Generations, GenerAsians

GENERATIONS, GENERASIANS STORIES AND LESSONS FROM PARENTS, GRANDPARENTS, OLDER FRIENDS AND FAMILY...

KAYA PRESS PUBLISHING PROJECT - MAY 2020

TABLE OF CONTENTS A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR BY: DERRICK HILLS. . .

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CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS BY: DERRICK HILLS. . . (4)

ANECDOTES BY: DENISE YIM-HILLS. . . (5) GRACE YANG. . . (6) JUDIE YONEKO TASHIRO. . . (12) JULIA MA. . . (13) MEGAN YABUMOTO. . . (15) PC TRINH. . . (16) RYAN YOUNG. . . (17) SHEERA TAMURA. . . (18)

ARTWORKS BY: IVORY FU. . . (22) KATIE QUAN. . . (34) VINCENT HAI TRAN. . . (35)

ESSAYS BY: EDWIN DAGDAGAN. . . (36) EMMA ANDERSON. . . (40) MAITREYEE DHODAPKAR. . . (45) OLIVIA YISU STARK. . . (46)

POEMS BY: CATHERINE YANG. . . (50) CHARLOTTE VO. . . (52) RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG. . . (54) YELLOWGIRLS POETRY. . . (73) YUKINO TORREY. . . (74)

QUOTES BY: KEVIN MAR. . . (75) KIT DEZOLT. . . (76) STEPHANIE AUDREY TOLEDO. . . (77) SYLVIE HANA SHIOSAKI. . . (78) TEPPEI ISHIKAWA. . . (79) TERRY YIM. . . (80)

GENERATIONS, GENERASIANS

A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

A letter from the editor BY: DERRICK HILLS

Hello, everyone! As you may be able to tell from the title of this publication and the above collages (yay for baby photos!), Generations, GenerAsians aims to reach across Asian and Asian American generations, bridging them together by allowing contributors to share something they've learned from those who came before them or pass on to those who come after. While age, culture, and language may be viewed as setting us apart from one another, I believe these differences can still bring us closer together. Gathering so many perspectives and stories has proven just how unique each person's life experience is. But whether the content you encounter here is familiar and relatable or completely new, I hope you are also able to connect with what you've learned (whether it's a funny or sentimental memory, something you're learning now, or even from these pages), and consider which lessons you'd like to share with older and younger generations. Please enjoy the very first edition of this publication...!

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Step 1: Flyer was made!

Step 2: Flyer was shared on social media!

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Anecdote BY: DENISE YIM-HILLS “Japanese, Chinese, dirty knees, look at these!” This chant was said many times accompanied with gestures, stretching the corners of our eyes back with our fingertips, during my childhood in the 1970’s. Although my ethnicities include both of these (Chinese and Japanese), I played along with the other non-Asian kids at my school without thinking about how I was disrespecting myself. Looking back, I sometimes forgot that I was an Asian American because my parents lived mostly as simply Americans. We ate hamburgers, hot dogs, pot roast, steak, spaghetti and other food that was not Asian cuisine, although there were dinners that included chicken teriyaki and duck eggs with ground pork over steamed rice that were not eaten by non-Asian American friends. We celebrated all of the traditional American holidays including Christmas and Halloween. The neighborhood that I grew up in was in San Jose on the east side. Our community was mostly made up of people who were White, Mexican and Black. I had 1 friend who was Japanese American, but this was before many Vietnamese immigrated, so we were the only 2 Asians around that I can remember, so I did not have a strong Asian influence outside of my relatives. My grandparents were all born in the U.S. so they spoke English, but they were bilingual.

I would overhear my maternal grandparents speaking Japanese and my paternal grandparents speaking Cantonese, but I missed out on becoming trilingual. The main memories I have that reminded me of my Chinese background were celebrating Chinese New Year by going out to a restaurant and feasting on 9 dishes such as Peking Duck, steamed fish and noodles for longevity, saying “Gung Hay Fat Choy”, and receiving lei see or red envelopes filled with money. Other memories that reminded me of my Japanese roots also included eating traditional food when we celebrated the New Year and spending time in temples when we attended funerals. I remember the strong smell of the incense, the chanting of the reverend and feeling nervous when I had to take my turn to bow, put a pinch of incense in the bowl and bow again. Now that I am in my fifties, I feel a stronger tie to being Asian and a sense of pride. I appreciate the experiences I had, both positive and negative, and I hope that my sons feel connections to their ethnic backgrounds even though they are only a quarter Chinese and a quarter Japanese. Like my parents and grandparents, I raised my children with the same Asian traditions our families shared. It is important that these traditions are not forgotten.

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Anecdote BY: GRACE YANG

While I've been away at UCLA, the easiest way I stay connected with my parents back home is through text messages. We schedule time for calls every now and then, but it wasn't until I left that my parents started showing more affection towards me. They've always taught me love and humility through their actions, but never explicitly through words. These past four years of college has been peppered with sweet texts from my parents telling me they love and miss me. It always makes my day to receive those messages! Although it was a bit strange at first, I've learned to fully reciprocate these messages of love back to my parents.

Many of my Asian American friends tell me that their parents never say "I love you" and show their love in other ways, but I'm really happy that I receive love both ways!

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Anecdote BY: JUDIE YONEKO TASHIRO

I was born in Topaz, Utah, one of several concentration camps during World War II. By now most people should know the story of AMERICANS of Japanese ancestry who were stripped from their homes and locked up like prisoners of war. Fortunately I was too young to remember much about camp life. My parents never spoke about it so I eventually asked some probing questions to find out what it was like. I didn't learn much but will share the few things I remember that I was told: Wind storms were bad because sand would get blown inside between the cracks in the tarpaper walls. Privacy was limited because four families shared a unit only separated by sheets, blankets, or something like that. Modest people probably would've had a problem there! Dad told me an old, deaf Japanese man was trying to retrieve his dog that had gotten loose.

