On a warm September evening, I commence wandering through my literary journey—one that is quite personal. I’m frightened, frankly, but I’m ready. Last semester, I took a nonfiction course titled Disability Narratives, taught by Susannah Mintz who supported me while I navigated through my previously tucked-away-in-drawers, tumultuous experience with mental health, the dangerous lack of acknowledgement and stigmatized concept of disability in the Asian American community, and all the silences and traumas breathing in my family. One of the primary texts that we discussed was Alice Wong’s brilliant collection of essays written by disabled authors titled Disability Visibility.[1] The memoirs that we read in that class told stories, and I…