Glitch, Spring 2020 Digital Issue

a letter from the editor

Dear Reader, Life just feels… hazy. It is almost the end of May 2020, and the United States is three months into quarantine due to COVID-19.

According to the World Health Organization, there are approximately 1.5 million total confirmed cases in the United States and over 90,000 deaths so far. To say that the public is overwhelmed and afraid is an understatement. We started 2020 with hopeful promises of making this year our year, but were quickly met with the reality of a widespread pandemic.

In other words, we are going through a glitch. What is a glitch you may ask? Well, glitches appear unexpectedly and tend to take form in mistakes that pop up unwarranted in our lives. We clearly did not plan for COVID-19, but hopefully things will get better soon.

Grocery stores quickly ran out of pantry goods, toilet paper, and water, for weeks prior to and during, the official quarantine orders. “Essential workers” are risking their lives to make ends meet for their families during this time. Hate crimes targeting Asians have increased since January 2020 and the fact that Number 45 has referred to this pandemic as the “Chinese Virus” without a second thought does not help quell the ignorance and scapegoating.

Like history repeating itself, the startling realization that—regardless of their citizenship status—anyone who is not white in the United States will be regarded as an “other”. Blaming an entire race for “being responsible for bringing” a pandemic to the world is unacceptable and the blame should instead fall on third world countries for failing to prevent the pandemic from spreading quickly to other countries from late reactions.

Glitches may come in the simplest form (imperfections and flaws you recognize in yourself or around you), but also exist more in complex forms of disappointment when you realize they can be man-made (gentrification, labor exploitation, ect…). The tedious thing about life is that we have to learn how to adapt to, and overcome these glitches, whether it is through promoting self-love or through social advocation of human rights.

While a glitch may have a tremendous impact on our future, we must remember that they are only temporary.

Best,

Amanda Leutmixay Amanda Leutmixay Editor-in-Chief 2019-2020

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GLITCH for miriam, at dawn by ayushee roy.................................4 self-destruction by christine doan............................6 thoughts of static by laura rosen.........................................7 in the pandemic by snow zheng............................................8 the cycles of life by rachael koh.....................................................10 finding and fighting for community by kristi mai..............12 old school by lorraine lee......................................................14 love the unconventional by amanda leutmixay.............................16 dear asian america by azure gao.......................................................17 calves by derrick hill......................................................................18 mother dear by nisha porchezhiyan.....................................................20 sea of oceans by jenna jacobson..................................21 playlist from us to you......................................................................22 acknowledgements + about us + join us...................................23

Pacific Ties Newsmagazine is published and copyrighted by the ASUCLA Communications Board. All rights are reserved. Reprinting of any material in this publication without the written permission of the Communications Board is strictly prohibited. The ASUCLA Communications Board fully supports the University of California’s policy on non-discrimination. The student media reserve the right to reject or modify advertising whose content discriminates on the basis of ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, disability, age, sex or sexual orientation. The ASUCLA Communications Board has a media grievance procedure for resolving complaints against any of its publications. For a copy of the complete procedure, contact the publications office at 118 Kerckhoff Hall @ 310-825-9898

For Miriam, At Dawn Written by: Ayushee Roy Layout by: Azure Gao Photo by: Phoebe Chiu and Amanda Leutmixay It’s the crack of dawn, But I have not slept a wink; Days and nights collide into one anotherClumsy cartoon ducklingsMelting into the thinning fabric of time Softer to the touch than your favorite blue scarf, Muddied from rolling down the hill, Leaves plastered to your auburn locks

The floor’s a medley of last week’s dishes And pieces of that jigsaw puzzle we never finished.

The ceiling’s still chipping; I wake up to pink flakes in my hair, “Cosmic dandruff,” you’d call it.

Haven’t paid for gas in a week.

I leave pistachio-shell pettiness in my wake, Painted the walls lemon-zest yellow To give my eyes a tangible reason to swim.

My hair topples down to the tip of my nose now; I know you’d have given me pigtails in my sleep.