The armed guards told him to stop but he didn't hear them so they shot him! I don't know what happened to the dog. By the way, the machine gun towers were aimed into the camp, not outside. Those who say we were put there for our own protection might contemplate that. Mom said she tried to make her first apple pie in a wood stove. Guess what the outcome of that was?! Speaking of Mom, she was a great cook! I can't think of anything I didn't like that she made. Japanese, Chinese, American, Italian, etc., dishes as well as desserts. Yummy! I felt accomplished when I was able to roll maki sushi where all the ingredients ended up in the center of the roll under Mom's guidance! Reminiscing about my parents has brought me warmth in my heart because I miss them so very much. Mom lived to 94 and I asked her what advice she would give to live long. She said, "Sing!" She used to sing Japanese songs while laying in bed to put herself to sleep. Mom and Dad would both sing Japanese songs together which was a delight to hear them!

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Anecdote BY: JULIA MA

On Lunar New Year's Eve, Chinese family members gather together to make dumplings and wish prosperity. This year, I wasn't able to meet up with my family to follow this event but instead made dumplings with some friends. We didn't craft the beautiful dumplings that my family typically does and instead experimented - made ravioli and added cheese, panfried the dumplings, folded the dumplings into different shapes, while shooting the shit and having conversations about our lives, our futures, and other ardent discussions. This reminded me of a very prominent theme in Asian Americans' lives. For Asian Americans split between the side of family traditions dating back centuries, and the glitz and glamour of modern America, it's crucial to marry the two together and be able to share ideas on culture, experiences, and empathize with one another.

Although the dumplings weren't the most delicious, eating them was definitely... fulfilling, if that's a good word hahaha.

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Anecdote BY: MEGAN YABUMOTO

My grandparents, much more than my own parents, valued having a clean room more than anything else. Every single time my grandma or grandpa visited, they would do a full-on inspection of mine and my siblings' rooms. My grandma was not afraid to comment on anything she found and ranked us based on how clean the rooms were. I have a feeling that it might be because my grandparents were raised in poverty and had substantially fewer belongings than I possess today. I always felt so insulted when my grandma would sift through my room, but I get why it was so important to her that my room was spotless. She wanted me to have a clean room to not distract me from my studies. Ironically, now I clean whenever I am trying to escape from my studies.

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Anecdote BY: PC TRINH

I never really realized how many superstitions I was taught when I was a kid until now when I look back at it lol. Back when I was a kid in Vietnam, my family lived near a river. That river kinda had a bad reputation because often there would be corpses of people who drowned that got washed to the shore. Every time that happened, the whole neighborhood would get all rowdy, and everyone would get curious and go to see the corpses. But my nanny would never even let me leave the house to go see. She would tell me that if that corpse's eyes were open, and you happen to make eye-contact with it, then the ghost will latch onto you if your soul "matches" with that soul, and it would try to take over your body so it can be with the living again. Especially when you're still just a kid, 'cuz apparently your soul isn't strong enough to fight it.

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Anecdote BY: RYAN YOUNG

My grandma is a bit of a hypochondriac and I can share many a story about herbal medicines she used to give me, haha. I once coughed in her home and she gave me some Chinese herbal medicine that was supposed to help with coughs. She gave it to me and my brother even though he was fine! We distinctly remember this memory and it might be one of my earliest memories because it felt like we were just straight chewing on thick pieces of bark. Whether it would help the cough or not, we weren't sure because we started complaining pretty quickly and she let us discard the herb/tree thing. My brother and I have since suspected that she simply walked into the backyard and ripped some bark off of the tree to give to us.

♂ We don't know though... Just the unique

memories we hold onto for some reason y' know? đ&#x;˜›

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Anecdote BY: SHEERA TAMURA

My mother always made it a point to instill the moral of "Give more than you take". As a second generation adoptee, I often reflect upon how lucky I am to have been granted the gift of growing up within a safe and loving Japanese American family. As a child, I was very unaware of the unconditional love that my family had provided for me as I mostly took everything for granted. However, as I grew older and started listening to stories of my grandparents, I realized that it is because of their sacrifices that I am allowed to be living the fulfilled life that I have now.

My grandfather immigrated from Okayama, Japan to the island of Kaua'i when he was only a little boy. He had 8 brothers and although he was the youngest, he had to grow up the quickest in order to help my great-grandfather's boating business. Prior to immigrating, my grandfather could not speak nor could he understand the English language. Therefore, he was forced to study very hard while constantly working to support our family. Despite the many hardships my grandpa faced, he always persisted and he always wore a smile on his face.

Although this is only one story of my grandpa, I am constantly inspired by his compassion towards others throughout all of the difficulties and adversities he faced while trying to adjust to American life and culture.

From listening and reflecting upon the experiences of my grandparents, I have come to appreciate the hard work and sacrifices that my family has made in order to provide me with the best life possible. It is for that reason that I aspire to "Give more than I take" while practicing the same level of compassion that my grandpa shared with the people that he touched throughout his 100-year-old life. おかげさまで, おじいさん. I am who I am because of you, Grandpa.

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Artwork BY: IVORY FU

"I'm Ivory, a junior at Yale. My work (11 pages, comic-style) grapples with plasticity, heritage and Asian appearance / identity with a bit of Jorge Luis Borges sprinkled in."

-Ivory Fu, Art & Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology, Yale College Class of 2021

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Artwork BY: KATIE QUAN

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Artwork BY: VINCENT HAI TRAN

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Essay "CULTURE VULTURES" BY: EDWIN DAGDAGAN My cousin Liana’s newborn child caused a rift between my father and me; it was clear in the arguments that erupted.

“She’s my first cousin’s kid,” I told my father. “That makes her my first cousin once removed.”

“No, she’s not! She’s your niece!” my father yelled back, defensive, as if I was trying to offend him. “There’s no such thing as once removed and twice removed in the Philippines! You’re a Filipino, be proud of your heritage."

The first generation of American-born Gen-Z’ers are faced with a dilemma: being born in this country yet having to accept the unfamiliar heritage of their parents.

Every day, children and parents argue over how to peacefully live very different social walks of life. I support that it is more beneficial for first generation Americans to value their nationality rather than their ethnicity.

