Growing up in the San Gabriel Valley, I didn’t just live among different cultures — I experienced them. I tasted them at friends’ dinner tables, heard them in playground jokes and after-school stories, and saw them in the way we celebrated birthdays, weddings and holidays.

It wasn’t just diversity as a concept. It was in our games, our families, our friendships. It was life.

That kind of experience stays with you. It gets in your body.

There’s something very different about knowing other cultures through real relationships — through time spent, food shared, laughter, arguments, memories. That’s a very different knowing than what you get from a news story, a TV show or a social media post. When your understanding of someone else comes only from the outside, it stays in your head. But when you’ve played basketball with them, shared meals, gone through school together, laughed, fought and grown up side by side — it lives in your body.

That’s what the SGV gave me.

When I joined the Army at 17, I left the SGV behind and started to see the world. I lived across the country and overseas. But no matter where I went, nothing ever felt quite like home. Nowhere else held that quiet magic I grew up with here — that effortless way people of different backgrounds shared space, food, laughter and struggle.

While stationed in Germany, I grew close with a Mexican American soldier from Southern California — tough, grounded and deeply principled. One day, some guys were talking trash to me because I was Asian. Without hesitation he said, “Just because I’m Mexican doesn’t mean I’m your brother. And just because he’s Asian doesn’t mean he’s my enemy.” I’ve never forgotten that.

That moment hit deep. It reminded me of where I came from — of the way we looked out for each other back in the SGV, how we found family across culture lines. That wasn’t new to me. That was home.

And over the years, I kept thinking about that — how rare this place is. I’ve traveled a lot. I’ve lived in places with every kind of climate, every kind of neighborhood, and I can tell you: The San Gabriel Valley is different.

Not perfect. But different.

This is a place where people from all over the world ended up — not by accident, but through resilience, survival and hope. And somehow, in all our differences, we’ve managed to create something beautiful here. Not just coexistence, but something deeper. A quiet harmony.

When I returned to live in the SGV again, I felt something rising in me — a mix of gratitude, pride and urgency. I saw how fast things were changing. I saw stories getting lost. I saw how easy it was for the richness of our lives here to go unnoticed or unspoken.

And I didn’t want to lose it.

I wanted to create a space where regular people could tell their stories. People who’ve lived, worked, struggled and grown up right here in the SGV. I wanted to reflect back the beauty of our community — not as nostalgia, but as truth. There is something rare and worthy here. And I believe we deserve to feel proud of it.

So I started the “My SGV Podcast” — not to promote anything, but to preserve something.

Every episode is a time capsule. A snapshot of someone’s journey. We’ve had guests from all walks of life — business owners, artists, writers, chefs, athletes, parents. People you might see at the market or sitting behind you at a local restaurant.

The podcast isn’t about fame or followers. It’s about voice. It’s about memory.

It’s about that line in a poem from one of our guests — Mike Sonksen — who wrote:

“The Changs live next door to the Diazes here.”

It’s not just poetic. It’s real.

That’s what I want to celebrate. That’s what I want to protect.

I’m not here to speak for the SGV. I’m here to listen. To help capture what’s already been happening across decades and generations.

I just happen to be the one holding the mic.

And I consider that a privilege.

Russell Mano is co-host of “My SGV Podcast,” available on all major podcasting sites.