INK Magazine was UF’s introduction to a journalistic focus on APIDA issues and is the first AsianInterest collegiate magazine in the state of Florida.
INK Magazine established the foundation that allowed UF’s current Asian interest magazine to thrive.
written by: Abby Renger
APIDA centered magazines are a source of community throughout universities across the country. Each magazine, however, would not have emerged without a catalyst: a small cohort of ambitious and hopeful students who felt a need for community fostered by this specific literary space. In the fall of 2008, a team of students’ aspirations and hard work laid the groundwork for what we now call Sparks Magazine. INK Magazine was UF’s introduction to a journalistic focus on APID issues and is the first Asian-Interest collegiate magazine in the state of Florida.
Introduction to the Editor
Amy Chow, UF alum, now lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, three-yearold daughter, and eight-year-old Shiba Inu. Still, before she pursued a bachelor's in civil engineering at the University of Florida, a master's in transportation at the University of California, Berkeley and success in the tech industry, she was the passionate voice of a generation of APIDA UF students who decided that the APIDA voice needed to be represented and heard across campus.
In quintessential college fashion, the idea for INK magazine was sparked between roommates. As newly elected secretary of the Asian American Student Union (AASU), Chow was challenged by her roommate, Phillip Cheng, to address a deficiency in the UF APIDA community. In an interview, she recalls that she “felt that Asian Americans lacked representation in journalism at UF. [She saw] everyone reading the Alligator on campus, but most
of those stories [were] not representing people like [her]."
And with that idea planted, Chow got to work. She likens the process of starting a magazine from ground zero to that of running a startup. There was no shortage of obstacles, the greatest being fundraising. Her goal was to distribute physical copies of the magazine, an element that would make the magazine’s presence more tangible. She attributes the success of the process to the system of support she received from her friends, collaborators and even community leaders:
“Thankfully our advertising staff was phenomenal and together — through proceeds from ads to local businesses, donations from alumni/students, taxsavings from being affiliated with the university and negotiations with the printing company — we succeeded in publishing paper copies of our first edition.”
By the end of her senior year, the first
design by/
Celine Hui publicity/
Shreya Shanmugam
Through this medium, APIDA community members can find their voice in a population of students that may not be very representative of their beliefs.
Are Asian-Interest Magazines Too Common?
In an article written for the Asian American Arts Alliance (A4) Magazine, “The Amp,” author Mimi Wong discusses the continuous founding of Asian-interest magazines. A question arises about why this is such a popular form of chosen expression for APIDA youth and whether each new magazine is a tired repetition of what has been done before. Wong suggests that regardless of whether these newly founded magazines are tackling the same issues or not, the magazine space is valuable because APIDA students are able to have their own versions of what may be familiar discussions. A singular topic can inspire an infinite number of perspectives. Student media gives students a platform to engage with their community in addition to expressing their thoughts and opinions in a more developed manner. Through this medium, APIDA community members can find their voice in a population of students that may not be very representative of their beliefs.
Chow seems to agree. When asked about the impact of INK Magazine, she felt a palpable appreciation for the community that it brought together.
“Everyone showed so much heart and dedication to the magazine. It was as much my baby as it was theirs. I think back to that time with so much gratitude. It is a feeling I will chase for the rest of my life. It really felt like we were all working as a team for the greater good — even though it is just a magazine, it felt like we were making a difference in the world.”
On a grand scale, it may seem every Asian interest magazine serves the same purpose on each college campus, but it is undeniable that each student involved in the publication is able to derive their own unique experience and value from the journalistic practice and community.
“Keep doing what you're doing! And most importantly, have fun! Everyone has a story to tell or something to say, and you never know who your words or content will positively impact.”
– Amy Chow
Bringing the Experience With Her
Although Chow did not major in journalism nor pursue a career in journalism, her experience with INK Magazine has served her well post-graduation. Not only did the experience show “a nontechnical side” of her that her first employer valued, but she was able to use her skills to contribute to a publication at that same job. It is evident that the value of being a member of INK or Sparks Magazine will persist no matter what career path one chooses. As a message to current and future Sparks Magazine staff and AASU members, she leaves them with this: “Keep doing what you're doing! And most importantly, have fun! Everyone has a story to tell or something to say, and you never know who your words or content will positively impact.”