Pride in one’s heritage is rooted in psychology and primitive instincts rather than reasoning and logic. A connection from our social groups of origin stem from evolution, along with the need to form inclusive groups for security and membership.

This type of group membership mentality leads to the justification for stereotyping and xenophobia of other groups (Smith 752-3). Because social grouping is so hardwired into our brains from biology, it makes it difficult for us to truly know why we hold the customs of a country so close to our self-identity. By acting out of group mentality, we are blindly setting rules and standards for ourselves and others without justifying the purpose. This is the cause of our problem: immigrant parents’ inability to accept American society as part of their family’s group identity.

It’s intuitive that parents only want what’s best for their children; however the benefits that immigrant children receive from adopting American values are not just rhetorical. A study from The Journal of Comparative American Family Studies found that “immigrant parents… , as a result of exposure to the host culture, … were changing their childrearing practices to give their children more choices, take their opinions more seriously, and overall allow children more freedom and power in the

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family” (Nesteruk and Marks 821). Although the interviews focused on immigrants from Eastern Europe, the study found the same results when compared to all other ethnic groups. Additionally, the study found that the children of third generation American parents had more self esteem than their predecessors (Nesteruk and Marks 812). Children coming from healthier, more egalitarian households leads to...more capable members for society. It is clear that more democratic values in the family unit are superior to the old world model of subservient children.

A common misconception is that having too much pride in your country could lead to harmful nationalist sentiments. Like the dictatorships of Germany and Italy in the 1940’s, countries with too much national pride could become fascist, land-grabbing empires. Surveys have shown that the level of the citizens’ pride in their country directly correlated to countries with higher GDPs and lower crime rates (de las Casas 53-5). The benefits of raising citizens who are proud of their country of birth— and not their ethnicity—are really quite impressive. De las Casas goes on to differentiate that extreme nationalist governments arose rarely only when the pride in the country was more valued than the virtue of life, or in already militaristic countries (56). In fact, it was the power of nationalism that proud, ethical countries like England and the U.S. toppled these dictatorships. If immigrants welcomely accepted this country’s values, intuitively it makes sense that it would produce a stronger nation.

A common objection is that cultural tradition is valued and important to society.

Parents coming to America would most likely say that passing down their heritage from generation to generation is “valuable” and keeps it alive. However, it’s pointless to try to pass down these traditions if each new generation won’t bother with it anyway. A study of cultural heritage by Johan Josefsson and Inga-Lill Aronsson found that only a quarter of people relate a historical connection to culture, and only 37% find an immaterial and material quality to cultural heritage (5). It’s pointless to try to pass traditions down generation to generation since their children won’t pass it down to their kids. The parents’ effort spent trying to argue and scold their kids could be more productive with conversations about education, relationships, or life-planning.

There is a glaring flaw in the logic of choosing to raise your family in this country rather than another. America gets thousands of immigrants because they believe this county superior to their home country. The argument is simple: those who chose to bring their families here made that choice because this country and its EDWIN DAGDAGAN | 37

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lifestyle is better than other choices. The United States ranked among the safest and wealthiest countries in de las Casas’s poll (53-5). If the country of origin has a better environment and opportunities, then why leave it for the U.S.? The push-pull factors historically have been the cause of poor governments that...... didn’t properly oversee its people. Political negligence caused the lack of relief for the Irish in the Great Potato Famine, and, more recently, the lack of protection for Syrian citizens that were displaced by war. It would make sense for a citizen to be proud of her country because the government gives her reasons to; if she was not born in the same country as her parents, what reason does she have to be proud of it?

Nobody chooses where they are born; that’s why it is only logical for first generation Americans to adopt the culture of the country they were born in. For instance, many Middle-Eastern immigrants come from a country where marriage and relationships are arranged and done for logistical reasons like property or religion rather than for love and happiness. Parents coming to this country attempting to raise their children with old world cultural ideals find their efforts hard pressed among the bikini-clad and 24-hour, HBO streaming land of the free. It just doesn’t make any sense to decide to raise your family in one country, yet bring the traditions of another when they’re likely incompatible. Imposing sets of beliefs that are incongruent with our society creates confusion and conflict in the family unit.

Others may say that it is important to use culture as a tool to build foreign communities in the U.S. and to assist the process of integrating here. As mentioned earlier, many ethnic cultures of these children conflict with their nationality. Take University of California at Irvine freshman Wasay Warsi, for example; a Pakistaniborn, naturalized U.S. citizen. Wasay was raised with devout Muslim parents, whose marriage was arranged. Throughout high school, Wasay was pressured into only being able to form relationships with other Muslims, much to his dismay. During school dances Wasay felt that “it was easier just to not argue that all my friends had interracial relationships and go alone.” Parents (especially religious ones) may not offer logical reasons for their restrictions other than accepting their commands because we are their subordinates. During a Skype interview, Wasay, sounding fearful of his future, says,“I’m afraid of telling my parents about who I’m going to marry, they seriously might disown me.” There are probably many stories of cultural beliefs leading to conflicts in this country like Wasay; these pointless squabbles lead to unnecessary stress for families in our society.

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Nobody chooses where they are born; that’s why it is only logical for first generation Americans to adopt the culture of the country they were born in. For instance, many Middle-Eastern immigrants come from a country where marriage and relationships are arranged and done for logistical reasons like property or religion rather than for love and happiness. Parents coming to this country attempting to raise their children with old world cultural ideals find their efforts hard pressed among the bikini-clad and 24-hour, HBO streaming land of the free. It just doesn’t make any sense to decide to raise your family in one country, yet bring the traditions of another when they’re likely incompatible. Imposing sets of beliefs that are incongruent with our society creates confusion and conflict in the family unit.

