ARCMag Spring 2024

ARCMAG

Spring 2024

ASIAN RESILIENCE COLLECTIVE MAGAZINE

www.asianresiliencecollectivecanada.org

ARCMAG

Dragons & Spices I often paint still lifes of dragons, palm trees and sunsets, pretty on vintage vases and teapots. They hit us with a nostalgia, however, that is in opposition to the harsh reality that spread precious goods, and people, around the world. Plants, flowers, seeds, goods and people, traded and plied from East to West along the ancient trade routes, inspired the Western taste for things exotic and oriental. Tea, spices, fabrics, designs and ceramics were all precious commodities that played on the fantasy of the East, whilst hiding the violence and pillage from which they came. Today with history often forgotten, everyday lives around the globe are still strongly imbued with that strong flavour of the East.

Rebecca is a Malaysian artist and painter working mainly with paint and paper. A weaver and textile print designer by training, Rebecca paints dreamscapes and visual memories that give a sense of place, all influenced by a love for flora, fauna, and cultural heritage. These images fill her thoughts after journeys and travel. Colour, pattern and textures feature in all her nature inspired paintings. More recently Rebecca has used her art to highlight issues that impact on women & children, & the impact of man on the environment & biodiversity. Rebecca works between Penang, Malaysia, and Piemonte, Italy.

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EDITOR'S, FOUNDERS’ & FUNDER’S NOTES

This Spring 2024 edition of ARCMag is the result of countless hours of writing, emailing, thinking and feeling from all the contributors, community members, retailers, friends and funders who have supported this project. What started out as a half-baked idea to create a space for personal stories about what it means to be Asian in Canada today has become one of the cornerstone activities of the Asian Resilience Collective Canada, and it has been one of my great prides to watch this publication grow.

The theme of this edition is movement, and the experienced or inherited stories of diaspora and journeys (physical and otherwise) that shape our lives. We are all products of movement. Voyages taken, be it as a child or generations back in our bloodline, contextualize the lives we live now. For many of us, where we are, what we do and who we are are partial outcomes of the rich lives and journeys that have come before us. This edition is a testament to those stories, and a reminder of how beautiful change can be.

Thank you to the writers and artists for their work, enthusiasm and vulnerability, and to the Canadian Race Relations Foundation for valuing and supporting our voices.

Caleigh Wong ARCMag Editor-in-Chief & ARCC Co-Founder

Hi Friends, We are thrilled to introduce ARCMag 2024! We would like to express our gratitude to the Canadian Race Relations Foundation (CRRF), our contributors, and the community for their generous support in bringing our vision to life.

In this edition, we delve into the stories of Asian Canadians from all corners of the country as they navigate their Asian diaspora. Through personal essays, poetry, and artwork, we explore the diverse experiences and perspectives that make up the Asian Canadian community.

Asian Canadians are a vibrant and multifaceted group that contributes significantly to Canadian society. Their diverse backgrounds bring a wealth of perspectives and experiences that enrich our multicultural identity. They have played a pivotal role in shaping Canada’s cultural landscape and fostering understanding and appreciation of different cultures.

We hope these narratives will enlighten, educate, and inspire you to take a more active role in learning about your community and participating in collective efforts to promote civic engagement.

Lots of love, ARCC Founders April, Aaliah, Caleigh, Christina, and Christine

The Canadian Race Relations Foundation (CRRF) works to strengthen the social fabric of our society by supporting, enabling, and convening community groups and organizations through our grants, services and network of public, research and community partners.

Our National Anti-Racism Fund (NARF) supports our commitments to build a national framework for the fight against racism in Canadian society by strengthening the capacity of racialized communities, religious minority groups and Indigenous people to carry out their own work to combat racism and create opportunities for meaningful dialogue, learning and sharing with the broader public.

ARCMAG SPRING 2024 Polished Emeralds Raushni Abraham

4

Fog and Sunshine Hope Moon

5

Nani Elena Hoh

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Homesickness Amanda Chiu

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Ancestral Dreams Viola Tian

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Waving Goodbye to the Waving Cat Owen Baker

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Bonjour, Hi, Nihao Eldar Wang

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Even in Movement, the Colonizer Follows Amreen Kullar

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The History of my Hand Caleigh Wong Sze Ting

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你怎样

How are you?

Jenna Liang & Bin Wei

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White Rice and Wanderlust Timmons Wong

21

Metamorphosis Alex Tran

22

Flourishing New Spaces: The Intentionality of Pan Asian Collective Shelly Bahng

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Grass to Snow Vinetha Velautham

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Asian Resilience Collective Canada @asianresiliencecc / asianresiliencecc@gmail.com

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POLISHED EMERALDS RAUSHNI ABRAHAM My grandfather first had a farm when he was eleven.

When I was twenty-six, you told me I remind you of

Three acres of emerald paddy that coloured his mind

my grandfather.

and seeped deep in,

I never knew what you meant.

He spoke of it when he fed me warm rice and ghee

If I had a booming laugh,

forty years later.

Or a shy smile,

Of the harshness of the toil, and the softness of its wet

Or if I got angry quick.

soil.

If my care was wrapped in gruffness,

Longing for a distant land shaped by the sweat of his

Or if how you could never doubt if I loved you.

brow,

Or if I too reminded you of wet clay soil to sink your

In a soothing whisper,

tired feet in

He told me my first story –

And steel to help you stand straight and proud.

Of a grain of rice.

Or if I too will let my responsibilities shackle my

Its origin.

dreams.

How it’s cleaned.

De-husked.

And so, when I find it hard to tell you my story,

Separated into brown and white.

