The first time I studied the nervous system in anatomy lab, I was immediately fascinated. Understanding how the body moves—and why sometimes it doesn’t—felt like solving a puzzle that had real meaning and purpose. What started as curiosity about anatomy quickly turned into a passion for making a difference: reducing pain, improving movement, and helping people reclaim their independence. Even now, witnessing someone regain their ability to walk or move comfortably continues to inspire and amaze me, just like that first moment with my Netter atlas. This blend of curiosity and impact not only drew me into physical therapy—it’s what keeps me passionate about this field every day.

My defining moment came during my very first week as a home‑health physical therapist. I still remember stepping into an elderly patient’s living room—no hospital monitors, no polished clinic floors, just a coffee table crowded with family photos and a stubborn throw rug that kept catching her walker. In that intimate space, I saw how the smallest barriers could steal independence and how tailored movement strategies could give it back. Working one‑on‑one with older adults in their own homes awakened a passion I hadn’t felt in any other setting. I witnessed the power of teaching a husband how to guard his wife on the stairs, or rearranging a kitchen so a proud grandmother could cook without pain. Each visit blurred the line between “patient” and “person,” showing me that effective therapy must account for the real‑world environments people inhabit.

Celebrating the histories, values, and contributions of our Asian Pacific American colleagues accomplishes three important things. First, it affirms a sense of belonging. When students and early-career clinicians see their backgrounds and stories represented, they're more likely to feel valued, stay engaged, and become leaders in our field—addressing representation gaps that persist in physical therapy.

Second, it enhances our cultural humility. Many of our patients have roots in Asian and Pacific communities. Understanding APA perspectives helps us better appreciate cultural approaches to health, family dynamics, and communication styles—all critical factors influencing patient trust, adherence, and outcomes.

Third, it inspires collective growth. From innovative rehabilitation research originating in countries like Japan and Singapore, to community-based fall-prevention programs pioneered by Filipino American therapists, APA contributions continuously advance our practice. Highlighting these successes provides every practitioner with new tools, strategies, and insights.

In short, Asian Pacific American Heritage Month is not just a time to celebrate—it’s a catalyst that strengthens diversity, deepens empathy, and ultimately makes our profession more effective and innovative for all we serve.

Have you faced challenges related to representation in your field? How did you navigate them?
When I entered physical therapy practice in the U.S.—and later, academic leadership—I was often the only Filipino or even the only Asian in the room. Early in my career, patients sometimes asked when the "real" PT would arrive, despite my clear introduction. Some colleagues occasionally spoke slowly or condescendingly to me. Each of these experiences highlighted how limited representation can shape perceptions and expectations before a meaningful exchange even begins.

I navigated these challenges in three primary ways:

Leading with performance. I prioritized clinical excellence and academic productivity, ensuring my work spoke louder than assumptions. Delivering consistent, high-quality outcomes for my patients helped build a reputation that opened doors to leadership opportunities.

Finding—and becoming—community. I sought mentors through the APTA and later the National Academies of Practice, learning from others who navigated similar journeys. As my career advanced, I became a mentor myself, guiding students and young faculty, ensuring they could see someone who looked and sounded like them at the front of the classroom.

Using my seat at the table to create space for others. Whether serving as a chief delegate or directing a DPT program, I have advocated for improved recruitment pipelines, holistic admissions, and culturally responsive curricula. My aim isn't just personal advancement, but structural change—ensuring that future clinicians of color enter a profession ready to welcome and support them.

While challenges related to representation still arise, I meet them through evidence-driven results, visible mentorship, and purposeful advocacy—transforming barriers into stepping-stones, not only for myself but for all those who follow.

Here are five lessons I wish someone had shared with me at the start:

Own your story and use it as fuel. When you enter a clinic or classroom, your background might be the first thing others notice. Let it become a bridge, not a barrier. Share openly how your experiences shape your approach to patient care or the questions you ask in research. Your authenticity builds trust, deepens connections, and sustains your motivation during challenging times.

Find—and become—mirrors and windows. Seek mentors who reflect your identity—mirrors that show what's possible—and allies who differ from you—windows into spaces you haven't reached yet. Professional sections of the APTA, employee-resource groups, and affinity networks can help you find both. And when you advance, become a mirror yourself, showing others the path forward.

Let excellence speak loudly for you. Bias exists, but so does the undeniable strength of consistent, high-quality work. Master your craft, document your outcomes, publish your findings, and present at conferences. Excellence won’t eliminate prejudice entirely, but it will give you leverage to challenge biases and amplify voices still striving to be heard.

