My Dear Azalea, There are things I want you to know not because the world will ask, but because the world will try to tell you first. I grew up in places where I did not see myself reflected back. Where being different felt like something I had to explain, soften, or hide. I learned early how to move between languages, between rooms, between versions of myself just to belong. At home, our words sounded like history. Outside, they sounded like survival.  There were seasons when I didn’t love being Chinese. When I wished I could make myself smaller, quieter, easier to understand. There was even a time I didn’t want to learn Mandarin because it felt like carrying more weight when I was already tired. But I learned it anyway. Not because it was easy. Not because it was popular. But because I realized language is not just speech it is memory. It is a bridge to everyone who came before you and a gift for everyone who comes after. I want you to know this: the pain I carried was never...