I too will opt for whispers that don’t’ ruffle,

Separated into intact and broken.

But soothe and bring you in and ignite,

And polished.

And remind you of how our journeys are the same.

Of how we are all cleaned, de-husked, separated into

When his father died a year later,

brown and white and intact and broken.

He traded his farm for a roof big enough for his

And polished.

responsibilities.

No longer an educated man, hungry for knowledge, He set out in our new country, recently freed of its shackles, And traded his rake for a crisp white shirt, His plow for a pen and a persona that never truly fit him, The soil for shoes he couldn’t wait to take off at the end of a day, And the clear blue endless skies for an emerald longing locked deep in his soul.

Raushni Abraham (she/her) has found writing to be her

He was chiseled in the steel mill he worked in, cast and

choice of processing and understanding the world since

smoothed into a final product used in our nationbuilding.

she was young, but has only recently found the courage to share it wider than her closest circle. She is interested in capturing stories of individual and collective strengths through poetry, prose and short stories, and is currently working on a collection on ‘intergenerational gifts.’

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FOG AND SUNSHINE HOPE MOON The only Chinese word I’ve known for most of my

the Chinese diaspora? What claim did I have to being

life is my middle name, yun, as it is my given

Chinese - especially having denied it for so long?

Chinese name. I have been trying to learn Chinese

Was it too late to think about the conditions my birth

for about 5 months now. So far, the only conversing

mother was under when she made the decision to

I’m doing is with my phone, which sends me daily

leave me, let alone acknowledge her existence at all?

reminders to open my language app. While I

The plot unraveled—just as I had almost perfected

earnestly would like to try to learn the language, my

assimilating.

poor commitment just ends up being a nagging reminder that I am alienated from my cultural

Some adoptees use the term ‘coming out of the fog’

heritage.

to describe when they begin accepting and processing the inherent loss that comes with the

I was born in China in 1999—the height of the One-

adoption. As a transracial international adoptee, not

Child Policy. The policy led to my early

only did I lose all connection to my biological family

abandonment and nine months later I was adopted

and histories, but also access to cultural learnings and

by a white Canadian family. Like many adoptees, I

teachings. The more I try to rediscover, the more it

grew up in a predominantly white community. I

becomes obvious how much I do not know. I feel

spent most of my childhood rejecting my Chinese

like a child, trying to pretend like I know more than I

history and heritage, as it was the subject of much

do, when I speak with my friends who are also part

unwanted questioning from my peers which teetered

of the Chinese diaspora. I nod along knowingly as

between harmless curiosity and blatant racism. Did I

they bring up certain pieces of traditional clothing or

know any Chinese? Did I know where or who my real

holiday specific foods, while filing away key words in

mom was? Did I know I would never get a boyfriend

my head to look up later on my own time. There was

because I was Chinese? For all I could tell, if I could

about a year or two while I was ‘coming out of the

alienate myself from my Chinese-ness, it would

fog’ where I seemed at best a studying anthropologist

make the taunts go away. If I could belittle myself,

and at worst someone with a weird Chinese fixation.

then what could they do?

Food became my entry point of study that bypassed When I was 18, I left my hometown and lived abroad

feelings of inauthenticity and voyeurism (I like to

in London (UK), and travelled in South East Asia, for

think that an alternate version of myself who grew

a year. It was the first time I had lived in a place

up in China would also love food). Conveniently,

where people hadn’t known me since pre-school -

food is the bedrock of cultural community. With

where people didn’t automatically know I was

every spice I learned about histories. Through every

adopted. To any passerby, any local in Europe or

grain I learned about ecological landscapes. By way

Asia, I was Chinese. This shift in external perception

of every soy product I learned about culture and

of me profoundly altered how I began to see myself.

customs. As I cooked through classic dishes of the

My defences lowered. I recognized an innocence

country, I began to feel more at home in the grocery

rather than teasing behind the questions of my

aisles of Chinese supermarkets—collecting sauces

identity, leaving me space to wonder what the

and produce as my rites of passage.

answers might be. What does it mean to be a part of

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I recently submitted information to an organization dedicated to helping adoptees reconnect with their biological families. While I’m keeping my expectations low on the chance of reunion, the process of simply collecting and reading through all of the documents was revealing. I confirmed my Chinese name to be

昀 (yún), meaning sun light or

sunshine. After so many years shuttering off my

identity, it felt fitting to remember my name to be a symbol of enlightenment. Paired with my given English name, ‘hope’ and ‘sunshine’ feel like blessings for a lifelong process of rediscovery and connection, through food, language, and community.

Hope Moon is a climate justice organizer, born in China but based in so-called Canada for almost all her life. She is interested in understanding and cultivating resilient and sustainable communities, from the micro level of personally hosting regular dinner parties to the macro level of professionally helping grassroots groups learn to organize for better local climate policies. You can find her work in the Ecology Action Centre Magazine and the recently published Rural and Remote Communities Climate Organizing Toolkit from the Climate Reality Project Canada.

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NANI ELENA HOH “Nani” expresses the layered feeling of home in Canada for me... fragmented, bittersweet, and incomplete. “Nani”, or “What” in Japanese, is the same character as my last name (which is Chinese), Hoh

何.

Nani 2024 Elena Hoh Digital drawing

Elena Imari Hoh is a multidisciplinary artist from Victoria B.C..

Her work cycles through themes of family, identity, mental health, and landscape. Elena’s family comes from Japan, Malaysia, and Scotland.

Visiting these places and piecing the parts of her family history together have greatly contributed to her art practice in the last few years. She is inspired by the many artistic members of her family and the resilience and strength of their stories.