Every rib’s dense with supple regret.

You were wrongTurns out I don’t quite make a good robot.

Scrabble’s no fun, when I have no one to beat.

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The sound of your fingertips lined with dusted sugar, dancing across the rusty windowsill, is seared onto the cracking membrane of my malignant memory.

Along, of course, with the taste of cheap whiskey.

I sit in your spot in the swing (the one you always fought me for) In the company of my boring thoughtsStarved Them, of creativity, Me, of human touch.

You’d be relieved to know, though, That I finally settled on a topic for that essay: “Why ghosts of laughter past Linger long after the memory has been poisoned.”

You hated how I could never keep a secret.

But here’s one for you, Miriam: I buried it with you, the last puzzle piece.

In hopes that a glitch in the Matrix Would bring both back to me someday, at dawn.

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self-destruction Written by Christine Doan Graphic and Layout by Kyla Worrell

wake up. brush my teeth. go to class. see a friend? smile. socialize. wish them well. am I hungry yet? eat. am I tired yet? sleep. wait — have I done enough today? work until my body shuts down. that’s my algorithm.

I was created to be functioning, programmed to be normal. to be the perfect child, student, friend, and person. but sometimes, I just feel like a glitch: broken, flawed, and unwanted.

I don’t want to be an error. people think errors can simply be fixed or debugged. but the truth is, errors get destroyed. errors shouldn’t exist in a perfect world, so I try to fit in. still, sometimes my mind glitches, and I become filled with self-loathing and doubt. sometimes I lie paralyzed in bed, skip my meals, and ignore everyone’s calls. does it inconvenience you if I do not function perfectly all the time?

I am a human, not a machine, so why must I act like one?

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Thoughts of Static by Laura Rosen

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In the Pandemic Written by: Snow Zheng Layout & Illustration by: Zona Liao

After deciding to start 2020 with a quarter in Washington D.C., I had been looking forward to a life free from exams and away from school. I would begin this year with watching snow fall from the sky, visiting museums every weekend, and feeling the chilly yet refreshing wind at the capital of the United States. When the leaves would turn green and cherry blossoms would bloom around the Tidal Basin, I would tour in New York for spring break, enjoy the food, and go back to the embrace of Californian sunshine.

Things went as smoothly as I had planned until the beginning of spring. Almost as soon as I arrived in New York, the university switched everything online and the quarantine began.

Lamenting the loss of a fun break and the Californian sunshine, I was nevertheless excited about the possibility of flying back to China, where I hadn’t spent the spring with my family for the past seven years. Little did I know that glitches sometimes come in pairs, if not more. I booked a flight that would enable me to arrive in China at the end of March, and waited happily for a reunion with my parents.

One morning, when I woke up, I received a message from the airline company regarding the cancellation of my flight. Although it was rare for a flight to be canceled for no reason, I didn’t think much and booked another one. I guess things can’t be too unusual during a global pandemic.

I became increasingly anxious after my second and third flights got canceled, and my stress reached a peak when China announced its latest and probably the most stringent flight restriction policy in the decade. Under the new policy, foreign airline companies could only conduct one flight to China per week, and the available flights between China and New York were reduced to less than three flights every week. When I tried to look for the remaining tickets online, there were absolutely no tickets available throughout April. In summary, I got trapped in the epicenter of the coronavirus pandemic.

"I got trapped in the epicenter of the coronavirus pandemic."

In a time when home becomes a boring quarantine institution for some people, it is somewhere I could not go back.

I soon realized, however, that I was fortunate enough to have a place to stay.

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Due to the scarcity of flight tickets, hundreds of Chinese international students chose to transit in countries such as Ethiopia, but were told that the flight to China had been canceled only after they arrived at the Ethiopian airport.

With limited amounts of masks, these students spent nights in the airport and were at high risk of getting exposed to the disease.

