Whenever someone asks me why I want to work in publishing, the words may vary, but the sentiment always remains the same: I want to make space. Space (noun): a continuous area or expanse which is free, available, or unoccupied. As much as I love the twinkle of stars on a cloudless night or the promise of change whispered by a new moon, when I talk about space, I specifically mean making room for traditionally underrepresented creators to tell their own stories. Publishing is unique in that it sits at the intersection of creativity and impact. Here, we have the opportunity to shape and share stories from diverse perspectives—stories that can educate, empower, and foster empathy for others. This is just one of many reasons why I was eager to intern with the team at Lee & Low Books, the largest publisher of diverse children’s books since its inception in 1991. Creating space for diverse voices is essential because it ensures that the tapestry of human experience is accurately and richly represented. By uplifting marginalized voices, we help to dismantle barriers and broaden the spectrum of stories available to readers, which in turn can lead to a more empathetic and informed society. And I can think of nothing more important than creating a space where every person feels safe. Refugee (noun): a person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster. As the daughter of refugees, my mother and I learned English by reading picture books together at our local library. A couple decades (and thousands of library visits) later, I still yearn to see my family and our culture represented lovingly in media. But even though SWANA representation is still scarce, reading the backlist + upcoming titles from Lee & Low has sparked a new hope within me. One book I am thrilled to see on shelves this October is The Home We Make, written by debut author and New Voices winner Maham Khwaja, and beautifully illustrated by Daby Zainab Faidhi. It is a tender tale about a young girl and her family who are forced to flee their beloved home after violence erupts all around them, and their journey to rebuild a new sense of home. More importantly, it is a poetic reminder of the ongoing refugee crisis, and an homage to all of the children who never got to grow roots in the very land they took their first steps on, or to find safety across oceans and tell their stories of survival. This book is the closest thing to a portrait of my family that I have read in my lifetime, and I am so eager for readers of all ages to experience this feeling: to be seen, known, validated. Take heart in the fact that even though diversity in publishing is an uphill battle, there are many of us on the frontlines building bridges and ramps, filling in gaps, and uplifting the underrepresented. And we will keep going until the books on the shelves represent the world we live in, because we deserve to exist and feel safe where we are. Home (noun): the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. To me, home is draped scarves, spun by hand and thoughtfully framed around kind eyes, curved noses, and striking eyebrows. Home is droplets of scarlet on the counter while Baba carefully extracts pomegranate seeds and puts them into a bowl for me to snack on. Home is a cup of chai with every meal, during every conversation, and every moment of calm in between. Home is wherever I see a flag of red, white, and green held high. And sometimes home is a place I miss but that I am not allowed to visit. Home turns into the languages we only speak at home to our children. Home becomes the stories our older siblings fondly recall from long before they met us. Home turns into the few photographs we have saved of past lives and passed loved ones. Home is our voice, stories, memories and traditions. And when we give people the chance to share these stories, we not only honor where they came from, but also celebrate their existence today. So, whenever someone asks me why I want to work in publishing, the words may vary, but the sentiment always remains the same: I want to hear your story because your life matters. Where I come from, home is the place where we can share our stories over a cup of tea. And where I am going, there is room for everyone.