AAPIRC Graduation 2024 : PHD Speech
By Paulina Przystupa | May 4th 2024
I didn’t know what to talk about today. Should I talk about the state of the world as Heba so elegantly has, my identity as a Filipine and Polish person or, what it’s like to be a graduate student for 12 years and counting. But, that would repeat things already said or likely only speak to those with similar backgrounds, heading towards 2-year Master’s degrees, or joining me in the decade-long pursuit of a PhD. Others have different experiences or are heading off to jobs, or gap years, or to take care of family or loved ones or your community. Some might only know that they're heading to the excellently DJ’d Halal Pan-Asian dinner that accompanies this ceremony.
And so I want to highlight something that no matter where we’re heading, we all share. Obviously, we’re all Lobos, or lobo adjacents to include our guests, and we share the communities and practices that make that part of our story. So, I want to remind everyone to recognize and appreciate the importance of the many communities and the practices that bring us together to be here today and help make us who we are.
But, as a PhD student, I’ve learned the necessity of definitions. So, For the purposes of this speech, community means a group of people that you interact with on a regular basis, the folks who support you—even in small ways—that you reach for when you need help, or accomplices. Practices, on the other hand, are things that you do regularly that have meaning. They are meditative, cultural, religious, political or one of many other descriptors.
My first week as an anthropology graduate student, I volunteer to go with someone I have just met to a free yoga class. Before accepting my offer though, she asks me, "Have you ever done yoga before?" I say with the confidence of youth, "No" assuming it will be easy because yoga is just…like...stretching...right? She responds, "It's probably going to kick your ass, and if it doesn't today, you'll probably feel it tomorrow." I don't remember if I feel it the next day, but I do feel like I like it.
So, I pick up the practice. Spending 70 bucks a semester (which feels like a huuuge amount of money on a Graduate Assistant's salary) I attend evening Yoga in Johnson gym, making time for it between writing papers, reading, and figuring out what I want to research. After that initial class though, I tend to go to yoga alone and everything seems to be going well.
Until one night. I'm waiting to get into the room and another student, not the Yoga teacher, comes up and tells me I'm doing downward dog wrong. I'm making more of a crescent shape than the proper A-Frame style one. I say something noncommittal, and she leaves me alone. I walk into Yoga self-conscious and seething. Who was this person? Why did she think it was her place to correct me? She doesn't know me or my level of flexibility! She makes me feel judged by other students. And while judgements or evaluations cross our minds, without someone’s permission, I never consider it my place to comment or critique someone else’s practice, yoga or otherwise. But that person did, and I begin to question if the community created by that evening class is right for me.
Slowly, I shift to a midday class instead where I settle in with a new teacher and a more relaxed community of yoga practitioners. I peacefully and safely focus on my meditative practice without the fear of another student’s judgement. I'm a regular at lunch yoga and then four and a half years into this, I dip my toe and then plunge into practicing aikido, a Japanese martial art.
While I find it intimidating to start a martial art at 26, my years with yoga guide me. They provide a foundation to keep my body safe while I learn to roll and fall as part of this new practice. And eventually, aikido becomes my main meditative movement because one thing that it gives me, that yoga doesn't, is a social community. Myself and my fellow aikidoka grab food together and I make friends who aren't graduate students in my department. Eventually though, my aikido community finds a space off-campus and I decide to spend my meagre graduate wages on dojo dues rather than yoga classes but I keep up my yoga practice where I can.
Then, 2020 marches in and I gratefully rely on my aikido community through lockdown, but I realize my yoga practice is fading. As much as I enjoy yoga, I struggle to practice alone. Even though yoga is a personal practice where I attune to my own meditative needs in physical form, I enjoy doing yoga with people. Although its not the same kind of community as aikido, I need to practice yoga alongside others, with the background of their energy. A community of folks all focusing on the same meditative motions.
And then in the Summer of 2022 I receive an e-mail in my inbox. The new UNM Asian American Pacific Islander Resource Center is open and offering free yoga classes. And it just fits. I make time to be there, hopping on my bike, commuting to campus again for the first time what feels like forever, and sheepishly make my way into AAPIRC.
Admittedly, I feel a bit like a dinosaur being there, having been in graduate school for 10 years in 2022, but I meet a new community. We do yoga as a physical practice but it’s also a place for us to express how we feel and where folks can move or rest as their bodies need, and a place for meditative and spiritual practice. Beyond that, I share in the community that is the next generation of AAPI students and scholars, all you graduates. I see your art and decorations, your events, advocacy, and the gatherings that provide places for social, political, and physical growth as well as academic success.
For Fall 2024, I look forward to finishing up my last semester amongst these communities and practices with other AAPI students and love seeing these communities grow around practices like yoga, language cultivation, and trying new things through events, providing safe space to test out what nourishes us. But sometimes in the rush to get our degrees, to succeed academically we forget to hang on to, cherish, and take pride in those practices as well.
Yes, college is a time to learn, to expand your mind, to get qualified to do your profession. But it’s also where we cultivate our practices, whether they’re cultural, religious, spiritual, political, or physical, and what kinds of communities we enjoy, and, want to support. We explore and discover what and who nourishes, cares for, and protects us. And while you may not have found those yet, or considered them, too focused on making sure you passed your final classes, take a moment now to reflect. What practices and communities helped you succeed and paved the way for you to be here today, a graduate or a soon to be graduate. And which of those can you help. Build. so that we all can share in a safe and nourishing future?
.................................................................................................................................................................................
AAPIRC Graduation 2024: Honoring Muhammad Afzaal Hussain (1995-2022)
By Sikandar Awan | May 4th, 2024
While I was thinking about Afzaal these past few days, ever since Miss Farah asked me to say a few words in the memory of Our Afzaal, something happened in my personal life which led me to a few realizations. Bear with me and I hope I can spread my message across.