As each country kept modifying its antipandemic policy, confusion arose among countries and their airline companies. The resulting canceled flights and late notice put travelers’ safety at risk, especially international students who desperately sought to stay with their family during the crisis. The glitch was not merely in people’s travel plans, but their trust of the government’s ability to cooperate with other countries and protect citizens effectively during a pandemic.

"The glitch was not merely in people’s travel plans..."

Within the U.S., some universities shut down the campus as well as dorms, which forced their international students to find a place to live despite the fact that moving around during this time could also expose students to the coronavirus.

International students pay an additional tuition which usually amounts to about $30,000 a year, yet when they needed help the most, some of them could not get a safe place to live on campus.

Almost every day, I could find fellow international students posting on social media about flights being canceled, trying to find an apartment, and being frustrated about the unpredictable traveling policies. It was painful to discover that people I knew were threatened on the street in England because they were wearing masks, and others who woke up to find shattered eggs outside of the door because they were the only Chinese person in the building. The pandemic not only brought glitches to people’s study or travel plans but their beliefs about the country's protection of citizens abroad, the university's consideration of student safety, and the community’s tolerance of cultural diversity.

Fighting this disease requires a united effort of people across the globe, and the pandemic is not an excuse for confusion and discrimination.

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THE CYCLES OF LIFE Written by: Rachael Koh Illustration by: Kyla Worrell Layout by: Amanda Leutmixay

My brothers and I shared a Gameboy Advance when we were growing up. It was a translucent light gray, like the pale moon on clear nights, with solid milky buttons to the left and right of a grey screen. The battery cover was missing, but the two double-A batteries mostly held its place, snug in a rectangular hole carved into the back of the machine. Its plastic, oblong body always felt chunky between my stubby fingers as I played games like Pokémon Ruby for endless hours. How else was I going to catch them all?

Once, after I had defeated the Champion’s League - like the ten year old champ that I thought I was—I set my sights on catching the rare and elusive Latios.

“We bring you a special news bulletin. We’ve received reports of a blue FLYING POKéMON in various HOENN locales…” the little square TV explained in a dialogue box.

After that, I sent my character—what seemed like a mere pixel on the equally tiny rectangular screen—scouring through tall grass. We encountered unwanted wild battles again and again before the name "Latios” finally appeared. “Okay, focus…” I muttered, eyes locked on the target, as serious as a kid could get when playing Pokémon. And that is, very serious. Its signature jet-plane blue body with a white elongated neck, blue markings on its face,

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and a red triangular marking on its chest, looked to me like ice cream on a hot day.

I wanted it.

My first meeting with my blue beloved did not, however, go very well. He fled immediately, and I went after him. It took multiple encounters before I finally secured Latios in a Pokémon ball. The tension that had been building up in my chest released as I rolled around the quilted bed, yelling, “I finally did it! I finally caught him!” Still squealing, I proceeded to press “save” before getting on my feet and jumping up and down. The mattress coils were springy under my feet, throwing me up into the air like a crowd of adoring fans. The squeaks that sounded every time I landed back on the bed seemed to congratulate me. “Well done!” they cried out, clapping their metallic hands. But when I looked down, the game was still saving and the screen seemed frozen.

Why was it taking so long?

“Come on… save! Save! SaNOOOOOOOOOOO!” Horror had struck, and when I landed back on the mattress, I crumbled to my knees. The screen went pitch black, and I scrambled to pick up the two batteries that had fallen out of their little nest as I had been jumping up and down.

“No, no, no, no,” I muttered, as tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. I jammed the batteries back in and turned the device on to check my Pokémon - I had left a space in my exclusive party of six just for him.

He wasn’t there anymore.

That was the last time Latios eluded me.

It was the stupid glitchy saving screen’s fault, and my heart had been too broken to continue my pursuit. I was now stranded, left to pick off from wherever I had last saved - in other words, very far back into my little pixel character’s Pokémon past.

At the time I never realized how akin to real life that experience was. The flow of time is continuous, but life is constantly finding ways to reboot itself. After I came to America from Singapore for school, the “reset” button had been hit for me. It felt like I had neglected to save this game, my life, and I now had to make new friends, and get used to a different culture and being… different in general.