A Welcome Transition
In 2010, Sparks Magazine was founded by Kevina Lee, with its first issue being published in 2011. In the time since, Sparks has grown to be an organization with over 60 active members that regularly publishes an issue each fall and spring. Protecting this space for APIDA voices has been especially important since the recent attack on DEI initiatives and identity-specific spaces of support on campus. With the inspiration and support of the founders of INK Magazine, Sparks strives to continue its mission to be a pillar in the UF APIDA community as an amplifier of APIDA student voices.
YOU’VE JUST BEEN INKED!
in the Indo-Caribbean Cultural Convergence in the Indo-Caribbean Cultural Convergence in the Indo-Caribbean
Cultural Convergence in the Indo-Caribbean Cultural
Race, tradition and celebration for Indo-Caribbean Americans at UF
written by: Justin Fernandez
In the early 1600s, a mixture of capitalist colonial foreign powers started worming their way through the Caribbean Islands. By the end of the 19th century, Britain’s influence had left them with a large-scale plantation economy: sugar, coffee and tobacco were produced en masse, requiring an abundant amount of hands-on labor to manage. And in 1833, Great Britain unilaterally abolished slavery across all of its colonies, leaving Afro and Indigenous populations grappling against local powers to gain political and economic freedom over the next five years.
Real economic freedom, however, requires fair and competitive wages. As ex-slaves rallied for proper compensation, white planters sought a cheaper alternative. And thus arrived the first boat of Indian indentured servants to the Caribbean, complicating the social and economic hierarchies of the islands forever.
I. BEING SEEN.
Almost two centuries have passed, and the social landscape has since evolved to encompass all backgrounds and hues of skin. The Caribbean Archipelago — with special emphasis on the islands of Guyana, Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago — exists as arguably the most ethnically diverse region on Earth. It possesses a rich, multicultural syncretism between Afro, Indo, Sino, European and Indigenous populations. Between food, clothing, dance and religion, cultures exist in tandem with each other, with many households directly blending two or more.
Life in the United States, however, is not nearly as nuanced. “The United States functions on a one-drop rule,” said Enya Martin, multiracial Jamaican second-year. “If you have one drop of African descent in your bloodline, you’re seen as Black. If you have Afro textured hair, you’re seen as Black.”
Ethnic ancestry may sometimes fail to translate to free cultural practice. Jasmine Younge, an Afro-Indigenous GuyaneseJamaican fourth-year, has an Afro-Indigenous father and a Black-Chinese-Indian-Portuguese mother. She grew up identifying as
Asian and being particularly close to her Indian heritage, to the confusion of her peers.
“In middle school, I used to wear bindis a lot,” she explained. “I remember a Jamaican girl, an Indo one … she was like, ‘why are you wearing that?’ Because I have dark skin and curly hair, she assumed I was just saying stuff.”
Microaggressions experienced by mixed and Caribbean students are influenced by historic underrepresentation in the media and, in part, by a lack of representation in official American paperwork.
The United States Census, a decennial demographic survey mandated by the government, asks all residents to self-report their race. This question is a particularly sore spot for Caribbean -Americans, splitting families between their Afro, Indigenous and Asiatic roots. Shawn Kapersaud, a Guyanese Indo-Caribbean third-year, specifies that the stress comes specifically from American context. “In my family alone, I could probably tell you 10 different answers I’ve heard … we’re from South America and we’ve been there for quite a while, [so] the blanket term ‘Asian’ in how race is viewed in America, I’d say might be too broad for a lot of Guyanese to identify with.”
“Even the term Indian, I feel, isn’t a full depiction of my history on who I am.”
