accession
BOILING POINT
By Keira Minamizono-von Imbior
My Issei grandmother, who never wanted kids. Enjoyed freedom while you could, fallopian tubes tied you down, a part you were never meant to play. Cast them aside after the birth of your child, tie them up, rip them out. You beg the doctors to do this before you hold your daughter.
Bloodline carried through spit and sperm, what choice do you have?
My Nisei mother, raised by parents who didn’t want her. An only child, an only girl.
Doomed the moment
you didn’t hold a weapon between your legs, first cries met with disdain.
Nine years old, aware of what buds on your chest, you can no longer pass as a boy. Enter the onsen with your father who wills you to be a man, who takes you fishing and makes you pee over the side of the boat like he does.
You’ll never be him.
You feel eyes on your stomach, as they travel to the hairs on your legs you’re not allowed to shave off yet. You grab your face towel to cover your chest, walk behind your father head down, knees wobbling. He turns around, enraged you are not what he convinced himself you were, what he prayed to God you’d be. It finally clicks.
Towel whipped from you, a snap that rings in your ears. Blood rushes to your cheeks.
Plunge into the onsen, hoping hot water conceals your body, melting away your shame.
SUNRISE
By Laureen Huynh
O say can you see the rising sun signals night is soon over hold your babies with hurting hands hold them high in the light so proudly we hailed the birth of a future new brains and wise souls will win the wars of the world brave kids born to the perilous fight walk over a world of buried bodies walls in my house of vain love and veins our blood will always run Father, I pray that one day you forget the rocket’s red glare Mother, I hope that you never again see the bombs bursting in air on July fourth, my family stands in California when explosions in the sky celebrate years of imperial lies but Grandmother does not hide she takes my hand and we run toward the light I think of our home overseas the land of the free I dream of fighters who live there still the home of the brave American dreams will soon rise from sleep as I look up at the moon the sun rises back home there, it is already tomorrow
IDENTITY KALEIDOSCOPE
By Rachel Kang
For 11 years, I had spent most of my childhood so passionately rejecting the culture that surrounded me. Growing up half Korean in Korea, my European features seemed to overshadow my heritage at every turn. Disapproving glances followed me as I roamed the familiar streets of my neighborhood, and I was often treated like a foreigner in my own country.
“Look! Look! A foreigner!” The echoes of children’s laughter enveloped the atmosphere.
“Run! Get away!” Their voices rang out as they darted off. Despite the carefree innocence among us, their playful antics were merely entertaining. Within me, a deep feeling of being an outsider grew, clouding my spirit with sadness that eventually transformed into anger.
So, at this tender age of 11, I made a decision that would shape my identity for years to come: I no longer identified as Korean—I took my other “side” and decided I was British.
It was early spring of 2014 when my parents shattered the tranquility of our household with news that would upend my world. I returned home from what had seemed like an ordinary day of fifth-grade adventures, only to be met by the gravity of their words. As I sank into the cushions of our living room sofa, my parents broke the news that we were moving across the world to the United Kingdom.
With a lump lodged in my throat, I absorbed the revelation that I would soon have to say goodbye to the familiar sights and sounds of home. My destination? A boarding school nestled in the historic city of Nottingham. In that moment, a surge of conflicting emotions flooded through me. Excitement battled with apprehension as I grappled with the prospect of leaving behind everything I had ever known. Yet, among this whirlwind of uncertainty, I had hope and anticipation for the promise of acceptance and belonging somewhere new.
As the days melted into weeks and I found myself settled within the walls of my new school, the reality of my situation hit me. Loneliness gnawed at the edges of my consciousness as I tried to navigate the unfamiliar corridors. Every corner held a new challenge, every interaction a potential minefield of misunderstanding.
During the first week of school, my classmates and I gathered around a large, wood-stained table, sitting in what felt like the oldest library in the world.
“So, what are you?” The question, abrupt and unexpected, came from a pale boy with tousled blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Fear clenched my heart as the weight of homesickness consumed me.
“What do you mean?” I managed to respond, my voice barely audible above a whisper.
“I heard you’re new and not from here,” he pressed on, his curiosity palpable.
“I come from Korea, but I’m half British,” I explained, hoping to bridge the gap between us.
“Oh my god, are you from North Korea? Do you know Kim Jong Un? Why is your accent like that?” The questions came fast and each one was more invasive than the last. As the interrogation continued, I felt the eyes of my classmates boring into me, their curiosity morphing into scrutiny. Unable to bear the attention any longer, I felt the heat rising in my cheeks as tears threatened to spill over. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I buried my face in my arms and let the tears flow freely. In that moment, I realized I was nothing more than an exotic curiosity—an outsider in a place I had hoped would embrace me with open arms.