Life is a series of glitchy saves, dropped batteries and blank screens, but I have learnt to move on. As a child, the loss of Latios stung and left a deep impression in my heart, but the game continued. Different versions came out, and there were always more Pokémon to be caught. I grew to play just fine.

Now, ten years later, I have come to the realization that glitches are not so bad. They, like everything else, are just entrances and forced opened doors to new and often unexpected cycles of life.

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FINDING AND FIGHTING FOR COMMUNITY Written by: Kristi Mai Photo by: Derrick Hills Layout by: Phoebe Chiu

I’ve always appreciated the aesthetic of Los Angeles, with its seemingly immovable skyscrapers, shiny structures, and the feeling that anyone could succeed and live in contentment here. Yet, shopping with my mother on weekends in Chinatown as a child, tripping over boxes on top of boxes in shops crowded with merchandise, I didn’t understand how this fit in with my ideal of Los Angeles. I felt so disconnected, not knowing how my mother seemed to know every shopkeeper so well nor why we had to come so often.

I didn’t think about Chinatown for a while after high school when my mother stopped asking me to go with her. In fact, I didn’t think I would ever be back until I began interning with the Chinatown Community for Equitable Development (CCED) as part of the Asian American and Pacific Islander Leadership Development Project class at UCLA, which developed my skills as a leader and advocate in social justice spaces. We had the choice to choose between several different community organizations to work with. CCED stood out to me the most because it was located in Chinatown, a community that I felt I had some

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take in. Craig Wong, a CCED volunteer, spoke to my class about how CCED doesn’t aim to directly solve the problems of its community members.Their emphasis on empowering members to advocate for themselves resonated with me, especially since there is danger in the idea that those who help the community are more knowledgeable than the members themselves.

When I first became an intern along with my classmates Kaitlin and Derrick, Craig led us on a tour through parts of Chinatown, focusing on the history of evictions, poor living conditions, increased gentrification, and the subsequent work done on fighting these unfortunate patterns. Upon first glance, the Chinatown I saw that day seemed familiar: small family-owned businesses, open-air groceries, and the familiar Twin Dragon Towers Gateway on Broadway marking the entrance to the ethnic enclave. However, I didn’t take long to realize how much had changed in more than seven years since I had been back—the towering Jia luxury apartments stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the smaller businesses. The small familyowned restaurants had closed down, their signage only kept by developers to “preserve the authenticity” of the neighborhood and attract tou-

-rists—or as Craig likes to call them, hipsters. In fact, in a plaza easily spotted with the “Rush Hour was Shot Here” sign, the walkways were quiet and mainly deserted; only one or two businesses remain, including one resident’s antique store.

Although the other businesses appear to still be there because of the presence of their signages, they have all been converted into private art galleries catering to nonresidents of Chinatown.

Along with the closing down of culturally relevant ethnic businesses and restaurants, developers have been trying to evict community members of Chinatown who have been living there for years. One of the buildings currently experiencing the stress of eviction is located on 920 Everett Street in a neighborhood with easy access to “family, friends, grocery stores, and restaurants with familiar and necessary items”. It is an affordable six-unit apartment with Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Thai tenants who have been forced to flee their home countries as a result of the violence, war, and imperialism present there. Now, they are facing displacement again in the form of eviction notices from VF Developments, a predatory company that specializes in “buying up small apartment buildings in gentrifying neighborhoods."

Sadly enough, this is the third time in a year that developers have tried to evict these tenants who have been here for years through the category of “no-fault evictions”, which are evictions that are issued even though, as the name suggests, the tenant is not at fault. In coming to the US, they sought peace and stability in their lives, but the fact that they are left unprotected from evictions even during this pandemic is evidence that the state must do more to protect them and their communities.

