My Story
The Foundation
Family has always been paramount in my life. Micronesian culture truly has no limitation on who is considered part of your family. It extends and expands and often has nothing to do with blood relations. The words “Aunt” and “Uncle” were never reserved just for my parent’s siblings, it was a way for us to verbally recognize people who had come into our lives and be a part of our story. My grandmother was the rock of our huge family. Her family values, business savvy, kindness, intellect, and strength made her a pillar of our family and our community as a whole.
As a kid, I spent most of my time with my cousins. Within a five-minute walking radius, I had access to 17 amazing cousins. Some were older and some were younger than I, and more were introduced over time. Their physical proximity lent itself to our shenanigans. Whether we were friend or foe changed by the day (sometimes by the minute), but our bond never waivered. I was taught that family was where you invested your energy, where you knew were safe, protected, and loved.
As a young shy kid, however, it was hard to set myself apart in such a plethora of people. There were just so many of us and to be heard, you often had to make a lot of noise, and that simply was not my style. Instead, I listened a lot, and discovered a great deal. I learned about our culture and our family history. I learned about politics, religion, and humor. I learned about feminism through clear, unbridled demonstrations and through hostile retaliations. Through my family, I learned about community, team work, effort, and overcoming hardship.
Family has always been paramount in my life. Micronesian culture truly has no limitation on who is considered part of your family. It extends and expands and often has nothing to do with blood relations. The words “Aunt” and “Uncle” were never reserved just for my parent’s siblings, it was a way for us to verbally recognize people who had come into our lives and be a part of our story. My grandmother was the rock of our huge family. Her family values, business savvy, kindness, intellect, and strength made her a pillar of our family and our community as a whole.
As a kid, I spent most of my time with my cousins. Within a five-minute walking radius, I had access to 17 amazing cousins. Some were older and some were younger than I, and more were introduced over time. Their physical proximity lent itself to our shenanigans. Whether we were friend or foe changed by the day (sometimes by the minute), but our bond never waivered. I was taught that family was where you invested your energy, where you knew were safe, protected, and loved.
As a young shy kid, however, it was hard to set myself apart in such a plethora of people. There were just so many of us and to be heard, you often had to make a lot of noise, and that simply was not my style. Instead, I listened a lot, and discovered a great deal. I learned about our culture and our family history. I learned about politics, religion, and humor. I learned about feminism through clear, unbridled demonstrations and through hostile retaliations. Through my family, I learned about community, team work, effort, and overcoming hardship.
Growing up in Micronesia with such a tight knit family generated a myriad of amazing outdoor adventures. The weekends were always unspokenly reserved for family outings. Whether we were taking a boat out to one of the tiny outer islands to have picnics on the beach, hiking through the tropical rainforest to swim under waterfalls, or free climbing mountain sides to appreciate the mesmerizing views, we were always active and we were always outdoors. With Micronesia’s pristine landscape as incentive, it’s no wonder I developed a passion for protecting the environment while engaging with it sustainably.
Understanding Difference
School was awkward for me from the start. I was an incredibly shy individual surrounded by kids that looked nothing like me. I was always an “other.” For the longest time, those two factors dominated my experience. They played off one another, creating a gulf that I didn’t know how to overcome. I sought solace in the company of my cousins, deepening our bond, but turned a blind eye to the social separation that made that such a viable option.
Every two years, during the summer, my nuclear family and I would go on vacation to the United States to visit my dad’s side of our family. They were a much smaller unit, consisting of just my grandparents and my aunt. Visiting the “big city” of Salem, Oregon was a highlight of my existence. Getting to see my other family members, to go to shopping malls and amusement parks, and to visit brand new places, was something I treasured and looked forward to. It was exciting! It was new! It was big! When I was in the United States, I could feel the pressure of being different slip away. For a girl with deep social anxiety, this was a welcome reprieve. So for six weeks every other year, I would experience a new kind of social culture, new fashion trends, and new hobbies. I enjoyed these new pleasures, but when I went home, it would feel as though there was even more that set me apart.