Advocate for structural change, not just personal advancement. Use every opportunity and position you achieve—be it in committees, classrooms, or boardrooms—to open doors for others. Advocate for holistic admissions, culturally responsive curricula, and equitable workplace policies. Your own career will flourish most within a system that you've helped make fairer.

What are some projects or initiatives you’re most proud of?
Launching Lewis University’s first Doctor of Physical Therapy (DPT) program:

When I joined the Lewis University DPT project, it was just a bold idea with endless potential. Through months of late-night planning sessions, countless coffee-fueled discussions, and unwavering determination, we reshaped the curriculum around competency-based milestones, recruited a passionate team of faculty and staff who embraced our vision, and guided the program through each critical CAPTE milestone. The moment our inaugural cohort of nineteen students filled our brand-new labs and classrooms in January was deeply rewarding—a daily reminder that all the hard work was worth it.

My desire to challenge convention extended into my service with the American Physical Therapy Association (APTA). After hearing Dr. Terry Nordstrom’s inspiring Mary McMillan Lecture, I was struck by his call to move from the passive term "determinants" toward the more actionable "drivers." Motivated by his vision, I authored New Mexico’s first-ever motion for the 2025 House of Delegates, advocating the adoption of “Environmental and Social Drivers of Health” (ESDOH). While the APTA already acknowledges how environments, policies, and communities shape health outcomes, this motion challenges us to shift from simply recognizing disparities to actively dismantling them through our practice, education, and research—advancing true health equity for all patients.

My experience with ACAPT has reshaped my thinking in three key ways:

Vision must be supported by clear processes. Bold goals—like improving equitable access to diverse clinical sites—only succeed when supported by clear, scalable, and repeatable mechanisms.

Data tells the equity story. Gathering and sharing data across programs clearly highlights existing gaps, identifies successful practices, and directs attention to strategies worth scaling nationwide.

I’d rather leave a well-traveled bridge than a statue with my name on it—something future physical therapists and physical therapist assistants cross every day, often without noticing who built it.

A bridge to equitable care. If our work on Environmental and Social Drivers of Health succeeds, tomorrow’s PTs and PTAs will instinctively weave housing, air quality, and community resources into every plan of care. Whole-person thinking will be as automatic as taking a pulse.

A bridge between classroom and clinic. By proving that competency-based, precision education can flourish inside traditional time-based curricula, I hope to create programs that adapt to students, not the other way around—graduating therapists who are practice-ready on day one.

A bridge that amplifies new voices. Through the Philippine Journal of Physical Therapy and mentoring first-time researchers, I want to keep widening the profession’s microphone so ideas born in Manila, Albuquerque, Chicago—anywhere—carry equal weight on the global stage.

The turning point came late one Tuesday night in 2017. While clearing my inbox after lab, I found an unexpected email from Dr. Lazaro inviting me to write a brand-new chapter for an upcoming physical therapist assistant textbook. No outline, no template—just his confidence that I could build something from scratch.

Over the next several months, he coached me through the dizzying process of translating raw expertise into clear, student-friendly prose. He rewrote only where necessary and asked pointed questions that sharpened my thinking. When the proofs arrived, his margin notes were concise yet encouraging—proof that thoughtful feedback is fuel, not judgment.

Two lasting lessons from his mentorship shape how I now guide others:

Spot potential, then hand over the pen. He didn’t merely say I was ready—he gave me a real platform to prove it.

Lead with questions, not corrections. His inquiries nudged me toward clarity and confidence rather than dictating the final product.

Community is the collective heartbeat that turns isolated efforts into lasting change. It’s the moment a rural preceptor, a first-year DPT student, and a seasoned researcher realize they’re all pulling on the same rope—and choose to pull in sync.

Co-create the goal, don’t just announce it. In the Lewis DPT program, every new initiative—from a mixed-reality anatomy lab to competency-based milestones—begins with a design session that includes faculty, clinical partners, and students. When people help write the blueprint, they feel ownership rather than obligation.

Turn mentorship into a relay race. Mentors like Dr. Rolando Lazaro, Dr. Terry Nordstrom, Dr. Diane Jette, among others handed me the baton; now I pass it forward by pairing junior faculty with mentors, running writing sprints, and showcasing other voices at conferences. Each hand-off strengthens a professional “neural network” that keeps ideas firing.

Create systems that invite agency. I champion clear feedback loops and shared decision-making structures so anyone—faculty or student—can propose an improvement and watch it move up the chain. Agency breeds accountability, and accountability knits communities tighter.

Celebrate small wins—publicly and often. From a student’s first published abstract to our program’s internal grant funding award, I amplify successes through newsletters, social media, and faculty meetings. Recognition is social glue; it reminds us we belong to something larger than our individual roles.