"Assyrian" and "advocacy" were two words I never dreamed would resonate with me. Until recently, I didn't even think of myself as Assyrian.

As the daughter of Iraqi immigrants, I viewed myself through the lens of nationality and the language my parents spoke -- Arabic. Because of that, I saw myself as an Arab, without any nuances to my identity.

As my life unfolded, I began to unlock my Assyrian identity through the relationship with my grandmother.

She spoke fluent Assyrian, revered Mart Maryam as many Suraye do, and took pride in the kubba she so often cooked. Yet despite being Assyrian in nearly every facet of her life, she didn't view passing on the culture as essential to our community's survival. She believed that, because of the overwhelming pressures to assimilate, Assyrian culture would eventually fade.

But our culture only fades if we allow it to. After all we have collectively endured, it's our duty to ensure that our presence outlives our plight.

Realizing the honor of being Assyrian propelled me to take action. Last month, I had the privilege of co-moderating an Assyrian history panel at the University of Connecticut School of Law with my peer, Malaak Massoud. Together, we explored Assyrian history, our diaspora, modern-day challenges, and our future.

I realize now that beyond any specific facts the audience may have retained, one thing matters most: our Assyrian identity is, at the very least, acknowledged.

Our community often aspires to ambitious goals in keeping the culture alive. But beyond the mountain of work to be done in preserving our legacy, representation is the essential first step.

In small, seemingly ordinary ways, our presence outshines our plight -- if we choose to let it. Reposting a graphic about Seyfo, learning about migration patterns, and even attempting a family dolma recipe, all help carve Assyrians into the fabric of everyday life.

It's also crucial to understand that rising above our plight does not mean neglecting the consequences of our past. In my own life, hearing first-hand accounts and reading journals from 1915 and the time of Seyfo propelled my own journey of cultural discovery.

But this does not mean that reflecting on Assyrian history is all our community can offer. Intentional efforts to blaze a new trail, and correct misconceptions that Assyrians exist only in the past, are essential in revitalizing our global population.

As an Assyrian teenager in the United States, it would be foolish to ignore the tremendous impact social media has on the way we engage with our culture. For many, these platforms amplify Assyrian voices to the wider world. Accounts like the Suraye Educational Collective not only educate about pivotal moments in Assyrian history, but also enrich the diaspora through translations and community updates.

In this way, Assyrians assert their presence beyond historical devastation. When our identity is showcased on a world stage, its significance cannot be denied.

From time to time, I find myself returning to old family photos from Iraq, smiling at every glimpse of my parents or grandparents. Seeing them play soccer and drink chai together makes it clear that our roots live on in the people and places we cherish.

Those treasured family photos are what drive me forward in Assyrian advocacy. Each reminder of who I am -- and all that came before me -- gives me a deeper reason to make my presence felt today. Despite the hardships my ancestors endured, their spirit remains unbroken.

The advocacy I work toward is rooted in the painful history of our persecution. Paradoxical as it may be, profound good can spring from the darkest chapters of history. Assyrians continue to forge their own path. We assert our presence in the face of our plight.