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HOMESICKNESS AMANDA CHIU Years, months, days, hours, seconds pass.

She slips further and further out of my reach.

She is fading away.

There is a place somewhere where everyone looks like me, but they speak a language that I do not understand.

She exists almost solely in my imagination.

The price of survival is severance, diaspora is a death drive.

The death of language, culture, memory, belonging, and everything that I will never know I have even lost.

Time and forgetting – these are the enemies.

The inheritance of loss is so heavy, in three generations she has vanished without a trace.

Glue together the pieces of that porcelain bowl once shattered by my elders for protection.

Forget her.

Destroy her.

Abandon her.

Her fragments slice my flesh.

Holding onto her is world-travelling, a discipline of silence, the ability to shape-shift.

Do not be queer.

Do not have tattoos.

Do not be a feminist.

Do not become what she fears.

I am afraid it is too late.

Appease your elders – they stand guard at her entrance.

That is all that is left.

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It is the never-ending breakup, lingering heartache.

Grief, yearning, desire, despair, loss, love.

She is the big ex; the one I will never forget no matter how foreign or antiquated she may become.

I cannot take on new lovers when she is unshakable from my existence, I try to speak of her but I choke on my words.

Resemblance is a trick-mirror, movement lives in flesh and in blood, she lives only in my mind.

Move between a duality of worlds: old and new, traditional and modern, resentful and prideful.

Self-sacrifice is the only remedy, looking forward is hard when there is nowhere to look back to.

I miss her, I want her, but I have never met her.

Her name is China.

I don’t know her, but sometimes I dream that she knows me.

趙友慧 (she/her) is a third-generation Chinese-Canadian activist and writer from

Amanda Chiu/

Tkaronto. She currently lives in Oxfordshire, England where she is finishing her Master’s degree

in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at the University of Oxford. Amanda is specifically interested in Asian-Canadian resilience and diasporic feminism. Her work is centered around community organizing, marginalized visibility, decolonizing education, and grassroots resistance.

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ANCESTRAL DREAMS VIOLA TIAN From the bottom of the hill, I climb.

Everything we have was built from here:

I see them, but they don't see me.

tired eyes, worn-out dreams, moon waning,

I hope I am not too late

outcries rising, collective memories behind.

to catch up to our time

Restless spirits tell generational stories

when the destination seems to

under a sky where our voices echo

run away, everytime I come close.

in the hollow graves of the past.

Mirages or not, I decide:

Stronger, louder, carried into

Let's chase after it.

the watery scrolls of the future.

Sharp inhales send wasabi right up

On the untrodden path, I see

the nose, lead on my tongue

many hearts that have endured,

sinks into my mouth

outlived, and won against those odds

into the sweetness of tears.

stacked against them.

The winding road, the steep incline.

They will not be forgotten, not now, not ever.

Everything we hope for starts from here:

They are in our brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers.

hopeful eyes, ardent dreams, moon waxing,

You and I will keep climbing,

shadows growing, marching bands ahead.

one wave after another.

Whispers among the mountains,

Please keep looking over us,

in between the tree branches,

and keep passing your baton to us.

falling on the wind of passion,

My dear dear ancestors.

and into the soil of perseverance.

A lifted heart in air, lightened footsteps, and the craters my ancestors once landed on, still glowing, under the moon.

Footprints are the love letters I never sent out.

At the top of the hill, they stand.

Viola Tian (she/her), a fervent advocate for social justice

They don't see anyone else, but themselves.

with a rich Chinese Korean heritage, has made significant

They hope they are not the only ones

strides in bridging communities and fostering

in their times, and the times after

understanding. Her academic journey took her from

to make silence move

Canada to the U.S., where she completed her Masters in

and spirits stay.

Public Policy, further fueling her commitment to equity and

Hail has just passed,

inclusion. Viola’s leadership within the National Coalition

and everywhere wind goes

Against Anti-Asian Racism Canada (CAAARC) highlights

left no trace of existence.

her dedication to combating discrimination as part of a

Oxygen thins by the second.

federal initiative. Her poetic work, deeply rooted in themes

Altitude high, air chill, land bare,

of identity, connection, and resilience, speaks volumes of her

and hands bony – one can easily

passion for uplifting marginalized voices and celebrating

mistake this for a cemetery.

the beauty of diversity.

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WAVING GOODBYE TO THE WAVING CAT OWEN BAKER

There’s nothing quite like the aesthetic of an old-school Chinese restaurant. Growing up in Ottawa, I had the privilege of my Por Por and Ah Kong taking us to their favourite spots. There, I found a great appreciation for the style and decor of each place we would go to. Dragons, waving cats, that classic “Chinese” font – even the pink liquid soap in the bathrooms. These style choices were all used to attract Canadians to this ‘foreign’ cuisine and gave them a first glimpse into the Chinese-Canadian world.

While lots of restaurants are constantly updating their menus and decors, I truly find these classic Chinese restaurants to be comforting and endearing. It makes me sad to see some of them empty or closed, slowly decaying.

I often think about what these places looked like at their peaks, filled with family members laughing and enjoying comfort food.

As more modern Chinese and Asian Fusion restaurants open, it’s important to remember these mom and pop restaurants. These spaces were an introduction for many Canadians to a lot of Asian cultures and their importance is often understated. You can feel the hard work and sacrifice these people made to open these spaces.

Keep these places alive and keep them in our communities.

皇龍) is a half Chinese Singaporean 23 year old from

Owen Baker (

Ottawa. He loves talking about growing up Wasian (White and Asian) and is super interested in other’s experiences playing hockey as a visible minority in Canada. Some of his Asian inspirations include Wong Kar-

wai, Bong Joon-ho and Hayao Miyazaki. He hopes to explore and create more in film and photography.