Khinn Muy Ung is one of the impacted tenants on 920 Everett Street organizing alongside CCED against the eviction orders. Although she did not have any formal training as an organizer, her experiences as a refugee and a Chinatown resident, along with her willingness to fight for equity, have given her the skills necessary to be a leader in the 920 Everett campaign against deve-

-lopers. When Kaitlin and I first met 52-year-old Khinn at a tenant meeting, we were both struck by her willingness to connect with us--she told us about her family, her life, and her migration history from Cambodia while asking us questions about our schooling, our families, and our lives. Kaitlin remarked how Khinn “made [her] feel at home immediately even though [she] was a stranger.” Even in the face of stress and the uncertainty of her living situation, Khinn’s readiness to build upon the community she has in Chinatown and welcome us testifies to her strength and her desire to preserve her community.

In the few short months I have spent with CCED, I finally understood why my mother took me into the Chinatown she knew as a child. Like Khinn, she wanted to maintain the community she had growing up. As the tenants of 920 Everett Street and other apartments, including Hillside Villa and 651 Broadway, are being threatened with displacement, we must look beyond the visible wealth and excesses of Los Angeles to advocate for the neighborhoods that remain and fight for the right to a safe home and community. Furthermore, since the pandemic, members of Chinatown have had trouble accessing basic resources and are even more fearful of evictions. By working with CCED and providing mutual aid to those most vulnerable, community bonds and empathy have never been stronger. Our efforts have pushed the California Judicial Council to announce that no eviction notices will be processed during this pandemic, thus allowing tenants in our community to stay, but the fight is not over. Developers continue to take advantage of tenants and politicians refuse to provide a moratorium that covers all tenants.

One might view 920 Everett as simply a small apartment complex, but in fighting for community as a whole, we must fight for everyone, no matter how tiny and inconsequential the issue or building may seem. If we are unable to stand in solidarity against the institutions that refuse to protect them, how can we claim to care about our communities? In this pandemic, we must aid our communities, not forget them.

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OLD SCHOOL Written by Lorraine Lee The year is 2005, and I’m sitting in front of my TV watching Cinderella. When the movie is over, I hit rewind on my VCR player and patiently wait so I can watch it again. Once done, I pop in another tape, only for the gentle whirring of the VCR machine to stop and the TV screen to go black and white. Upset, I take it out and discover that the thin film has broken.

Now I cannot watch this tape unless I purchase a new one, or so I think.

Instead, I listen to Cantonese children’s songs on a cassette tape. Right next to the cassette player is a box of broken tapes— all of them reminding me that I can no longer listen to some of my favorite bops.

These types of glitches may be in the distant past, but I look back with fondness at these memories. Years later, I was surprised to find that some of my teachers in high school still played VCR tapes in class. What amused me the most was the fact that they had to rewind the tape at least six times to show it to each class. Sometimes, my teachers would also run into the all-too-common problem of breaking the thin film and were forced to lecture on the contents of the film.

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Although we no longer have to resort to using VCRs or cassettes today with movies/songs being streamed through the Internet, I miss the feeling of being able to access these things in a tangible way.

Whenever possible, I prefer physical objects to their digital counterparts.

Instead of referencing the calendar on my phone, I like to hang up calendars next to my desk. I favor purchasing physical books rather than reading them on a screen. Preferring the feel of physical objects may be classified as nostalgic and “old school,” but I don’t mind.

It’s hard to imagine how physical objects could glitch, but unfortunately, COVID-19 has shown us that they can.

As the pandemic rages on, things that many people took for granted in their lives have now become scarce and at times inaccessible. Millions of families scramble to buy groceries, healthcare workers face severe shortages of PPE, and thousands of people find themselves unexpectedly laid off from their jobs and no longer have a source of income. Most

"As the pandemic rages on, things that many people took for granted in their lives have now become scarce and at times inaccessible." of us are fortunate enough to be accustomed to the sight of full-stocked shelves in grocery stores and bustling streets. However, as we retreat to the safety of our homes and struggle to adjust to the major disruptions in our lives, we lose sight of mundane activities that we once took for granted.

