At three years old, she arrived in Amer­i­ca from Chi­na with her fam­i­ly. Now a fresh­man at San Fran­cis­co State Uni­ver­si­ty, she’s nav­i­gat­ing not only her first year of col­lege, but the com­plex inter­sec­tion of cul­tur­al expec­ta­tions and per­son­al iden­ti­ty.

“My fam­i­ly does­n’t know about my iden­ti­ty,” she explains, her voice care­ful­ly weigh­ing each word. “I come from a very tra­di­tion­al Chi­nese fam­i­ly, so I nev­er thought about com­ing out to them. Hon­est­ly, I’m not sure I ever will.”

The cul­tur­al pres­sure runs deep, root­ed in expec­ta­tion. “It’s all about con­tin­u­ing the lin­eage,” she says. “This stems from Chi­na’s one-child pol­i­cy. I’m an only child.” The respon­si­bil­i­ty of car­ry­ing for­ward her fam­i­ly’s lega­cy cre­ates a ten­sion between her her­itage and embrac­ing her authen­tic self.

The Struggle for Self-Acceptance

Mid­dle school brought its own chal­lenges. “Grow­ing up, I was very scared to tell peo­ple about my sex­u­al­i­ty. I remem­ber being ter­ri­fied of how peo­ple would per­ceive me,” she recalls.

The fear was­n’t lim­it­ed to straight peers—even con­fid­ing in LGBTQ+ friends felt daunt­ing when she was­n’t sure exact­ly where she fit on the spec­trum.

But high school marked a turn­ing point. “Once I got there, it did­n’t seem to mat­ter as much any­more. I got involved in a club that explored all kinds of sex­u­al­i­ty and back­grounds.

My school was pret­ty diverse,” she remem­bers. It was there she began to under­stand a fun­da­men­tal truth: “Sex­u­al­i­ty can’t be seen on the out­side. That’s some­thing I think about and remind myself of a lot.”

Building Community Through Activism

Her real break­through came through orga­niz­ing work with­in the LGBTQ+ com­mu­ni­ty. “We came togeth­er to host din­ners, and as activists, we formed some­thing called the Eno­ki Col­lec­tive,” she explains.

These gath­er­ings became more than just meals—they were spaces of belong­ing where she could prac­tice intro­duc­ing her­self authen­ti­cal­ly.

“It helped with my pub­lic speak­ing,” she notes. “You could nev­er real­ly tell peo­ple’s sex­u­al­i­ty or what they iden­ti­fied with mere­ly by look­ing at them, and that made me feel bet­ter. I don’t ‘look bisex­u­al.’ But there isn’t one look.  Peo­ple exist on a spec­trum. You don’t need labels.”

A friend’s sup­port opened new doors of under­stand­ing: “She taught me the dif­fer­ence between gen­der, sex­u­al­i­ty, roman­tic attrac­tion and phys­i­cal attrac­tion. The spec­trum is dif­fer­ent for every­one.”

Her mind­set embraces excite­ment and pos­si­bil­i­ty: “If I find some­one I like, I will go from there to a new expe­ri­ence.”

The Path to Teaching

Her deci­sion to attend San Fran­cis­co State Uni­ver­si­ty (SFSU) felt des­tined.

“I noticed that many of my high school teach­ers went there, and I knew I want­ed to become a teacher too. SFSU felt like the nat­ur­al path.” Prac­ti­cal con­sid­er­a­tions also played a role—as some­one who val­ues per­son­al space, hav­ing grown up as an only child, she chose to com­mute from home rather than nav­i­gate dorm life.

The sum­mer before col­lege, work­ing with young chil­dren con­firmed her call­ing.

“I was real­ly good at it. Kids loved me and con­fid­ed in me. When they were cry­ing, they came up to me instead of the oth­er teach­ers. It was real­ly sweet know­ing they trust­ed me so much.”

Impact of Support

Learn­ing about Nation­al Rain­bow Col­lege Fund through her col­lege coun­selor proved trans­for­ma­tive.

“My advice for younger stu­dents would be to just apply! It’s always bet­ter to apply than not apply. Show up. Do it!” she urges with enthu­si­asm.

The schol­ar­ship’s impact extends far beyond its finan­cial ben­e­fits. “It helps with books, school sup­plies, tuition—even food for school. Tru­ly, it cov­ers the basic neces­si­ties for a stu­dent. I did­n’t want to ask my par­ents for help. I’m super thank­ful that schol­ar­ships like these exist. It’s this kind of exter­nal sup­port that mat­ters.”

Creating Safe Spaces

Now at SFSU, she’s found her­self in an envi­ron­ment where authen­tic­i­ty is wel­comed.

“I’m grate­ful to be at a place where we’re all accus­tomed to giv­ing out our pro­nouns dur­ing intro­duc­tions. My teach­ers here and in high school have rain­bow flags dis­played,” she observes. “That’s exact­ly why I want to be a teacher—I want to be a safe space for kids. It’s all about rep­re­sen­ta­tion.”

The progress feels sig­nif­i­cant but frag­ile. “We have come a long way to cre­ate warm spaces. I don’t want to lose that.”

Looking Forward

As she set­tles into her role as a com­muter stu­dent, she appre­ci­ates the diver­si­ty around her. “There are lots of dif­fer­ent types of peo­ple across cam­pus. I nev­er feel dif­fer­ent because of my sex­u­al­i­ty.” Her teach­ers are accept­ing, and the cam­pus cul­ture feels inclu­sive.

Her ulti­mate goal remains clear: becom­ing an ele­men­tary school teacher who can pro­vide the kind of safe, affirm­ing space she wish­es for every child.

“I know I could make a pos­i­tive impact on the next gen­er­a­tion. I hope to be that safe space for kids.”

The allies who sup­port­ed her along the way showed her what’s pos­si­ble. “They made me feel safe to tell them. They were always able to set up a space where I could just be me.” Now she’s prepar­ing to pay that gift for­ward, one class­room at a time.

Want to Make a Difference?

Here’s how you can sup­port LGBTQ+ stu­dents, allies and more through NRCF:

• Vol­un­teer with NRCF 
• Donate today 

Every action counts — thank you for being part of this move­ment for edu­ca­tion­al equi­ty and oppor­tu­ni­ty. No stu­dent should ever have to choose between their safe­ty and their edu­ca­tion­al dreams.