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BONJOUR, HI, NIHAO ELDAR WANG The best thing about working as a Chinese language

infant. It’s time to relearn everything. For my first

teacher is you no longer feel racism. When crossing a

weeks in Quebec, I felt illiterate, because everything

dark block, a drunk man approached me, yelling

was in French. I stood still in the middle of a road,

“Nihao, nihao” to my face in a provocative tune. I

trying to google translate the bolded lines on the

didn’t feel offended at all, I felt quite satisfied, I said

guideboard. The connection was bad, but I was

you have a beautiful pronunciation! Next time, just

patient, confidently standing there, seconds after

make sure that your lips are moderately grinned

seconds. A century later Google Translate responded.

when phonating “hao” to make your performance

It says “Leave right away, here’s dangerous as fuck,

even better; just believe in yourself, you are very

things fall off the top of your head at any second.”

talented. The first job I got after landing in Canada was teaching Chinese to college students, and Nihao

Out of a weariness for political realities, I went on the

is the first word all Chinese classes offer. The literal

journey of escaping from my previous life.

translation of Nihao is “you good” – it’s a greeting,

Strangely, as everything unfolded in a language

it’s a blessing. Hearing it brings me amusement. We

unfamiliar to me, I developed a longed-for

encourage students to practice greeting, so every

insensitivity to the surroundings. News no longer

week as I enter the classroom, 50 people yell Nihao

hurt me; I calmly watch it playing. How long will this

to me as loud as they can. I never expected this

insensitivity last? My immigrant friends tell me to

tedious phrase to be this energetic and enthusiastic.

cherish it, for when my French is good enough to

The guard on the ground floor smilingly witnesses

understand the news, I will lose this tranquility—it’s a

clusters of Nihao encircling me, with his lips flexing,

precious experience, like being a baby in a womb. In

practicing, preparing, ready to pronounce the

an unacquainted environment, reality continues,

syllables himself one day. He thinks my name is

while I no longer notice every part of it. When I was

Nihao. Other than that, Nihao can arrive at any

living in China, I hardly realized that I could speak

unexpected time. One day, I was in the bathroom, a

Chinese. There were a billion people speaking it. The

student recognized my boots, excitedly shouting

day I landed in Montreal, an airport coordinator

Nihao to me through the stall door. The echo

asked me in French if it was my first time entering

lingered in the giant lavatory for a very long while.

this country. I realized that now I am here, and this is here, the journey I chose.

In fact, for a fairly long time, the Chinese classroom echoing Nihao was the only place I felt safe, confident, and useful. When I step into it, I know I will be able to answer all the questions that come to me, while outside of the classroom I just can’t. It’s my first time living in Canada, or being anywhere all

Eldar Wang is a master’s student at McGill interested in

alone. I feel like a duck in a thunderstorm—it’s not

literature and culture studies. She was born and raised in

easy to reestablish one’s order of life in North

China, currently living in Montreal, Canada. She writes,

America, after years and years in Asia. In formal

translates, and practices stand-up comedy and

academic language, you might call it “losing cultural

performance art. You can find her at www.eldarwang.com,

capital,” and in my language, I call it feeling like an

or catch her petting corgis at dog cafés.

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EVEN IN MOVEMENT, THE COLONIZER FOLLOWS AMREEN KULLAR I remember during Canada 150, immigrants were

speak out of fear. They know that if we saw the pain

confused on what the issue was, not knowing the

they inflict, we’d look away from the flags and see

country they escaped to was a product of genocidal

that borders are man-made illusions, colonial,

massacres. They had only wanted to escape the

heinous, fake. In South Asia, or East Asia, or West

results of their own. Unable to reckon with aiding

Asia—they even call it the Middle East to try and

colonialism as settlers—implicating themselves in

keep us separate.

violence after fleeing it. From one country to another, both with schools and houses built on

If I tell you “West Asia is being bombed”, you must

graves. Even in movement, the colonizer follows—

feel differently than when I say “The Middle East”. I

trailing blood, reeking of murder.

remember reading of the hate crimes, the discrimination post 9/11—the countless times they

When they suggest “two state solutions”, I think

couldn’t tell the differences between us. Intentional

about the partition of India. I think about my

programming had me silently blaming religion for

Pakistani friend who tells me that when he talks to

how I felt visible. A newfound atheist with the need

other South Asians in Canada, they ask questions,

to blend in, offended when anyone thought I was

one after the other, in an attempt to narrow down

Muslim. Years later, I redirected my rage the right

where he comes from—from country to religion to

way. To the imperialists responsible for the loss of

wealth, trying to find the difference somewhere. The

life. Unimaginable pain in the dancing pixels, from

way the colonizer taught us, so we’d get into

Iraq, to Afghanistan, to Palestine.

mindless conversations and quarrels without looking their way. 300 years of British rule, they left once

The way they tell lies to create hate and segregate,

they split us in two. Bleeding hearts, families torn

both sides fuelled by the assumption of the other’s

apart, hundreds of thousands that never made it.

distaste. The British helped partition India, the same way they broke Palestine in two. Self-proclaimed

So many of us had to go to the colonizers' feet,

seculars using religion to divide. Now India buys the

looking for a new place to call home. In the

most weapons from “Israel”, using them on another

imperialist countries you’ll find all the places they’ve

state that wants to be free. There is an Indian soldier

etched out apologies, quietly dissuading the diaspora,

for every seven Kashmiri. It’s the most militarized

attempting to nationalize us with our gratitude. A

place you’ve never heard of. All the ways they subtly

photograph titled Stockholm syndrome. Much like

attempt to prevent our revolts. Divide and conquer,

the dueling identities of the right wing South Asian

but you can’t do that to our souls. In the South Asian

politician.

future, we’ll band together, call each other siblings, and heal our mirrored pain with love.