Others may say that it is important to use culture as a tool to build foreign communities in the U.S. and to assist the process of integrating here. As mentioned earlier, many ethnic cultures of these children conflict with their nationality. Take University of California at Irvine freshman Wasay Warsi, for example; a Pakistaniborn, naturalized U.S. citizen. Wasay was raised with devout Muslim parents, whose marriage was arranged. Throughout high school, Wasay was pressured into only being able to form relationships with other Muslims, much to his dismay. During school dances Wasay felt that “it was easier just to not argue that all my friends had interracial relationships and go alone.” Parents (especially religious ones) may not offer logical reasons for their restrictions other than accepting their commands because we are their subordinates. During a Skype interview, Wasay, sounding fearful of his future, says,“I’m afraid of telling my parents about who I’m going to marry, they seriously might disown me.” There are probably many stories of cultural beliefs leading to conflicts in this country like Wasay; these pointless squabbles lead to unnecessary stress for families in our society.

For first generation Americans there are two sets of beliefs that conflict: this country’s and their parents’. Compared to other countries, the United States is a heterogenous mixture of diverse races. When immigrants come here, there is no reason to create an “us vs. them” mentality. Coming to this country is enough to partake in our capitalistic economy and education system. First generation Americans are represented in our republic; this group of citizens has existed in this country since its creation, and there will always be those trying to acculturate into this society.

Through the examination of case studies as well as the application of common sense, it is evident that we would benefit together as a nation to settle our differences with each other.

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Essay "LEARNING TO LOVE MY IDENTITY" BY: EMMA ANDERSON

OKINAWAN

My kutu sensei Katsuko Teruya taught me to embrace my Okinawan heritage. When I was younger, I identified as Japanese instead of Okinawan. One reason being that a Japanese identity was easier to explain, especially to non-Asians who aren't always familiar with Okinawa. Growing up, I hadn't noticed much difference between the two cultures. We both celebrated New Years with kagami mochi, we both danced odori come summertime, and we both ate spam musubi between basketball practice. It wasn't until high school when I started kutu lessons with Sensei that I started to appreciate Okinawa’s unique culture.

During our first lesson, Sensei explained the difference between two seemingly identical instruments: the Japanese koto and the Okinawan kutu.

The instruments match each other in their six-foot length, wooden body, and thirteen strings. Appearance itself shows no difference. Only when Sensei waved her hand over the strings, gliding her fingerpicks through each harp-like note, was I able to hear the kutu’s unique voice. While a koto’s sound is high and bright, a kutu projects darker tones through lower octaves. This deep tuning effect defines a kutu and gives the instrument its Okinawan identity.

Subsequent lessons from Sensei helped me realize my own Okinawan identity. Our kutu repertoire consisted of Okinawan folk music like Asadoya Yunta” and “Tinsagu nu Hana.” Many of these songs follow a special 8-8-8-6 note structure known as ryūka. Ryūka originated in the 17th century as a popular form of Ryukyuan music and poetry. When Japan annexed the Ryukyu Kingdom in the late 1800’s, Ryukyuan tradition was repressed, threatening the disappearance of ryuka for future EMMA ANDERSON | 40

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generations. Sensei reminded me that when I, a fifth-generation Okinawan American, play this music, I am preserving the histories of the Ryukyuan people who fought to keep these songs alive.

Through Sensei’s teachings I developed a new sense of Okinawan pride. Like the distinction between the koto and kutu, I started to recognize nuances in my own life that marked my Okinawan roots. The three-stringed banjo made of snake-skin called sanshin that decorated my grandmother’s bookshelf. The sata-andagi doughnuts, its fluffy interior speckled with orange zest, which my aunties deep fried and served only on special occasions. The one-year-old birthday celebration for me and my younger brother known as tanka-yu-eh, where we were encouraged to choose from an array of household items (such as an abacus, money, rice, or book) whose selection was said to predict our futures. Each of these artifacts reflected my Okinawan upbringing. But it wasn’t until Sensei encouraged me to look beyond the surface and listen that I was able to recognize this important part of my identity.

I am a proud Okinawan American, and I thank my Sensei every day for teaching me why.

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Essay BY: MAITREYEE DHODAPKAR

When I was a kid my dad told me a story about a snake who had a bad temper and would bite anyone that came close. But one day a sage was visiting the village where the snake was and heard from the locals how this snake was causing a lot of trouble for them. So, the sage decided to talk to the snake.

He told the snake to renounce the path of violence and to stop biting the villagers. So, the snake decided that he will not bite anyone no matter what.

Eventually, the villagers realized the snake was not harming anyone and so a few bad villagers took advantage of this and started throwing rocks at the snake. The poor snake took all of it and never bit them because of the promise he made to the sage.

One day the sage came back to check up on the snake and he was shocked to see the snake all bruised up and weak. He asked what happens and the snake said how he took the path of nonviolence and how the villagers were hurting him. The sage then said that he told him not to bite anyone but never told him not to hiss.

In short, the moral of the story is that we must learn to stand up for ourselves without violence. It is also important to remember that we should always be kind to others but to not let people take advantage of us.

Growing up it was really hard for me to stand up for myself and I thought about this story my Dad had shared with me and then I started realizing that people will treat me the way I allow them too. So, I was not going to let people take advantage of me just because I am nice. Eventually, I got better at standing up for myself and this short story my Dad shared with me is something I would share with not just people younger than me but also my age or older. I think it is an important life lesson and it shows who you are as a person when you decide not to let anger consume you. I believe that there is always a better way of handling negative situations and you will come out of the situation stronger than before.

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Essay "CHRISTMAS FOOD" BY: OLIVIA YISU STARK One dish that serves as an important ritual in my family are my Auntie

Min’s Christmas potstickers. Potstickers are crescent-shaped dumplings filled with a mixture of pork and vegetables, wrapped in a dumpling skin. For as long as I can remember, my family has eaten these for every special occasion that we get to see Auntie Min, which usually happens to be Christmas. These dumplings serve not only as a yummy annual treat for my family, but also as a ritual of communication and bonding that bridges gaps between different family members, whether those gaps be created by time, distance, generation, or language barriers.