For an entire year, my room became my sanctuary, a place where I sought refuge from the world outside. Breakfast, lunch, even recess breaks were spent peering out of my barred window, watching the energetic whirlwind of childhood unfold without me. But then, just as the school year neared its end, the chance of making a friend entered my secluded world.
It was a silly encounter, involving a magic trick with a simple coin. Her laughter broke through the walls I had built around myself, sparking a connection that I hadn’t felt in ages. And so began a transformation, a journey of assimilation into the fabric of typical British girlhood.
Over the next two years, I immersed myself in the nuances of slang, feigned interest in activities like
field hockey, and even adopted those horrible black, block-like eyebrows that were everything at the time. Each step felt like shedding layers of isolation, inching closer to the warmth of acceptance and belonging. As my carefully crafted identity took shape, so did my circle of friends. And in that embrace, I found contentment, knowing that I had finally found my place in the world. Though it’s clear to me now that all along, I was hiding significant aspects of my identity, sacrificing them to belong.
The concept of identity felt like an elusive notion, perpetually slipping through my grasp amid the constant disruption of my nomadic existence. From the moment of my birth, my dad’s work dictated our every move, uprooting us from one country to another every 2-5 years. Establishing lasting connections with others seemed like an unattainable dream, overshadowed by the endless cycle of adapting to new environments.
Prior to moving to the UK, most of my childhood had taken place in Asia, whether that has been Korea or China. Unbeknownst to me, I had absorbed and embraced numerous facets of Asian culture, shaping my identity in ways I hadn’t fully comprehended. Whether it was my preference for my mother’s Korean cuisine or the colloquialisms I casually employed, my daily life was infused with subtle nuances of Asian influence. It wasn’t until confronted with the reality of living in a distinctly Western culture that I began to acknowledge the depth of my Korean heritage. Despite my efforts to distance myself from it, I realized that my identity was irrevocably intertwined with my Korean roots, serving as a constant reminder of who I truly am. But I brushed this aside, deeming it almost stupid to wage such an internal battle. It seemed absurd to me that anyone could struggle to this extent. Just pick, I would often scold myself. I ignored these lingering thoughts until one day. It was March of 2017 when I visited my parents’ home for a weekend. Sunlight streamed through the expansive glass sliding doors in our living room. Absorbed in my phone, I was startled when my mom settled beside me, her voice gentle yet weighted with uncertainty.
“Rachel, what do you think about moving back to Korea?” she asked, her words igniting a spark of panic within me.
“Why?” I asked, a sense of unease creeping over me.
“I’ve just been thinking about it that’s all” she explained softly, her eyes reflecting a struggle I hadn’t fully grasped until now.
For the first time, I realized this wasn’t about my dad’s career; it was about my mom’s quiet battle to find her place in the UK. Three years had slipped by, marked by her solitary existence while I attended school. Guilt consumed me as I considered her loneliness.
“I don’t mind,” I offered hesitantly, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions.
At that moment, the thought of returning to Korea took up my whole mind. I began to entertain the idea, convincing myself that perhaps staying in the UK wasn’t what I truly desired. Four months passed like nothing and I found myself alone in a silent dorm room, an empty house echoing with memories, and fifty signatures adorning my school uniform blouse.
Navigating the constant shuffle of moving was like trying to find your way through a maze blindfolded. Every new school brought its own set of challenges, like learning a new language without a dictionary. But as time passed, I started caring less about fitting in and more about just being me.
Making friends from all over was like collecting stamps from different countries—each one unique and special in its own way. Sure, I still got the occasional odd looks and had forced conversations in English, but I stopped stressing about proving myself.
Now, seven years since leaving the UK, reflecting on my time at boarding school fills me with a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to embrace the other half of my identity, and a profound relief in realizing that I no longer needed to conceal such a significant aspect of who I am. I would love to say that my dual identity has no longer been a struggle, however it will forever influence my life.