School was awkward for me from the start. I was an incredibly shy individual surrounded by kids that looked nothing like me. I was always an “other.” For the longest time, those two factors dominated my experience. They played off one another, creating a gulf that I didn’t know how to overcome. I sought solace in the company of my cousins, deepening our bond, but turned a blind eye to the social separation that made that such a viable option.
Every two years, during the summer, my nuclear family and I would go on vacation to the United States to visit my dad’s side of our family. They were a much smaller unit, consisting of just my grandparents and my aunt. Visiting the “big city” of Salem, Oregon was a highlight of my existence. Getting to see my other family members, to go to shopping malls and amusement parks, and to visit brand new places, was something I treasured and looked forward to. It was exciting! It was new! It was big! When I was in the United States, I could feel the pressure of being different slip away. For a girl with deep social anxiety, this was a welcome reprieve. So for six weeks every other year, I would experience a new kind of social culture, new fashion trends, and new hobbies. I enjoyed these new pleasures, but when I went home, it would feel as though there was even more that set me apart.
It took me years to realize that my internalized ideas of difference were affecting my life far more than the actions of others. By being so closed off, so afraid of rejection, I was depriving myself of the potential for meaningful connections with other people. I slowly worked to open myself up, to become a participant rather than a bystander. With this came a newfound belief in my power to contribute to collective efforts toward social change. I made friends with like minded students and together we worked to be a driving force for community betterment, social activism, and environmental protection.
What's Next
When it came time to move to the United States for college, I was once again faced with my childhood perceptions of what it meant to fit in. I came face to face with the truth, that fitting in doesn’t mean that everyone looks alike or even thinks alike. Fitting in means finding people who accept you, who want to see you thrive and who embrace your individuality. My time in school before college hadn’t always been that for me, or at least I hadn’t always seen it as such. But with friends and family supporting me, I left Micronesia confident that I would find meaningful connections. There are wonderful people all around the world, afterall!
While Micronesia is a place of pristine natural beauty, robust culture, and strong family and community connections, it is also a place of extreme poverty, limited resources, and gender inequality. These imperfections, though, are an opportunity for me to make a meaningful impact on the community that has given so much to me. The Miller Center provides a way for me to learn valuable skills and to interact with social enterprises that understand the difficulties poverty presents. I am excited to learn from these social entrepreneurs and to apply what I learn in my home community.
Over the course of my life, I have come to believe difference is not nearly as powerful a force as we are led to believe. Dwelling on socially constructed differences isn’t going to evoke positive change. I hope I can proceed through life with empathy and understanding as I draw on the variety of experiences and identities that make me unique. I intend to continue to put myself out there and face the uncertain potential that comes with knowing others and being known.
When it came time to move to the United States for college, I was once again faced with my childhood perceptions of what it meant to fit in. I came face to face with the truth, that fitting in doesn’t mean that everyone looks alike or even thinks alike. Fitting in means finding people who accept you, who want to see you thrive and who embrace your individuality. My time in school before college hadn’t always been that for me, or at least I hadn’t always seen it as such. But with friends and family supporting me, I left Micronesia confident that I would find meaningful connections. There are wonderful people all around the world, afterall!
While Micronesia is a place of pristine natural beauty, robust culture, and strong family and community connections, it is also a place of extreme poverty, limited resources, and gender inequality. These imperfections, though, are an opportunity for me to make a meaningful impact on the community that has given so much to me. The Miller Center provides a way for me to learn valuable skills and to interact with social enterprises that understand the difficulties poverty presents. I am excited to learn from these social entrepreneurs and to apply what I learn in my home community.
Over the course of my life, I have come to believe difference is not nearly as powerful a force as we are led to believe. Dwelling on socially constructed differences isn’t going to evoke positive change. I hope I can proceed through life with empathy and understanding as I draw on the variety of experiences and identities that make me unique. I intend to continue to put myself out there and face the uncertain potential that comes with knowing others and being known.