For my family, potstickers are a Christmas food, but sometimes we eat them on other special occasions as well. Auntie Min works in a garment factory in San Diego where there are very strict rules about days off. She usually does not have any days off except for major holidays, such as Christmas. No one in the family knows how to make potstickers without Auntie Min’s help and expertise, so we all must wait until she is available to visit us on Christmas. Sometimes we eat potstickers on other holidays as well. For example, this past year, Auntie Min’s boss was mad that she had used too many sick days throughout the year and told her to make up for it she would have to work on Christmas Eve. This meant she would not have time to come to our home in Los Angeles for Christmas to make the dumplings, so she planned in advance to come for Thanksgiving instead. Some years it is Christmas, some it is Thanksgiving, and some it is Lunar New Year. To my family, the reason for celebration serves merely as an excuse to all spend time together and most importantly, to eat dumplings.

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We make these potstickers at my house in Los Angeles, but Auntie Min brings all the ingredients with her from San Diego. As noted in the Epicurious recipe attached at the end of this paper, dumpling skins are not always sold at all American supermarkets, but they are sold at all Asian markets . My family buys them at an Asian market called the 99 Ranch Market, but everyone in my family just refers to this market as “Ranch 99”. This is where we buy all our favorite Chinese ingredients, including the potsticker ingredients when Auntie Min runs out, or did not bring the correct ratio of skins to filling. Auntie Min brings the dumpling filling pre-made using ground pork from Ranch 99 and vegetables. No one besides Auntie Min is quite sure what specifically goes into the filling of these dumplings, andunfortunately Auntie Min does not speak English and cannot tell us the ingredients. However, when we ask her bilingual husband, Uncle Hoy, he says the filling is always made from the ground pork mixed with many different vegetables Auntie Min grows in her garden, including cabbage, chives, and water chestnuts. It is different each year, depending on what she was able to grow in her garden, and therefore each dumpling is uniquely delicious and never quite the same as the previous year. The Epicurious recipe attached at the end of this paper is the closest I could find online, but not nearly as complex as the mixture of flavors Auntie Min uses in her dumpling filling.

In preparing the potstickers, Auntie Min sets up a large bowl of filling with many teaspoons, plus an open stack of dumpling skins and sets them on the table along with a small bowl of water. When she is ready to begin assembling the dumplings, she informs Uncle Hoy, and Uncle Hoy calls out for everyone to join Auntie Min in the kitchen. From here, my parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, sister, and I all come and assembles the dumplings. We must take a skin, dab the edge of it with water using our fingers, then scoop a heaping teaspoon of filling, which Auntie Min must approve with a gentle nod indicating if it is too much or too little filling. Then we fold the dumpling into a sort of crescent shape and carefully create folds to bring together the edges by tucking each fold under the last. We repeat this until we have hundreds of dumplings. Lastly, Uncle Hoy cooks all the dumplings by frying them in oil and OLIVIA YISU STARK | 47

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then steaming them for a bit afterwards to create a balance of crispiness and softness.

The potstickers look like bulbous crescent shapes. The skin is just translucent enough that you can see through what the color of the filling is inside, but cannot see what it is. A perfect potsticker will have even folds all across the top, but no one in my family is skilled enough to achieve this except for Auntie Min. My younger cousin and sister’s dumplings are usually so poorly assembled that they often fall apart once Uncle Hoy tries to cook them on the frying pan. Everyone starts grabbing the dumplings the minute Uncle Hoy scoops them off the frying pan and onto a platter. No one is first or last to be served, as it is more of a free for all and barely even considered a meal time, but more of a snacking session. Auntie Min, however, never eats the dumplings that Uncle Hoy places on the platter untileveryone else has eaten and is full. Auntie Min eats the dumplings that Ava and Emiko made that have fallen apart in the pan before Uncle Hoy has a chance to add them to the platter. They are too imperfect to serve, but she does not want them to go to waste.

Each potsticker is absolutely delicious, but for my family, these potstickers serve as much more than just a delicious mouthful, they also serve as a form of familial connection. Auntie Min does not speak any English, and my sister, cousin, and I do not speak any Cantonese. It is difficult to find ways to form close relationships with family members when both distance and a language barrier stand in the way. However, it has always been very important to Auntie Min to be close to the family, especially the children. So, she figured out a way to spend quality time with us that does not require verbal communication, but instead requires helpful hands, a willingness to learn, and a big appetite.

Although I have never been able to verbally communicate verbally communicate with Auntie Min, I feel like I know her very well through our potsticker making sessions.I know that she has a sense of humor, as she does not hesitate to point and laugh at me or other family members when we make OLIVIA YISU STARK | 48

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an especially ugly dumpling. I also know that she has a saintly amount of patience, as she began teaching me and my sister how to make dumplings since we were very young and difficult children. I know that she is a perfectionist, by the way she never lets an imperfect dumpling onto the platter to be served to the whole family, but I also know how frugal and resourceful she is as she, herself, eats the imperfect dumplings, as not to let them go to waste. Lastly, I know how loyal she is and dedicated to our family, because as long as I can remember, she has never missed a year visiting us and making potstickers, even if she could not make it for Christmas.

Every family has special foods that they get to eat only on certain occasions. Sometimes it is something decadent, delicious, and expensive, like a turkey, lobster, or filet mignon. However, it may also be any ordinary food so long as it carries meaning to that family. For my family, potstickers symbolize reunification of family after a year spent apart. They also symbolize the dedication we all have to making time for each other throughout our busy lives. They fill our hungry bellies, but they also nurture our bonds, strengthen our familyties, and introduce us to sides of our family members that we otherwise do not have access to. While potstickers are a fairly ordinary Chinese food and my family has the option of ordering potstickers from any Chinese restaurant whenever we want, we never do, because they never come with quite the same sentimental value as the ones we make ourselves with Auntie Min, not to mention they lack the fresh garden vegetables that make Auntie Min’s potstickers truly extraordinary. However, to us, potstickers are reserved for very special occasions, and this is because while they are a delicious snack, they also hold much more meaning in our family.