In Hindi/Urdu, the word “Pardes” is made up of two words. The word “Par” comes from Paraia which means foreign or someone else’s. The word “Des” means country, or world. So a “Pardesi” means someone who is living in a foreign country or a foreign world. Afzaal was one of those who came to a foreign world, left his mark on everyone, made some friends and some foes, worked untiringly towards his goals in life, and had that thirst in his eye where he didn’t only want to move vertically but also horizontally as well.
It’s not easy coming from places like Pakistan, which are still in the aftereffects of colonization, and the chaos it brought to once a rich, cultural South Asia, paving your path in "Pardes", and fighting all the stereotypes you encounter because of your identity, accent, and skin color, and then shine on the foreign skies. Though for a very little while…
Only the person of steel nerves could do it, and Afzaal was one of them. Life and death are in the hands of the Creator, but how we live our life is our own choice. We can either complain, despite the privileges we have, or we can work towards making a difference, and running after our dreams.
I hope that all of us work for the latter and try to be the agent of change we all wish for. I pray for Afzaal and share my condolences to the deceased’s family.
Thank you.
Read more about Afzaal here: https://www.kob.com/new-mexico/homicide-victim-idd-as-accomplished-unm-grad/.
.................................................................................................................................................................................
AAPIRC Graduation 2024: Undergraduate Speech
By Heba Moussa
For the AAPIRC graduation convocation, the undergraduate speaker was Heba Moussa, a Palestinian Arab student graduating with a B.S. in Biology with a concentration in Biotechnology and a minor in Chemistry. Heba was also an intern with AAPIRC from Fall 2022 through Spring 2024. She focused on outreach to South West Asian & North African (SWANA) students, event photography, and health programming, including AAPIRC’s weekly yoga.
Good evening, everyone,
It's wonderful to have everyone around to honor this wonderful group of graduates today. My name is Heba Moussa. I am originally Palestinian, born and raised in Deir Debwan, Palestine, and I spent my summers in Gallup, New Mexico. When I started attending the University of New Mexico I found a sense of belonging among my peers at the Asian American Pacific Islander Resource Center. These past three years haven't been a walk in the park, let me tell you. It feels like they flew by, but they were anything but easy.
Today, all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, paid off in the form of a 3-hour graduation ceremony not just one of the regular big ceremonies, but something a little more special. Whether it meant pulling all-nighters to finish research papers or missing out on time with loved ones to prep for exams, we've all made sacrifices to get to this moment. As we say in Arabic “نستهين كل غالي كي نحقق الحلم” which translates to “We sacrifice anything valuable to achieve the dream”.
There were plenty of ups and downs along the way. I could go on and on about the lessons I've taken from this rollercoaster ride of a journey. I might dive into how strength became my superpower, or how a blend of determination and passion fueled my personal growth, but we don’t want to go there. However, one thing I would like to talk about is the hardest thing I have experienced during my undergraduate years, especially during my senior year is knowing that my people are suffering so as my country.
I have never understood why some people are lucky enough to be born with the chances that other people did not have. For me to have this path in life, and why across the world there is a woman just like me with the same abilities and the same desires, same work ethic and love for her family who would most likely be a better student and give better speeches - only she sits in a camp and she has no voice. She worries about what her children will eat or if they will even eat at all. She worries about if she and her children will be alive in the next 24 hours or if their lives will be taken away. She worries about how to keep them safe, and if they’ll ever return home. I don’t know why this is my life and that is hers.
But what I do know is that a genocide has been going on for the past 210 days, I know that more than 40,000 of MY people were killed, and 2 MILLION of my people are displaced, meaning they have lost not only their homes, but also their families, their jobs, their schools, their cities, and a lot more.
This did not just start in October of 2023, as I have mentioned earlier. I grew up in Palestine, meaning I grew up watching all that is happening now, happen at a slower pace during my formative years. I grew up thinking it is completely normal to be stopped by a random unexpected checkpoint at 7:00 am on my way to school. As a child, I thought all the chaos was just a regular part of life, like how you get used to the weather changing or days passing by. But as I got older and met more people from different places, I started to see that what I grew up with wasn't normal. Even now, living elsewhere, those early years continue to shape my understanding of conflict, resilience, and the enduring struggle for justice. And that also taught me that the core of who we are as Palestinians is resilient, a trait unaffected by any military occupation.
I want to dedicate the rest of my time to talk about the real reasons that make me so fortunate to be graduating with this amazing group of students. My family, friends, and mentors, who never quit supporting me during my undergraduate years.
I would thank my support system first, Mom and Dad. You've been my rock, guiding me through life's ups and downs. I know I can count on you, and you have never let me down. Thank you for believing in me, even when I found it difficult to believe in myself.
Ahmad, my little brother who everyone mistakes for being at least 5 years older than me, thank you for bringing me my favorite candy whenever you stop for gas. I can't wait to see you one day, standing proudly in your cap and gown, and receiving your degree. I have no doubt that you'll do an amazing job, especially if you follow in my footsteps.
I want to thank my entire family, whether they live here in the US or our homeland, Palestine. I also want to thank my friends for keeping me grounded whenever I felt like I was losing my way. And to the incredible instructors, doctors, and mentors who have supported me along the way, I am truly grateful.
To my fellow grads, congrats on completing four years of college despite a pandemic, and political and social instability. even though these years were some of the happiest years of our lives, these may not have been the easiest.
Last but not least, I would like to end my speech with my favorite poem by Marwan Makhoul:
"In order for me to write poetry that isn't political, I must listen to the birds. And in order to hear the birds the warplanes must be silent."
Thank you.
