1.5-Generation Korean New Zealander | Continuing to Thrive Through Tears and Laughter | Helen Lee

Some people leave an impression because of what they have achieved. Then there are people whose presence leaves a deeper mark because of who they are.

Helen Lee belongs to the second.

At first glance, Helen is an accomplished young woman—a master's student in Public Policy, a community leader, a researcher, and someone deeply committed to improving health equity and strengthening communities. Yet these achievements are only the visible branches of a much deeper tree. Beneath them lies a quiet philosophy of life built on gratitude, compassion, resilience, and an unwavering belief that our lives are made meaningful through service to others.

Born in South Korea and arriving in Aotearoa New Zealand as a one-year-old, Helen grew up between cultures. Like many 1.5-generation migrants, she learned to navigate different worlds while slowly discovering where she truly belonged. Rather than seeing this as a burden, she embraced it as a gift. It gave her the ability to understand different perspectives, bridge divides, and recognise that identity is something continually shaped rather than something fixed.

Community has never been an abstract idea for Helen.

It began in her parents' café, where she unknowingly witnessed what sociologists would later call a "third place"—a space where neighbours gathered, friendships formed, and lives quietly intersected. Watching people come together taught her that community is not built through grand gestures but through everyday moments of connection.

Her mother recognised something else equally important.

Instead of simply encouraging academic success, she encouraged Helen to volunteer from the age of twelve. It was an unusual lesson, particularly within many migrant families where education is often the highest priority. Yet that early exposure allowed Helen to encounter people whose lives looked very different from her own. It was there she first recognised inequality, privilege, and the responsibility that comes with both.

Today, those early lessons continue to shape everything she does.

Whether organising hundreds of university volunteers, supporting charities, researching public policy, or advocating for more equitable systems, Helen is motivated by a simple belief: communities become stronger when people choose to care for one another.

Yet perhaps the most defining chapter of Helen's life began not with success, but with loss.

When she was nineteen, her father passed away.

Grief changed everything.

It brought her family closer together, but it also transformed the way she saw the people she loved. For the first time, she stopped seeing her mother simply as "Mum" and began seeing her as a woman—a wife who had lost her lifelong partner, a person with dreams, disappointments, fears, and extraordinary courage. That shift in perspective became one of the deepest moments of maturity in her life.

Helen often speaks about her parents with profound admiration, but never with idealisation. She understands the hidden sacrifices behind their migration, the relentless work required to build a café in a foreign country, and the loneliness that comes from raising children without the support of extended family. She tells stories not to glorify hardship, but to honour the quiet courage that so often goes unnoticed.

One story captures this beautifully.

When her father was robbed while opening the family café, he chased the thief—not because of the money, but because his backpack contained the passports and immigration documents that represented his family's future. To many, they were simply papers. To him, they were years of sacrifice, hope, and the possibility of a new life.

Helen carries that story not as trauma, but as inheritance.

It reminds her that every opportunity she enjoys today rests upon sacrifices made long before she was old enough to understand them.

What is striking about Helen is that despite everything she has experienced, she has not become hardened.

She has become softer.

She remains curious about people. She listens deeply. She believes conversations can change lives. She sees volunteering not merely as helping others, but as creating spaces where everyone discovers they belong. Even in moments of grief, she speaks with generosity rather than resentment.

There is also a quiet courage in the way Helen approaches the future.

After seven years at university, she stands at the threshold of another chapter. Completing her master's degree feels less like graduating and more like saying goodbye to the nineteen-year-old who first entered university carrying grief alongside hope. As she prepares to move overseas, she does so not to leave New Zealand behind, but to learn from the world before returning to contribute even more to the country that shaped her.

Perhaps that is what her Korean name, Nagyoung, has always been pointing towards.

Its meaning is often translated as "continually flourishing."

Flourishing, however, is not simply about success.

It is about continuing to grow through joy and sorrow alike.

It is about allowing hardship to deepen compassion rather than diminish it.

It is about honouring those who came before us by becoming ourselves fully.

Helen Lee embodies that quiet flourishing.

She reminds us that leadership is not always loud, resilience is not always visible, and the greatest legacy our parents leave us is often not found in what they give us, but in who they teach us to become.

In a world that often celebrates achievement above all else, Helen offers something far more enduring.

She reminds us that a meaningful life is not measured by how far we travel or how much we accomplish, but by the love we carry, the communities we nurture, and the hope we leave behind for those who follow.

Full Podcast: 1.5-Generation Korean New Zealander | Continuing to Thrive Through Tears and Laughter | Helen Lee