OLIVIA YISU STARK | 49

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Poem "ALWAYS KNEW" BY: CATHERINE YANG

I always knew I would be a doctor Since Baba was a surgeon And Mama was an internal medicine doctor I didn’t think I could do anything else My husband wants to move to the United States He was accepted into a PhD program In Iowa?

I’ve never heard of Iowa, only New York and California I don’t want to go I’ve just graduated from medical school I’m finally a resident, treating patients every day This is what I’ve wanted since I was a little girl I’m 27 years old now I feel safe here, secure in my work and in myself I don’t want to go I had to go with him Out of love or obligation, or both?

It’s not a good idea to separate for a long time I’m surprised We thought everyone had air conditioning here We thought people were rich here, that they live a better life I don’t know where we get these ideas We’re surprised that America has peanuts and sweet potatoes too I had to stay home for a year to study English I had to take the TOEFL before I could apply for graduate school I’m earning my master’s in Nutrition CATHERINE YANG | 50

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There’s no medical school at Iowa State Nutrition is the closest they have Day by day, month by month, we do whatever we can do here I have to take my baby back home She won’t stop crying at daycare And medical school is expensive here And I’m having another baby I was 20 years old when I first heard my mother’s story Halfway through college myself Halfway to medical school myself Sometimes my mother tells me You’ll make a lot of money as a doctor It’ll be fun It’s a good job for a girl You’ll be a good doctor Sometimes she tells me It doesn’t matter if you like it or not If you’re happy or not As long as you get it done

CATHERINE YANG | 51

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Poem "19+2" BY: CHARLOTTE VO

Spoonfuls of sticky sweet white condensed milk I patiently watch the nectar flow into the cold silver and lick Only as tall as your ribcage, I looked up to you with hopes that the next dosage of sweetness would come and I learned some of life’s simple pleasures Small pools of fermented liquid gold and maybe red thick too I shut my eyes in the dark and cold, and hide We often played a one-sided game of hide and seek; My small body fit into the crevice of my favorite hiding spot Comforted by the closeness of the walls, soft piles of laundry burying me CRACK and the coconut spills the efforts of love You always liked to show off that you’re still strong (despite it all - the cancer, the alcohol, the smoking) And I believe(d) it CRACK and the shattered clear and green glass make mosaics on the floor You always had to show off that you’re always right (despite being wrong - against family, friends, girlfriends) And I had to believe it CHARLOTTE VO | 52

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I’m taller now; plumper too. Maybe I don’t look up so much anymore I still love coconut, condensed milk, and clean laundry even though I’m 21 now; wiser too. Things don’t seem so scary anymore even though it’s been two years without you When I miss you: I imagine your silly monkey ears and your goofy denturesFrom years of chain-smoking the smell is almost comforting to me because it’s youI hear your incomprehensible slurring and the stifling stenchFrom years of drinking your body is almost unrecognizable to me but it’s youI remember the emaciated flesh and perpetual confusionI remember the melodic strumming of your guitar and your terribly infectious, joyous singingI remember pain and I remember joyFor better or for worse, you taught me everything I know and everything I amAnd I’ll always remember all of you, Dad

CHARLOTTE VO | 53

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Poem

"鄧珠清 TANG CHU CHING

婆婆 POR-POR" BY: RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG

Leung Rachel Ka Yin is a student at the University of Oxford from the city of Hong Kong. Her work has been awarded or recognized in the Proverse Poetry Prize, Oxford Brookes International Poetry Competition, Out-Spoken Poetry Prize; and has been published in ASH, Cherwell, ORB, Cha, Hong Kong Free Press, HK01 and The Mekong Review, among others. Her debut poetry pamphlet was published with the Hedgehog Poetry Press in March 2020. She formerly held the positions of Online Fiction Director of the Isis Magazine, Poetry Reader at The Adroit Journal and Poetry Editor at Figure of Speech, TRACK//FOUR and Sandpiper. Her work can be found on her website rachelkayin.com and at instagram.com/rachelkayin.

Tang was born in 1936, in a small farming village of Doumen District, Zhuhai in Guangdong Province, China. Born to a family of farmers, Tang was the third child and only girl in a family of four children. Tang had a relatively happy childhood, though poor, with a father who doted on her and was ahead of his times in recognizing daughters as equals to sons.

They were largely unaffected by the Cultural Revolution as they were of the working class, but there were certain unfortunate events such as the accidental death of her sister at a very young age. At around 20, Tang left the village to go to nearby Hong Kong, eventually settling in the city and marrying a sailor, who was not as lucky as her, and had a tragic childhood. Tang has three daughters and a son, who gave her four grandchildren. Tang now lives with two of her daughters and grandchildren.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 54

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my lover was a sailor boy and when he would come back to me smelling of brine and sea legs, his touch yawn and yearn to rock my unfurling bridal joyi learnt the sprawling vastness of the heart the one that clings to pining skeletons, bathes the high days between rain. absence is the thing that catches in the netting. the thing that is slippery and breathing, alive with undressed wait. the thing that punctuates our children, blooms giddy every season and season again and againyes, bold for love’s shivering, love’s tossing in glassy droplet, gleaned dry of the ocean’s light, RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 55

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i resolve to the daily wake, to high tide in empty bed, knowing my lover leans in for a bent kiss on the cusp of land and fluttering sea.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 56

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wee darling wee darling, that strangled night when the moth-black rained with hushed men-shouts, and high-strung the lightning roughed our little mud-hut, you, wee thing, how you slept whilst creatures rang whinnying in the hollow-weather, when mid-harvest our little boat flipped like a fish-wish in the storm-wash eve so ma upped-and-went in the slurry after pa, leaving us a flurry-bleed of slum-thunder. was just us, wee one, you and me- you snug as a bug to the moon-curve of my small girl-spine (ma left strapped you on white ’n tight) and all night round-and-round the wet cement dark echoed like our upside-down boat deep in the belly of the lake; us bottomed in the twilit-pour diving for stretched-hours until quietly and RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 57

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indiscriminately your morning-sleep seeped into mine sister-body. babe, oh my wee babe, then your milk-breath sift waning to my bone-shoulders, time yet tarried skittish as lung-sacs in that crack o’ dawn, and when raged tempest last broke with soft-sun i swear your feathery child-soul too broke flying through the glassless window, like a chick-bird into the still-dripping blue. as if strange, strange, strange the thundershower milked you of all rousing; so when ma came back, she sat, howled, and it rained some more.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 58

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tears there are some times i remember to look at your face and am reminded of scissors. your face in the dust-dance film house that cloth-shroud of sorrow eyes sunken into wells marred by feature-length Cantonese tragedy.

