I’m at the very top of the Wonder Wheel in Coney Island. I’m taking everything in, the salty smell of the ocean water, the seagulls soaring carelessly right below eye level, and my belly full from Nathan’s Famous hot dogs. POP. POP. POP. The gunshots ring out again. I awake from my wonderful dream. The room is cold; the rickety space heater five feet away fails to keep the cold December air from creeping in. My heart is racing; I slowly unveil the blanket from my face to see my brothers and sisters fast asleep. I tip toe into my parent’s room. They too are unfazed by the commotion outside. I’m seven and I’m safe. I sneak back into my room hoping to reappear in Coney Island once again.

As an Asian American, growing up in Flatbush, Brooklyn, a predominant Haitian and Hispanic neighborhood, my childhood was certainly an atypical one. Looking back, it never really occurred to me how different it was, I was a minority in a minority public school. The contrast between my home environment and outside it was stark; my parents always reminded me how important an education was, but my classmates seldom showed any interest. My classmates openly rebelled against teachers and I constantly found myself at odds between what my parents said an education was and what I saw it to be.

My father was born and raised in China, and my mother in Vietnam. They married and had four children before coming to the United States in the 1980’s. Neither of them ever attended college but told us that in America, we had the opportunity to become a part of what they saw as a gated community, access to a higher education. Everyday my father would be at work in Chinatown before I’d even wake up; he worked as a laborer, stocking groceries for a supermarket, my mother worked from home where she glued and sewed goods for a family friend. The fumes from the glue gun always made me lightheaded, I don’t know why or how my mother sat in her cramped workplace for hours on end. They would always tell us how an education could give us opportunities never afforded to them.

By the time I was ten, my brothers and sisters had saved enough money to open a small CD/DVD store in Chinatown. They were so proud; they were finally able to relieve our parents from their odd jobs. I’ll never forget the joy in my mom’s eyes when she rung our first customer up; things were finally going our way. I saw, for the very first time, our American dream. As the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, even the smell of hot plastic left our tiny apartment. Until that letter came.

My family’s gathered in the living room, but this was not our typical Sunday dinner. My mom is dabbing her eyes with tissue, my brothers are shouting indistinctly on their phones. I could still see the letter, now crumpled into the corner by the window. Legal troubles forced us out of business just a few years after opening up. I remember thinking to myself, how could a piece of paper change everything? The cost to hire an attorney was too high for us and we decided instead to close and cut our losses. Our shared dream was gone. The store had brought us closer than ever, and being forced to close seemed so unfair, so unjust. What if we were given a fighting chance?

Though the ensuing years were tough on us financially and emotionally, I knew what I wanted to do, help the disadvantaged. When an opportunity arose for an internship with a public defense attorney, I jumped at the chance. Though it was unpaid, and I would be balancing it with classes and work, the satisfaction I got from helping the indigent was rewarding enough for me. The first few weeks at the office opened my eyes to just how disadvantaged the disadvantaged really were, and it shocked me how many of our clients came from similar backgrounds as mine. I’ve always viewed my family’s legal woes as an isolated personal matter, but for the first time I saw just how widespread the problems were for those that could not afford legal representation. Interning gave me an opportunity to give someone a voice in our justice system; I was able to give someone the fighting chance I never got.

I’ve come to learn that there are many nuances in law that not only takes intelligent attorneys to solve, but also compassionate and dedicated attorneys too. My parents and siblings taught me the values of hard work and perseverance and my experiences have reinforced my love of the law. I find it amazing how my parents and siblings refused to be a product of their circumstance, their unwavering work ethic inspired me to work through difficulties with the same resolve. I hope that in law school I would be given the tools needed to better advocate for and on behalf of the countless men and women who are denied a fair chance at representation because of their socioeconomic status.