Like the thin film that broke and put an abrupt end to the entertainment we looked forward to, the coronavirus has forced our lives to come to a screeching halt, leaving us uncertain about our abilities to pick up from where the film has broken—or the parts we were forced to cut out of our lives—when things are back to normal.

This situation, however, is not totally dire.

A VCR tape can be fixed by connecting its two ends with a small drop of glue and a small piece of clear tape. Although the scene that had to be cut out will never be viewed again, the tape can be mended.

Layout & Illustration by Kyla Worrell

Although some of us may not actually be infected with the coronavirus or even know people who are battling the virus, efforts to flatten the curve ultimately rely on us. If we follow social distancing guidelines, refrain from panic buying, and practice basic hygiene, we can prevent hospitals from being overcrowded and reduce the probability of spreading the virus further. No matter how small, taking such steps will help our country to slowly return to normal and fix its broken tape.

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Love the Unconventional Written by: Amanda Leutmixay Layout & Illustration by: Zona Liao

There is no art in covering up flaws just as setting a rug on top of bloody remnants contaminating cream erases vitality fermented in oxidized vino just as blending concealer around wrinkles hides years of lively amusement just as piping icing over cracked red velvet cake presents a facade of perfection hiding a

labor of love

just as painting walls apricot cream to contrast “criminalized” graffiti prevents the world from appreciating local murals.

There is no art in delicate acts that work only to conceal.

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Dear Asian America, We are once again becoming the yellow peril. Our people are being harassed and assaulted because we are viewed as a virus. But this is also how Black, Latinx, and Muslim people have always been treated, pandemic or not. These groups have always been targeted, demonized, and unfairly policed. I urge you all to speak out and act on issues that are hurting other people of color.

As Yuri Kochiyama said, "Try to build bridges and not walls." We must be self-critical. We must examine prejudice, especially anti-blackness, in our communities.

Black people have consistently stood by us when we needed it. It's about time we do the same.

Written and Designed by Azure Gao

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CALVES

My mother’s calves grown strong by tippy-toeing, to reach whatever’s on the highest shelves. And on the highest shelf, from it, she has built her hurrying legs around this practice.

Hiking up and down hills in the hot sun, acres across parks, malls…

And twisted halls way down, weighed down.

I follow her.

My mouth is crack...ed and salty.

I hear my dry lips open, asking my mother for a drink because… I’m exhausted from this journey, from Point A to B, to C and D… These short legs are burning. I want to be carried, But “No,” she tells me that… we’re almost… There.

“No stopping, no breaks,” she says. “Not until we’re done.”

I don’t remember if this has always been her response. I know it’s a lie; we still have A long way to go.

“Hurry up! / Don’t walk slow! / We have places to be!”

West East; East West.

Left, right; Right, left.

→

Written By: Derrick Hills Layout & Photo By: Phoebe Chiu

→

Her calf muscles are pulling her on, coaxing her to continue, as she has her whole life.

Balancing three cultures.

Older sister to younger brother.

First-born daughter, the responsible one.

Second-generation schoolteacher, the perfectionist one.

Third decade in the classroom — disciplining rowdy students into well-behaved ones.

Our family’s single source of income.

Gruellingly frugal.

Totally strict.

Determined.

High-strung, The hustle continues.

Will she ever get to rest?

This is the question I’ll work up to eventually.

But when I was young, I could only try to keep up.

Constricting my palm in hers. My mom, she knows the path to take.

She also knows, deep down: The world isn’t built for her.

Years later, I will learn this too. Watching her fight through crowds more than twice her height. Weaving in and out of tall men and curvy women, brushing past their bodies, peeking between their arms and shoulders, reaching up above their heads.

At first, I feared losing her in the crowd.

Years later, I will learn to fight through them the same way.

Years later, I will see my own development, and how she’d trained me To walk faster and farther and further than she ever could have before.