可憐。天下。⽗⺟。⼼ over and over, the same perforation: woeful are the hearts of all fathers & mothers beneath the heavens. and tears come as a flurry of knives and tears come as a flurry of knives.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 59

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爹 deh i.

that yellow morning i was delivered, to you, to your arms, you pitied all the daughterless men. the ones at the gambling house, cigarette-stained and roughened, saying “daughters slender as rice stalks are no use in the fields.” them paupers like you had mouths to feed, crying, sucking, screaming mouths that would better not be a waste of good rice. but after two sons, that one yellow morning, you pitied all the daughterless men as you held my tiny creature body to the hollow of your neck. you had lost the wager, at the gambling house that yellow morning, not a penny leftso rocking me in my cloth swaddle you gave me my name: “clear pearl”*, which in your heavy farmer’s accent sounded like “lose-it-all”*. “men with daughters have used up RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 60

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all their bad luck!” howled the daughterless men at your gambling house. bet they didn’t know that the cry of a daughter is different from the cry of a son. the cry of a daughter thaws, and fills; so it was instinctive that come harvest, full bushels of grain and gourds and whatever you did not gamble away were traded in the market next-town for a pot of rouge & a jar of powder so a child might giggle to her painted girlish face in the one cracked mirror of a bare-bones house. you even insisted that i have shoes(many girls didn’t)so i could join the Republicans’ scout troops, which later became the Communists’ marching band. but alas, even then a poor man (with a daughter) is a poor man is poor. so when instead of marrying a farmer who promised fifty cows RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 61

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your daughter decided to leave the village for Britain’s shining crown colony; you went down (that one yellow morning) to the gambling house and won fifty cows’ worth of money from all the daughterless men you pitied. ii. i won fifty cows’ worth of money from the men at the gambling house that one yellow morning you decided to leave this slow place for Hong Kong. you, eschewing marriage to the man who promised fifty cows; me, a poor man, a poor man who has but only one daughter. i remember how the Communists’ marching band used to be the Republicans’ scout troops; how i insisted you have shoes RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 62

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so you could join(many girls couldn’t)and how you, my child, sat in our bare-bones house with the one cracked mirror giggling to your girlish face, painted with the rouge and powder i bartered for in the market next-town with that harvest’s bushels, grains and gourds, and whatever i hadn’t gambled away. it’s instinctive: the cry of a daughter is different from the cry of a son. the cry of a daughter thaws, and fillsthey didn’t have the pleasure of knowing that, i bet, all them daughterless men at my gambling house, howling “men with daughters have used up all their bad luck!”

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 63

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all their bad luck!” darling, do you know why i named you “clear pearl”*? your mother said it sounded like when i told her i had “lost-it-all”*, all my money’s worth at the gambling house gone that yellow morning i rocked you in your cloth swaddle, but as i held the world in your tiny creature body to the hollow of my neck, i pitied all the daughterless men, darling, i pitied them. for them paupers too had mouths to feed, crying, sucking, screaming mouths; and two sons later i can tell you that daughters are not a waste of good rice and no, i could not bear to have you, frail as a rice stalk, work a day in the field. so when you were delivered, to me, to my arms; RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 64

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i pitied all the daughterless men at the gambling house, cigarette-stained and roughened. for they will never hear the coo of a daughter’s call, the dove-murmur that delivered me to you that one yellow morning. *“clear pearl” = 珠清 *“lose-it-all”/ “lost-it-all” = 輸清

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 65

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Poem "YANG CHANG MAN 卓春梅" BY: RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG

Yang Chang Man 卓春梅 Yang was born in 1944 to a Malaysian Chinese family, in a village in Malaysia. Yang spent her childhood in Malaysia, but her family eventually moved to Singapore, where she was formally educated. Yang attended Chinese schools, and went on to study Biology at Nanyang University.

After graduating, she worked as a teacher before signing up with the University of Singapore’s Zoology Department in 1966 to complete a Diploma in Fisheries. She then worked at the Regional Marine Biological Centre. In 1972 she got an MSc degree for her study of the copepods of Singapore’s waters. She was then appointed Curator at the Department of Zoology, which would soon take over the Raffles Collection. With her scientific training as a marine biologist, she took on the mammoth task of caring for the 130,000 specimens as they were shuffled from one temporary home to the next before the opening of Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum in 2015. Yang remained curator of the Raffles Collection until her retirement in 2004. She has since been inducted into the Singapore Women’s Hall of Fame for her work in conservation.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 66

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noah’s wife after the men had sought out two of every animal herded them, male and female, on board the ill-festooned bastionthat insurmountable eyesoreshe found herself at once put to work, conferred stewardship of exotic beasts, guardian of a vast menagerie. creatures, skittish in their skins, bones restless as children lay stacked in coffin-crates, this cramped refuge from all the rain. under the zinc roofs, low and rough, she tended on them day and night kept them cool and dry, pestless with fumes of poison, which soon ravaged her blood. a tireless wench. adrift with the fishes in her own sea of formaline and alcohol. the men were off doing things of “more importance”, running the ark, keeping them afloat, the fate of the animals on board with them RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 67

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Poem

POEMS

嫲嫲

"LI WAI PING MAH-MAH BY: RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG

李惠萍 Li Wai Ping 嫲嫲 mah-mah Li was born in 1947 in Hong Kong. Her mother was her father’s second wife, and Li has half-brothers in China (from her father’s previous marriage) whom she has never met. Li’s parents were factory workers, and worked long hours each day. Her father died when she was around 7, and Li’s mother had to work even harder to provide for her and her young brother. Li’s family was very poor, and she was never formally educated. She spent her childhood doing a variety of odd jobs for food: from babysitting, to picking through the trash for resellable items. Li married very early at 17 and became a housewife.