TO MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER
You hang above the よじょうはん, the heart taken out to make space for the broken kotatsu
You hang next to the かけじく, the scroll with characters no one can seem to center
You hang below the てんじょう, from which bugs fall and creaks escape from the thin wooden planks おばあちゃん kneels on to clean
You are breaking the house the house that smells of old wood and heated insecticide for it is preferred over incense the house whose ticking clock gets quieter and quieter as the years go by
カチ カチ カチ カチ the house that I know you will crumble the day your daughter, my おばあちゃん, can no longer clean it
I hear your voice once in a while in that house along with the creaks and the bugs and the crackle of the faulty heater under the kotatsu that your grandson must have broke
You don’t belong here
And so he leaves the remnants of a dishonorable divorce away from her away from you
GREAT-GRANDMOTHER AIKO
Your blood is soiled
So your daughter keeps cleaning time slipping away from her カチ カチ カチ カチ
By Aya Cortez
on her knees bowing wiping the creaky wooden floorboards thinking of her son my father who ran away to America
To his freedom
To rewrite his code
To marry mi querida mamá
To have a family
To drink have a drink a drink why don’t you why do you
away from the creaks and the bugs and the ticking the bowing the hands knees on the floor the sounds of his mother prostrated towards you the ghost the god of saving face
But the damage has already been done your efforts to preserve our house
金川 your lingering haunting return it to dust
But even so Te quiero I love you I love you
おだいじに my dear great-grandmother
THE NARCISSIST
By Sky Shimabukuro
I want her to love…
In BC,
Aristotle said it comes from one’s love of the good I see that in her tears for a generation that fights
In the 1700s
Immanuel Kant said it comes from the ability to act within your own values I see that when she relieves her coddled roommates and pampered acquaintances
In the 1800s
Friedrich Nietzsche said it comes from personal growth and the desire for improvement I see that when she begs me to yell and ask for a forgiveness that does not exist
William James said it comes from pretenses relative to successes I see that in the personality of her writing and the quizzes she studies for
In the 1900s
Erich Fromm said it comes from calmness in the face of opposition I see that in the way she lives every day, as a peacock or an orchard
Jean-Paul Sartre said it comes from freeness I see that in her willingness to be angry or sad, instead of numbing the pain
Michael Foucault said it creates an attitude not just for oneself but for others and the world I see that in her self control, in her fiction that I need protection from her
Martin Heidegger said it transforms faithfulness in ourselves to faithfulness in others I see that in her because my devotion comes from her
In the 2000s
I say it comes from believing you are better than everyone, so that you pity them and help them But I don’t see that in her And for the first time I don’t see that in myself Because when I look at her I see an equal
I see someone to heal and traverse the world with Someone to stare at ceilings with Who will change the world Will commiserate evil Commiserate herself …herself
MOTHER’S FIRST CHRISTMAS
By Laureen Huynh
1972
When you are born, your mother holds you
They order civilians to straighten their line
Shoulder to shoulder, cog to cog
Staring down barrels of red machine guns
White fingers click and the sky turns dark blue
Down the line like a factory machine
Making toys for Macy’s magic display
Rag dolls move down the conveyor belt
Toy soldiers march down down down the line
Delivering the end with star-spangled ribbon
Your life is just beginning
Your hands warm as sun
There is no war when you are in your mother’s arms
Merry Christmas to all
Gifts rain from the sky down down down
Presidential promises sound overseas:
Fathers and husbands home before the year expires!
An order from Nixon is a miracle of God
Gray soot smells like snowfall
Down down down the chimneys remaining
Silhouettes of angels scattered around
May you all safely soar to the winter sky;
Silent night, holy night
Prayers from still hearts fall on deaf ears
All is calm, and all is bright
Trees light up black ruins of home
Sleep in heavenly peace
Một nghìn sáu trăm–
Sleep in heavenly peace.
artist bios
Keira Minamizono-von Imbior a fourth-year psychology major and labor studies minor at UCLA, is dedicated to equity, diversity, and inclusion (EDI) research, driven by a commitment to using empirical research to enact equitable change. Grounded in empathy, she integrates historical narratives into her research methodology to promote understanding and inclusivity across diverse contexts. This fall, she will pursue a master’s in organizational psychology to further strengthen her advocacy for marginalized communities and take a leading role in driving EDI initiatives within the workplace.
Laureen Huynh is a third-year from California studying English and Film at UCLA.
Rachel Kang is an international student at Loyola Marymount University, born and raised primarily in Seoul, South Korea. Her work explores themes of identity and multicultural experiences, reflecting her diverse background and passion for cross-cultural narratives.
Aya Cortez is a fourth-year undergraduate student at UCLA whose writing often revolves around themes of family and being multi-ethnic. She cites Jeannette Walls, Toni Morrison, and Ruth Ozeki as influences on her writing mindset and style.
Sky Shimabukuro is from Hawaii. He loves to surf, watch movies, and play video games. He wants to write a sci-fi book one day.
Amelia Weintraub is the creator of Accession. She is a third-year at UCLA studying Psychology with a passion for Creative Writing, specifically Poetry. Amelia loves analyzing films, reading, and eating sushi. She hopes you enjoyed reading :)
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