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Abstract

This is a critical reflection of my experience navigating higher education as a Hmong woman. My dad is well known among our clan to be very “traditional” and respectable. However, over the past 6 years during my graduate studies, my dad has remained my number one supporter. I sometimes, I tell him he is the chosen one, to derail his beliefs. At times, I begin to imagine what life would be like if I were a son. As for me, one of my mentors told me one time, that it is my sacred path to do this work. I have since then began my project of learning and being a Hmong woman. Like Anzaldua’s autohistoria, I write from within. I know my ancestors have waited for me to do this work. I am still grappling with the meaning (s) of feminism. What does Hmong feminism look like?

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