A practice built with heart
I come from people who built things with their hands.
My grandparents came to this country and ran a grocery store. They worked long hours and poured everything they had into their family. That was their American dream.
My parents were among the first in their families to go to college. They worked their way out of Oakland to give us opportunities they never had. I think about their sacrifices every day.
In many ways, this practice is my grocery store. It's something I'm building with my own two hands. It's how I hope to honor the people who came before me, provide for my wife and children, and show my kids what it looks like to take a risk on something you believe in, and keep doing the next right thing.
My faith is the quiet foundation beneath all of it. For me, it comes down to how we treat people, especially when they're vulnerable and when no one is watching.
It's slowing down for the terrified three-year-old. It's listening to the overwhelmed parent. It's making sure a family never feels judged or rushed when they walk through our doors.
What Guatemala taught me
I learned what that kind of care really meant during a trip to Guatemala in dental school.
I'll be honest: I signed up because I wanted the extra clinical experience. The only Spanish I could manage was “¿Dónde duele?” Where does it hurt?
A young boy pointed to a large hole in his tooth. I was able to help get him out of pain. That evening, the church where we were staying prayed over our hands.
Afterward, his mother walked up, placed her hand on my shoulder, and simply said, “Thank you.”
I still think about that moment more than almost any lecture I heard at UCLA.
It reminded me that dentistry is about so much more than teeth. It's about people. It's about relieving pain, earning trust, and showing up for someone when they need you.
That experience helped me understand the kind of doctor I wanted to become.