When I hear “two state solution”, I think about how partition’s violence still exists in Kashmir, wreaking

If they had time between their jobs, their trauma,

havoc on our sisters. Stolen the same way they are

their belief that they moved to a better place, I think

here. The Indian army suppresses activists and

our parents would want to take to the streets to

journalists the way zionists do, they expect us to not

protest—but they could barely make a living, so their

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children went instead, carrying the rage of their bloodlines. In the winter as we gather in public spaces, my grandfather wants to join us but it’s too cold for him to march, so his grandchildren go instead. I think about him the whole time. He tells me how beautiful it is that even though he was on the other side of the world for most of our lives, we still came out so much alike.

Freedom fighters through bloodlines, that’s our birth right. During partition, my family helped hide their Muslim friends, and decades later I scream in the streets for one state. If that’s not movement, I don't know what is. If being Asian doesn’t mean fighting to be free, I don’t know what it is. If being Asian doesn’t mean dropping walls and dropping borders, dreaming to cross, I don’t know what it is.

Atop the apartheid wall we see each other. Even when they fall, the colonizer follows. May secondgen kids turn around, pull the curtain back, and stick in the knife. May we redistribute and heal. For it’s not just our implication in settler colonialism that has been uncovered, but our responsibility to stand up, fight back. Healing the generations before us the martyrs of colonial violence, survivors of partition, and grandfathers that say we fight like they did.

Amreen Kullar is a freelance filmmaker and writer— primarily driven by the will to alter preconceived notions, create political awareness, and allow fellow QBIPOC artists to feel seen and validated. Their films have played at numerous festivals, most recently DPing a short at Fantasia International Film Festival in 2023. Most of their time off-set is spent writing film inspired prose on Letterboxd, managing existential crises, ranting/learning about geopolitical issues, and sipping iced soy chai.

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THE HISTORY OF MY HAND CALEIGH WONG SZE TING

This collective diary entry is made up of musings, insecurities, heartbreak and hopes committed to paper from 2010-2023, spanning the ages 11-24. These diary cut-outs are glimpses into a number of formative emotional and physical journeys undertaken from childhood, to adolescence, into the early years of adulthood. These include my mother and I’s move to Canada from Malaysia, and the changes in racial consciousness that accompanied that. This summative entry explores ideas of whiteness, internalized racism, assimilation and queerness, while also chronicling the development of one’s handwriting over a 13-year period. Told in piecemeal through a child’s, teenager’s and young adult’s mind, this work aims to document the way things change – understandings of self, sexuality, and the physical imprint of penmanship – but, importantly, it is a testament to the feelings of longing and uncertainty that endure.

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Sometimes I wish I was blond + blue eyed

I think she likes me too

I feel like everyone is worried about me

Sometimes I wonder why I write

Which leads me to believe I must actually be quite sad

There’s a lot I seem to not know these days

I wish I was pretty and blond with blue eyes

I barely recognize home

I am really homesick

We call love elusive

I am often homesick

It’s hard to stay present

You have a weird name

Is it enough to know you’d miss them?

Do you know that feeling you get

I think I just need to start heading down a different path

I think somethings broken

But I am realizing that there’s no place all roads lead

I catch her looking at me sometimes

I wish I had a sense of patience + direction

I hope that you are accepted

A seemingly endless youth

I hope this is all just a phase

It will go by so fast

girls are just friends

Sometimes being 24 feels a hell a lot like being 20

There is no running away from this

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It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done 16 I haven’t talked to god in months 14 She’s the love of my life I feel like I could write about her forever

12.

Caleigh Wong Sze Ting is a 20-something-year-old writer currently residing in Montreal. She was born and raised in Malaysia, and has been finding her way in Canada since 2011. Caleigh comes from a long bloodline of romantics - this complicated inheritance has been a subject of curiosity and exploration in her writing and life.

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HOW ARE YOU?

你怎样

JENNA LIANG & BIN WEI ​This interview celebrates what our relationship has been able to evolve into, to be able to answer and speak freely of the past and our future, of each other and oneself.

1.

What defines your identity as a mother/daughter?

是什么决定了你作为母亲/女儿的身份？

BW: As soon as a woman has a child, she naturally and unquestionably establishes her identity as a mother. This identity of motherhood is universally known, yet this also does not mean that all women are fit to be mothers or that all women should be mothers. When a woman is not adequately prepared to be a mother, it often leads to problems in society, culturally, and with family.

JL:

Despite being born from her flesh and blood, I've struggled with the perception of myself in relation to my mom and to identify as her daughter. In so many ways, the generational and cultural differences were so vast that I thought that I would never be seen, understood, or even loved when we were going through the hardest moments. The years I spent distancing myself from her warped my sense of self and have become the instances where I've felt truly and deeply alone. I've made choices that have led me to sacrifice parts of myself in exchange for our relationship to heal. As I grow from what, at the time, was forcibly cut off, I've found myself able to truly accept not only her but myself as well. I am proud to be my mother's daughter.

BW:

JL:

2.

