’t true at all. Letting go shouldn’t be seen as a way for us to rid ourselves of the negativity in our lives, but rather, a way for us to accept our experiences for what it was/is, and look forward to what is yet to come. When we feel comfortable with this practice of letting go, we are unconsciously preparing ourselves (emotionally and mentally) for whatever may come our way. We don’t get caught up in comparing the future to the past and we certainly don’t let what we’ve already been through, impact how we approach our future endeavors.

 Letting go may be hard to do when it comes to the good in our lives, but in doing so, we acknowledge that, as we’ve probably heard over and over again, life goes on. Now, don’t get me wrong… When I say “love to let go”, I’m not asking you to completely trash your happiest memories and forget about them. What I am saying, is that if you’re anything like me: someone that takes a million and one photos and posts everything on social media so that I have the pleasure of reliving that moment as much as I want (whether it be how beautifully my food fills my plate, the incredible view of the place I’m currently at or the amazing people that I’m sharing a space with at some crazy cool event), it may be relieving to let go of those memories so that you’re not constantly stuck on what “used to be”.

By Jean Abac, APIASF Scholar

Up my hands go, wondering

where will I be tomorrow?

With much nervousness yet unfailing

I keep my hand up as I go.

Walking back, here I’m sitting–

where did the past winds blow?

With neither a thought nor a fretting

I keep my hand up as I go. 

Hurrying not, once a-stepping

where will I see the show?

With a breath held since a beginning

I keep my hand up not below.

A dream it must be, I am reaching

where does this river flow?

With a hollow core and an opening