– Shawn Kapersaud
design
by/
Lauren
Shee
publicity/ Emma Salcedo
II. BEING HEARD.
The experiences of a racial minority — let alone a blend of multiple minority races — are unfortunately too complex to be represented by checkmark-able boxes. The American conceptualization of race as discrete, visually identifiable categories is diametrically opposed to the Caribbean’s, where race is a spectrum. It leaves Caribbean and mixed-race American youth in a particularly vulnerable position where they must grow up between nebulous, conflicting ideas of identity.
“You grow up in this multicultural household, and live in this multicultural environment, and then you go out in the world and have people tell you, ‘Oh, you just want to escape your blackness.’”
– Jasmine Younge
For Martin and Younge, whose multiracial backgrounds get overlooked by broader America, finding a sympathetic community is a challenge that follows them through college. Their journey has led them to explore two student organizations at UF: the Caribbean Student Association (CaribSA) and the Indo-Caribbean Student Association (ICSA). Kapersaud, who serves as the current Executive Treasurer for CaribSA, was enthusiastic to talk about his organization. With home-cooked cultural food and frequent mixers, CaribSA aims to carve a space in greater Gainesville dedicated to Caribbean cultural awareness. Some nights, it collaborates with Di Big Jerk, a Jamaican restaurant in walking distance of campus, to host game and karaoke nights in a space reminiscent of home.
Priya Hanuman, a Guyanese-Trinidadian Indo-Caribbean thirdyear, founded ICSA in Fall 2023. Relatively new, the organization hones in specifically on the intersection between Asian and Caribbean cultures. “A lot of the time, people don’t even know that my ethnicity exists,” she said. She explains that, with such rich multiculturalism celebrated on the islands, it becomes difficult to properly represent every group in just one student org.
III. BEING CELEBRATED.
Celebrated annually, there is one particularly significant event organized by and dedicated to Caribbeans in Gainesville: CaribSA’s Fashion-Talent Show (FTS). Student organizations across campus are invited onstage as performers to honor their ethnic heritage, celebrating it through spoken word and a competitive dance
contest. Notably, it includes three main fashion exhibitions: modern streetwear, traditional Caribbean wear, and masquerades for Carnival.
On the islands, Carnival is the quintessential pan-Caribbean holiday, filling the streets with two days of color, costumes and music. Locals and masqueraders in vibrant outfits parade the islands in remembrance of the islands’ emancipation from foreign power. “You literally start from five in the morning and you go the whole day just walking around, having a good time, listening to music — all that,” Kapersaud said. The inclusion of masquerade at FTS pays homage to that tradition; it invites students from all backgrounds to share in the celebration.
Younge, who directed the event in 2024, shares that clothing is an incredibly intimate way of exploring and embracing her heritage. “That day was so incredibly hectic, but when I put on my sari and everything, I just felt…calm.”
Tradition evokes a homelike feeling, regardless of location practiced. For these students, performing onstage is akin to being devoutly, unapologetically proud of themselves and their family line. To cheer and be cheered for by people of all backgrounds, all together at the same time, at the same place — it recreates the same warm sense of togetherness and celebration associated with living directly on the islands.
As political initiatives hostile to diversity, equity and inclusion gradually encroach on Florida universities, the importance of student-led representation becomes more important than ever. Student leaders are saddled with the challenge of defending, continuing and advocating for their own cultural spaces. In spite of this, the Indo-Caribbean students at UF and their organizations CaribSA, ICSA and FTS stand undaunted in their mission to spread awareness and build community around their ethnic identity. Indeed, they exist as beacons for students yearning for a community — their light welcomes students to truly experience a home away from home.
How
different Asian countries share their love of mangoes
written by: Prisha
Sherdiwala
“They’ve always had such an important connection to my family and my culture.”
– Krisha Patel
She recalled that her parents would always bring mangoes from the store, especially when coming back from India.
mall, yellow and ellipsoidal, the sweet smell of a mango fills grandparents’ homes in India as they wait for them to ripen. The mango has a way of bringing us together and uniting us across cultural traditions in a celebration of our labors bearing fruit. Countries from all around Asia have their own vibrant histories and traditions surrounding
INDIA: A Myriad of Flavors from the Origins
The connection of mangoes in Indian culture and the quality and nuance of their taste is no mistake — mangoes have been in India for millennia.