当一个女人一但她有了孩子， 她自然而然，毫无疑问地就确定了她作为母亲的身份。 这种母亲的身份具有天然 的正确性。然而这也并不意味着所有的女性都适合做母亲，也不是所有的女性都应该做母亲。因为当一个女性还 没有充分的准备好做母亲，就往往会带来很多教育，家庭等社会问题。 虽然我是她的亲生骨肉，但我一直在挣扎如何看待自己与母亲的关系，如何认同自己是她的女儿。在许多方面， 代沟和文化差异是如此巨大，以至于我认为在我们经历最艰难的时刻，我永远不会被看到、理解或爱。我与她保 持距离的这些年扭曲了我的自我意识，让我感到真正的、深深的孤独。我所做的选择让我牺牲了自己的一部分， 换来了我们关系的愈合。随着我的成长，我意识到我不仅能真正接受她，也能真正接受我自己。作为母亲的女 儿，我深感自豪。 Where do you think the difficulties in our relationship have stemmed from?

你认为我们关系中的困难源于何处？

BW: This is a bit of a harsh question and it's hard to put into words. For me, I started out enjoying both loving and being loved and trying to be as good a mother as I could be. Slowly, I realized that there were many differences between us. I believe that I have the responsibility and obligation to fulfill my daughter's needs which are the things that help her to grow up, to learn, and to live. Of course, I was happy to fulfill some things she wanted within reason. For example,

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she wanted to play video games, clothes, and other fun things. However, her "wants" became most of her needs, and these "wants" were unacceptable to me. As a result, there was a lot of tension and hurt between us, so we spent those years in a balance between love and hurt.

JL:

I don’t want to write too much about this. Our relationship faced a lot of the challenges of many children of first-generation immigrants. To be honest, I posed this question for my mom to be able to speak candidly about her perspective. I/ we are in a place to be able to ask these questions but for much of my young adulthood, I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t answer me.

BW:

JL:

3.

这个问题说起来有点残酷，而且很难说的请楚。对我来说，开始我享受爱与被爱，想尽我可能作一个合格的母 亲。慢慢发现我们之间渐渐出现许多差别。我认为我有责任而且应该满足女儿的：需要 “，所谓需要是有助于她 能键康成长，学习， 生活等事务。 当然也会适当地满足一些她：想要“的。比如：游戏机， 女孩的打扮等等。 然而 事情恰恰相反，她的“ 想要”成了绝大部份，而这些：想要“甚至是我完全不能接受的。结果就是我们之间产 生了巨大的矛盾和伤害。所以在那几年我们是在爱与伤害中渡过的。 我不想就此写太多。我们的关系面临着许多第一代移民子女所面临的挑战。老实说，我提出这个问题是为了让我 妈妈能够坦率地说出她的观点。我/我们处在一个能够提出这些问题的位置上，但在我年轻时的大部分时间里， 我不明白她为什么不能回答我。 If you could do something differently as a mother/daughter, what would it be?

如果你可以在母女关系中做一些不同的事情，你会怎么做

BW: To be honest, I've never really thought about it. Since I only have this one chance in my life to be a mother, I don't have the opportunity to repeat the same failures. When I think about it now, I should have given her more encouragement, praise, trust, and companionship. At the time, I spent most of my time working to make ends meet and I rarely spent time with my daughter. I am ashamed to say that and that I still can't say what she likes to do in her free time.

I've rarely encouraged her which is also a form of hurting her as she’s never gotten affirmation from her mom.

JL:

I wish I was a bit nicer, more patient, kinder, more accepting of her, that I had worked harder in school, be able to help her retire, that I should have chosen to live closer, to help her with errands, to have shared more dinners, to not have hurt her as I have, to take back all the hurtful words, to have not said that I hated her, to be able to say that I love her without choking still, to call her more, spend more time her, travel together, let her experience new things, to take care of her, to not be afraid if the last day we ever spend together passes by.

BW:

JL:

说老实话，我真没想过这个问题。因为我一生只有这一次做母亲的机会，所以我没有机会重复同样的失败。现在 想想，我应该给她多一些鼓励，称赞，信任和陪伴吧。那时为了生活，大部份时间用去工作。很少花时间陪女 儿。说起来很惭愧，至今我都说不出女儿喜欢玩什么。给女儿的鼓励也少的可怜。这对她来说也是一种伤害。不 能得到来自妈妈的肯定。 我希望我对她更好一点，更有耐心，更善良，更能接受她，我希望我在学校里更努力学习，能够帮助她退休，我 希望我应该选择住得更近一点，帮她跑跑腿，多和她共进晚餐，不要像以前那样伤害她，收回所有伤害她的话、

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能不说我恨她，能说我爱她而不哽咽，能给她更多的电话，能花更多的时间陪她，能一起旅行，能让她体验新 的事物，能照顾她，能不害怕我们在一起度过的最后一天。 4.

How will you remember her?

你会如何记住我？

BW: I have always chosen my path in both the past and the future. That is what I have told myself time and time again. Since I make my own choices, I have to do it myself, take responsibility for it, and carry the burden of it myself. No matter what situation I am in, I will never ask anyone for help or to confide in anyone. I will always be the woman who is fragile on the inside but strong on the outside. For my daughter, there is no power that can make me forget her. Every moment, from the time I was conceived to eternity, she is the only person in this world I will never forget.

JL:

She is the woman that has given everything to me. She has moulded me from her body and has carried me in her arms until I could walk. She is the person that would give me her last heartbeat and breath. I will love her until my last step and even further.