She has two children and five grandchildren.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 68

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plums: lei zi i. every summer you spend eyeing the plums in their blood-jewel skins. those turgid bruise blooms in faded plastic colanders. mounds of cold flesh, a stretched fist around a singular stone. you had a father who died young, gave you a single syllable: your surname bearing namesake fruit. in the bottomless night you dream of sinking your teeth into them. at ten cents a piece, that’s a day’s worth of hunger.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 69

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long forgotten, all one hundred and thirty thousand of them tacked up squalid, with spools and spools of red tape midst the deluge. at night she lies awake, asks God why, asks God how, and would the waters ever recede. despite her best efforts, some of the wild things begin to rot, latched onto by drivels of hopelessness. the smell of carcass clings to her clothes, a sick souvenir. grit kept her going, for sixteen years plucky as the backbone of a whale. more than once the men contemplate slinging them overboard, asks the women to follow. angered, she appeals to God for reprieve, finds in herself the matriarchal insistence to keep them on board, every critter and brute preserved for the children of her children.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 70

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in time, the seafarers dock on a mountain, far from where they boarded.

Noah emerges onto dry ground, declares himself God’s loyal Servant, his men Faithful Keepers of the Animals. wistfully she yields her load to the land. it would be years before we learn her name.

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 71

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ii. chinese sayings tell you that pearls are meant to be cupped in the palm of the father but you are the daughter of a widowed second wife, a rough pit that snags, knifes the fist that hides it. so although you are the couer de la prune* his very heart-and-liver* soul it is the stony core that when the plum is stripped and spent be spat out. *couer de la prune = (French) heart of the plum *heart-and-liver = as in the Chinese 心肝 of 心肝寶貝 (sweetheart)

RACHEL KA YIN LEUNG | 72

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Poem "EMERGENCE" BY: YELLOWGIRLSPOETRY

emergence a map of desire is something like this a body of water - cerulean - for its unyielding necessity to stay alive the softness of rice - love encompassed - a sliver of porcelain - a shard of greed the coarseness of english - close to the throat bleeds a home dry second hand dresses - subdue a trace of wanting more cacophony of voices - to name a bridge crossed a thousand times a slip of paper - vacant - to say I'm sorry tle

YELLOWGIRLSPOETRY | 73

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Poem "MESSAGE FROM OBAACHAN" BY: YUKINO TORREY

YUKINO TORREY | 74

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QUOTES

Quote SHARED BY: KEVIN MAR

A quote from my grandmother when I had to interview her for my Gerontology paper: "Every stage in life comes with a different set of challenges. Don't be afraid of them, and ask for help when you need it."

KEVIN MAR | 75

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QUOTES

Quote SHARED BY: KIT DEZOLT

I remember when I was getting a haircut in Chinatown Boston, an older Asian barber, estimated 50s-60s, who cut my hair said, "This generation is losing the culture" because I didn't speak Chinese.

Regarding advice I gave to younger kids in a dance class: "Learn how to fail big and get back up." We practiced failing, falling, and messing up on purpose and then how we can get back into the performance.

KIT DEZOLT | 76

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Quote SHARED BY: STEPHANIE AUDREY TOLEDO

My Papa always told me, "School first, boys later." I didn’t listen.

Papa, thank you for always pushing me to do well in school, to practice piano and to go back to college. I wish you could have seen me graduate and meet Eric, but I know everything happens for a reason. I don’t know if I’m the “best of the best” but I’m graduating from the #1 Public University!

Photo by: Idriss Njike Edited by: Stephanie Audrey Toledo STEPHANIE AUDREY TOLEDO | 77

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Quote SHARED BY: SYLVIE HANA SHIOSAKI

Two lessons that have helped me succeed: "We often have a lot on our plates and can only do so much. Do the best you can at what you’re able to do."

"It can be too easy to compare ourselves to others. Whatever someone else is doing, that’s what works for them, not necessarily what will work for you. Do what works best for you."

SYLVIE HANA SHIOSAKI | 78

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Quote SHARED BY: TEPPEI ISHIKAWA Topic resource is very important for this kind of thing. Well, let me list something up.

On my mind right now, actually, is: 1. Work for a big company; work for a company till I retire.

"Be stable." (This is what my mom and grandma told me a lot. I hated this though.)

[Note: The following are old Japanese beliefs/superstitions/sayings.]

2. "Don't piss on an earthworm, otherwise the dick gets swollen." (Hahahahaha. This is what I was told by my grandma.)

Also: - "Personality can be judged by blood type."

- "Do not touch a set of chopsticks with others."

- "Souls will be gone (taken) when we take pictures."

- "You’ll be beautiful if you clean the toilet."

- "When you are nervous, write 人 (person) three times on your palm and swallow it."

[Editor's note: 人を飲む {lit. "to drink/swallow people") or not be afraid of a crowd.]

- "If you give others a cold, you will recover."

- "If cats wash their faces or birds fly low, rain is coming."

- "Do not put new shoes on at night."

- "4 and 9 are unlucky numbers."

- "People with big ear lobes become rich."

- "It ’s good to have a dream of fire."

- "Hand over old bills when you visit hospital."

- "Between (1) Fuji/Mt. Fuji, (2) taka/eagle, and (3) nasubi/eggplant, these represent what kind of dream you should have on the night of January 1st. Fuji [means] you'll be safe and have good luck. Taka means you'll be rich. Nasubi means you'll complete your achievements.

Those are all old sayings in Japan."

TEPPEI ISHIKAWA | 79

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QUOTES

Quote SHARED BY: TERRY YIM

My grandmother (father's mother) when she lived with us told me many things that stayed with me; I'll never forget. She didn't speak English, but one of the most powerful things she often told me was this (translated from Chinese): "All the gold and jade in the world will never buy a person respect."

TERRY YIM | 80