Mango cultivation is thought to have begun in the Indian subcontinent as early as 4000 to 6000 years ago and was made widespread during the Mughal empire. Their dynasty had a history of growing mangoes, starting with the Emperor Babar and continuing with the Emperor Akbar between 1156 and 1165 AD. During that time, Emperor Akbar planted an orchard with over 100,000 mango trees.
Krisha Patel, a second-year student at the University of Florida, has fond memories of mangoes.
Similarly, University of Florida second-year student Suggi Prashant reflected on how mangoes, her favorite fruit, are part of their family traditions. “We used to go mango picking every time my family and I went back to India,” Prashant stated. After picking the mangoes, her mom would make “mango pickle,” a cultural side dish made with large amounts of spices and oil that is usually eaten with roti.
The various types of mango pickle, ranging from sweet and spicy to sour and salty, reflect how deeply ingrained the mango has become embedded into Indian cuisine. Today, brands like Priya’s and Mother’s Kitchen allow those away from home to get a sweet taste of their home country.
design by/ Azille Latras
publicity/ Nandini Kumar
PAKISTAN: Notorious
Mango Lassi
UF third-year student Anna Khan knew exactly what she wanted when she visited Pakistan: to try their world-famous mangoes. “I’ve only been to Pakistan once in my life, but when we went, I was like, ‘I have to try the mango,’” said Khan.
And Khan would be right. The sweet and addicting quality of the varieties of Pakistani mangoes has popularized the fruit outside of the country. Similar to India, Pakistan’s climate is perfect for mango cultivation, with dry winters and humid and sunny summers. As a result, Pakistani leaders have used mangoes as a tool of political diplomacy. These mangoes have reached various world leaders, including those from India, China, the United States, and the United Kingdom.
Khan describes how she especially loves “mango lassi,” a popular drink in South Asia made from mango blended with sugar, ice, yogurt or milk. “My mom would always make [it] for me after school,” said Khan. Today, with mango lassi becoming more widespread and well known, the drink connecting Khan to her
CHINA: A Simple Fruit with a History of Mania
While mangoes symbolize a sense of togetherness today , the symbolism of the mango was quite different in 1960s China. During the Cultural Revolution, which was spearheaded by Chairman Mao Zedong, mangoes became a symbol of Mao’s love for the people, as he gave workers a box of mangoes he had received from the Pakistani Prime minister.
The workers, so enamored by this fruit that was uncommon in northern China at the time, revered the mango. They would preserve the mangoes in formaldehyde, distribute wax replicas of mangoes to other workers and drink elixirs made from boiling rotting mangoes. Seeing the profound effect
of the fruit, the Chinese Communist Party made mangoes an official party symbol, spreading its image on dishware and other household products. Although the craze has faded, this age still marks a unique point in the history of mango mania.
On the other side of the world, the mango continues to tell a story of love. Melody Zhang, a Chinese second-year student at UF, reminisced on how mangoes brought her family together. As a form of affection, her parents would “cut up mangoes for my sister and I in the morning and make sure we eat it all.”
PHILIPPINES: Mangoes — A Symbol of Hope
Despite originating in the Indian subcontinent, mangoes were transported from India to the Philippines through Spanish voyages at the end of the 15th century. Today, Philippine mangoes, often called the Carabo by some locals, are generally known as the sweetest in the world. Similar to Pakistan, these mangoes have been served in the White House and in Buckingham Palace and eventually ended up in the hands of R-Jay Corey, an 11th grade student at Palm Harbor University High School.
“Last time I was in the Philippines — like half a year ago — me and my entire extended family just sat on the side of the busy rural highway and ate mangoes in the rain waiting for the bus,” says Corey, reminiscing on a memory dear to him.