BW:

JL:

对我过去已及今后的路，我觉得基本上由自己选择的。所以我一再对自己说既然是自己选择的， 就要自己做， 自己负责， 自己承担。无论处在什么处境，从不向任何人请求帮助，也不向任何人倾诉。永远做一个内心有时 会脆弱但外表永远坚强的女人。对于我的女儿没有任何力量能使我忘记她，每时每刻，从十月怀胎到永远。她是 我在这个世界上唯一永远不能忘记的人。 她为我付出了一切。她用自己的身体塑造了我，把我抱在怀里直到我能走路。她愿意为我付出最后的心跳和呼 吸。我会爱她，直到我走完最后一步，甚至更远。

Jenna Liang was born in Vancouver and currently lives in Montréal as a scientist with a love for the arts. She is the daughter of Bin Wei, a mechanical engineer in Harbin, China who left her career and immigrated for her family to Vancouver in 1996. Together, they enter a new era of their relationship and have plans to enjoy each other’s company for many years to come.

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WHITE RICE AND WANDERLUST TIMMONS WONG ORIGINS There’s a baby in the belly aboard a junk off Kowloon Across, the father, sits smiling in silent swoon

鬼佬), holds parasol in hand

The expecting mother, a gwei·lo (

Seeking refuge from the sun above in this foreign land The father points his lens to capture the scenery This picture, he knows, is of more than the city Rather, his world, their future – our family.

WEST I was made from this east-westerly collision.

A migration physical and mental - a swing from local to foreigner I’m not from here nor there, but feel at home everywhere Like fusion dinners, a smorgasbord of culture Nourishment for the soul and fuel for the wonder EAST When we moved to the Orient, I’d learn of my origins Latitude lines I traced in that green Philip’s Atlas I’d cross coastlines, scale mountains, and take flight in the trade winds Close eyes and imagine far places beyond the pages Now I see tall cedars, snowy peaks, and smell crisp PNW air With appreciation for the moment and an appetite for the future Remember where you came from, but look where you’re going BEARINGS Raised on white rice and wanderlust These staples for me are a must The

饭 for the body

The road for the soul So continue to seek For what exactly I do not yet know

Born to a Scottish-white Canadian mother and a Hokkien-speaking Malaysian father, Timmons is a self-described ‘cultural chameleon’. He enjoys navigating the nuances of food, language, and culture (usually in that order). He’s carved out a life that lets him work remotely to chase waves, seek novelty, and find shared connections in unfamiliar places. When not on the road, he divides his time between the islands of Haida Gwaii and Penang, Malaysia. ​

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METAMORPHOSIS ALEX TRAN

From humble beginnings, an earthbound caterpillar blooms into a beautiful, dazzling moth, capable of flight.

Between those stages, a cocoon, where a dramatic and profound transformation takes place.

Metamorphosis is a miracle of adaptability and resilience.

This project is an homage to my mother’s odyssey. In the chaos of the Vietnam War, her family ushered her, aged 16, onto a fishing boat crowded with strangers. Survival at any cost was the goal. Through the unforgiving seas, she and many other boat people found their way to Pulau Tengah, one of several Malaysian islands that became refugee camps.

Miraculously, her sisters managed to track her down from Canada. She later found her way to Montreal, where she was reunited with her family.

Metamorphosis is a book of paper moths that represents my mother’s harrowing escape from her home. Each moth wing was cut into the shape of a coastline that was part of her journey.

A caterpillar in war-torn Vietnam.

A cocoon on the Pulau Tengah refugee camp.

A moth reunited with her family and ready to start anew in Montreal.

Metamorphosis is a miracle of adaptability and resilience.

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Alex Tran is a Montreal-based visual artist and photographer. After a few years of chasing tropical fish in Panama for his M.Sc. in Biology, he turned to photography to express his curiosity for people and for the natural world. In his personal projects, he explores the confluence of art and science. In his commercial work, his humanistic approach to photography is sought after by clients, who include Amazon, BMO, Etsy, Frank + Oak, le Grand Costumier, le Jardin Botanique de Montréal, McGill University, Services Canada, l’École Nationale de l’Humour, Zara, and varied creatives and entrepreneurs.

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FLOURISHING NEW SPACES: THE INTENTIONALITY OF PAN ASIAN COLLECTIVE SHELLY BAHNG In March 2024, I interviewed two of our new and old

acknowledging colonial histories, including how

members of Pan Asian Collective, a community

some Asian countries have colonized others, as well

project serving the Pan-Asian community in

as organizing group participation in local

Tiohtiá:ke, colonially known as Montreal. I have

mobilization work for Pan-Asians in the city who

been involved with PAC since 2020. In the university

want to be involved in activism. “There seems to

context, I found it limiting that all of the Korean

never be a ‘stop’ in conversations, it is always

community spaces on campus seemed to exist only

continuing without blockage,” she said.

to drink soju together, and were heteronormative

Simultaneously, PAC also focuses on solidarity,

and centred on capitalism. There also seemed to

uplifting each other, and creating fun. Colonial

exist a separation between people who were

histories in the past and present are acknowledged,

international students like me, first generation

but there is a primary focus on building solidarity

immigrants, and Korean-Canadians. One of the

against white supremacy in North America, as well as

reasons I joined PAC, like many others, is that all of

celebrating individuals and the wider community.

our different backgrounds in nationality, ethnicity,

Zoë has witnessed PAC's potential as a warm and

diaspora and immigration histories can exist

wholesome community space since joining the

altogether in a space in solidarity with one another.

group last Fall.