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mother dear i was told to hide my curves, my breasts should be flat my butt should be compressed. i was told to not cry, not show any emotion not express any feeling. i was told to hide me, the feminine part of me, the biggest part of me, Me. and as tellings come and tellings go, it was drenched with hypocrisy. my earnings would be secondary, my work would be at home, i would serve my husband, i would raise my children.

i cried when i first saw blood on the inside of my underwear. i did not want to be a girl, i was taught being a girl is bad. i cried when i bought my first bra. i did not want to be a girl, i was taught being a girl is bad. i cried when my waist grew smaller and my hips grew larger. i did not want to be a girl, i was taught being a girl is bad. a mother is a woman, a mother teaches, she teaches her daughters to be Strong, Independent, Feminine.

but then mother dear, why did you fail me?

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Written & Illustrated by: Nisha Porchezhiyan Layout by: Abita Venkatesh

Sea of Oceans Do I remember the breath of waves?

Empty galaxies of space between the rolling ceaseless tumults leave me only pieces of lukewarm stagnation.

With every inhale, the easy lilt of lungs recalls the burden you took back.

Escape this dark sanctum by the candlelight that drips from my helpless fingers, as the beats through which I composed my time flicker across your eyelids.

I am the stream that flows to these crashing waves.

Nearly, almost, forgotten in their harmonic echoes of euphoric transcendence.

If only I could bridge this sea of oceans.

Written By: Jenna Jacobson Layout by: Amanda Leutmixay

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THE GLITCH PLAYLIST DESIGNED BY AMANDA LEUTMIXAY

thousand eyes FKA twigs

Butterfly Effect EXO

I Saw An Angel

Bring Me The Horizon

Nightmare Halsey

OVERTURE

Puzzle

AJR

Nights

TO WHOEVER

Frank Ocean

Interlude: Shadow BTS

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Can You Feel My Heart

DPR LIVE

Dirty Computer (feat. Brian Wilson) Janelle Monae, Brian Wilson

Acknowledgements: It takes an entire team to put together a magazine. We would like to thank all of the staff that contributed, UCLA Student Media, and to the community participants who submitted their work. Thank you again for remaining patient and dedicated to this magazine as PacTies transitioned to an online quarter.

Visuals team: Phoebe Chiu, Azure Gao, Zona Liao, and Kyla Worrell.

Cover by: Zona Liao and Kyla Worrell Layout team: Phoebe Chiu, Azure Gao, Amanda Leutmixay, Zona Liao, Abita Venkatesh and Kyla Worrell.

Editors: Phoebe Chiu, Amanda Leutmixay, Shayleen Singh, Nur Suttar, Ayushee Roy, and Abita Venkatesh.

Writers: Â Rachael Koh, Lorraine Lee, Amanda Leutmixay, Nisha Porchezhiyan, Ayushee Roy, and Snow Zheng.

Community contributors: Christine Doan, Derrick Hill, Jenna Jacobson, Kristi Mai, and Laura Rosen.

Lastly, we would also like to thank the readers for taking the time to read our Glitch issue.

join us for fall 2020...

...about us We are the oldest student-run Asian Pacific Islander Desi American newsmagazine in the nation. Publishing at UCLA since 1977, we showcase rich and diverse stories about the Asian Pacific Islander Desi American community on and off campus through news and commentary.

The year 1977 was a progressive year, with Congress discussing the formation of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month (APAHM) and allowing Southeast Asian refugees to apply for permanent residence. It was also in this same year that Pacific Ties was established. Interestingly enough, it was an API community magazine named Gidra that stemmed our creation; several UCLA students who worked on GIDRA decided to bring the idea to campus and to launch what is now the nation’s oldest student-run API newsmagazine. Since then, Pacific Ties has covered the major events affecting the Asian American community.

Pacific Ties has consistently brought the issues of the APIDA community, no matter how harsh the reality, to the foreground. Our newsmagazine has always served as an open ground for subjects typically considered controversial, penetrating through to the heart of the matter to reveal the real, underlying problems.

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and illustrations interns, layout designers, copy editors, and content editors.

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