I interviewed Zoe and Lee, wanting to hear about

Leighetta (Lee) Kim (they/them) identifies as a

their varying relationship with PAC and their

mixed Cambodian nonbinary lesbian. We both

diasporic experiences and histories. Over coffee, we

joined PAC around 2020 where we met over Zoom

had a chat. Zoë Sarkar (she/her) identifies as a mixed

long before we met in person. They ordered a flat

Asian cis woman: half Filipino, Indian and Chinese,

white with oat milk. “For me, PAC is a creative outlet

and half French. Zoë had a filtered coffee and met

to explore not only culture and politics, but the

with me at a bustling cafe in the lower plateau. Zoë is

framework of diversity at PAC pushes you to think

a newer member to PAC, having joined in November

about what being Asian means,” Lee started the

of last year. She really enjoys that, as a collective,

conversation off. In mainstream media, when people

PAC has members with diverse backgrounds and

talk about “Asians”, they often mean “East Asians”. At

stories. It is not limited to any individual nationality

Pan Asian Collective, we seek to create a space that

or ethnicity. She often found that she struggled to

recognizes the diversity of Asian experiences,

find her place in other Asian community spaces in

including, but not limited to, Asians from North

Montreal as a mixed Asian person. “At PAC, it’s great

America, Asians who grew up in Asia, mixed-race

that people are gathering not only for their

Asians, LBGTQ2IA+ Asians, first/second/eighth

similarities but also for their differences,” she told

generation Asians, adopted Asians, Asians that have

me, saying that it was nice to see PAC’s inclusivity of

strong ties to their cultural heritage and Asians that,

different ethnicities, histories and identities within

for various reasons, do not. “PAC keeps me wanting

the Asian experience. She also finds it valuable that

to learn about different histories and cultures,” Lee

PAC has a space for political discussions and

continued, “Even when I’m just compiling a playlist

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to turn on in the background during our events, I

space for them in Montreal, and to find like-minded

always try to include songs from different cultures,

people to be in community with.

countries and eras. Often, I see people recognize a song from their home and start to sing along or dance. Sometimes people even come up to me and ask how I know this song from their childhood. I find that when I insert a piece of people’s home in the space, it can become more welcoming and familiar.”

Lee also pointed out that PAC is a unique organization in that it is non-hierarchical. This is not limited to its internal team structure, but also in terms of age differences between members. Most Asian community spaces that Lee and many others have been to, such as cultural centre events and events in Chinatown, have a separation between age groups. Lee described how “the Elders’ table, Adults’ tables and Kids’ table” arrangement limits any communication between the age groups. Because of this, and the hierarchical traditions in the culture, “elders tend not to be open to learning from the young.” Lee found that it’s different at the events at PAC. Everyone is talking to each other because of the circular nature of the space. Those who are older are open to learning from those who are younger, and vice versa. “PAC has also helped me unlearn activist perfectionism because of the way that the collective respects everyone’s varying capacities. There is a lot of pressure that comes with being a community organizer, but I don’t feel that I have to be a figure like an angel or a martyr. I don’t feel that I have to be perfect to be involved in social change.”

“Queerness is the norm in PAC.” Lee pointed out this other way that PAC is unique as an Asian community space: “Although not all of our members or participants are queer,” queerness is talked about and exists in the space naturally. The space itself naturally becomes radical and makes it possible for other radical discussions to be started and flourish out of the space. I am always thinking about the definition of “being Asian” and what it really means.

Pan-Asian people who find themselves countercultural in various ways can find PAC to be a

Pan Asian Collective is a community project serving the Pan-Asian community in Tiohtiá:ke, colonially known as Montreal. PAC aims to fill a gap in the Montreal community by creating a space meant for Pan-Asian support, education and solidarity. We have a mandate that is anti-patriarchal and intersectionally feminist, antiracist, anti-colourist, anti-colonial, anti-ableist, anticlassist, body-positive, queer-positive and trans-positive.

We are not bound by a national identity but rather a common experience that comes with being racialized as Asian and recognize the diversity and multiplicities of the experience and histories of being Asian. The collective started in 2019 by Chris Lau, Yuan Kelly, Lavanya Huria, Serene Mitchell, Amandri Dahanayake, Laura Mota, Rachel Takasaki, and Cynthia Feng. shelly seo bang is a Korean cis queer woman poet, podcaster and community builder based in Tio'Tia: Ke (Montréal). She is committed to exploring togetherness and aloneness. She has been a part of Pan Asian Collective since 2020.

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GRASS TO SNOW VINETHA VELAUTHAM You lick pistachio ice cream under the porch, dry, soul-happy, watching monsoon rain plough soil.

I salivate for a pistachio flavor I have never known.

The year is 1983. You hide inside bunkers from Sinhalese air strikes.

The year is 2013. Terror clutches my chest and crawls up my throat.

You step foot on Western land. Wide-eyed at downtown skyscrapers, you weather your first winter storm.

I am in your boot-clad shoes. How strange it must have been to go from grass to snow.

How brave.

To you, every packaged good is a personal affront. You lecture on microplastics and chemicals, canned jackfruit deemed worse than Cheetos.

I throw my hands up in defeat, chomp on Cheetos at parties and tell my friends of your anachronistic ways.

You crave fresh coconut water straight from palm trees overhead. You claim the air is cleaner, the cows are holier, the weather less mercurial. And I, with an exasperated sigh, tell you the grass is greener across the ocean. But you are tired of shoveling snow. Are tired of stringing together broken English.

I soften.

As we stand by the kitchen counter and steep Ceylon tea, we revisit your sepia memories that seep into my own.

Vinetha is a 20-something year old based in Montreal. She is passionate about understanding the second generation immigrant experience and decolonization, and loves reading and writing about these topics. She is also an avid dancer/choreographer and enjoys different styles, from Indian classical to heels dance and more!

When she’s not penning verses or dancing, you can find her café-hopping for the best matcha in the city.

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