The seeds from which the first mangoes grew in South Asia have slowly spread throughout Asia and the whole world, becoming a fruit valued by so many, bringing people together. The humble fruit serves as a reminder of family, culture, gratitude and tradition that transcend history.
“We were soaking wet, but we had mangoes.”
– R-Jay Corey
How Coke Studio completely transformed Pakistan’s music industry
COKE STUDIO A TASTE OF
written by: Nandini Patel
As soon as the sun rises in Pakistan, the streets begin teeming with life — the roar of rickshaws speeding through cities, the clamor of fervent shoppers vying for the best dress and the cries of street vendors selling their spiced and savory treats. In households everywhere, people are called away to join the hustle and bustle. However, in televisions all across Pakistan, the familiar Coke logo graces its screens annually, calling upon everyone to collectively pause and listen and revel in the melodies that follow.
Coke Studio is Pakistan’s longest-running annual television program, featuring studio-recorded performances by established and emerging artists. The concept originated in Brazil in 2007 as a music project to blend the styles of two Brazilian artists. Inspired, Nadeem Zaman, Pakistan’s Marketing Head of the Coca-Cola Company, partnered with Rohail Hyatt, a former member of the band Vital Signs, to create a Pakistani version of the show. The show was initially concocted as a marketing campaign for Coca-Cola, and its flourishing success developed Coke Studio into an international music franchise with branches i many other countries.
India have a well-established, robust music industry that allows musicians to specialize in either Western or classical genres. On the other hand, Pakistan lacks industry support, forcing artists to innovate and blend styles.
Producers selectively curate artists for their distinct musical style, contributing to the season’s artistic direction and fusion-based collaborations. Works like “2AM” blend the sharp, modern Punjabi hip-hop of Star Shah with the meditative, traditional melodies of Zeeshan Ali. Complementary sounds from diametrically different artists lead to never-before-seen musical compositions that resonate with many Pakistani listeners.
Coke Studio exists as a platform to highlight underrepresented Pakistani cultures for listeners to appreciate. Each season makes a point to incorporate the regional and dialectical diversity of Pakistan, including Balochi, Punjabi, Pashtun and Sindhi representation. For example, the music video for “Aayi Aayi” by Noman Ali Rajper, Babar Mangi and Marvi Saiban draws inspiration from Sindhi culture, capturing their rich folklore tradition.
Coke Studio revolutionized the music industry in Pakistan through fusion music. Fusion is rooted in the interplay of instruments from drastically opposing ends of the spectrum. Folk instruments like the tabla and sitar are played alongside the electric guitar and drum when before they existed in fairly distinct music spheres. By bridging the gap between traditional and modern elements, they have pushed the limits of what Pakistani music can be. Artists often blend Western genres with classical Eastern poetry to create a unique sound. For example, the band Junoon pioneered the Sufi rock genre, combining the poetic folk melodies of Sufi traditions with the classic rock, grunge and blues of Western music.
Pakistani artists lean towards blended styles because of its mass appeal. Countries like
InitiaL Goals
Coke Studio was conceived during a time when folk music was a dying genre in Pakistan. Thus, its core tenets were rooted in preserving Eastern music.
Omran Shafique is the lead singer, guitarist and composer of the Pakistani band Mauj. He also lent his guitar skills to Junoon and spent nearly a decade with Coke Studio Pakistan, where he helped bridge classical South Asian traditions with modern soundscapes. He worked closely with Hyatt, the producer for the first 6 seasons of the show.
Shafique said that Hyatt pushed back against the people saying Coke Studio does “fusion music.” Rather, Hyatt emphasized their music as “exploratory within the realm of Eastern music.” This specificity came from Hyatt’s respect for the sacred art form. Western music thrives on harmonies and chords, while Eastern music is rooted in its poetry. Western elements cannot be added arbitrarily because it would compromise the integrity of Eastern melodic schemes, also known as raags. He explained, “For the sake of making a cool, jazzy track… [one] must never go against what raag is meant to be.”
design by/
Mahzabeen
Choudhury
publicity/ Brian Paz
“For the sake of making a cool, jazzy track…[one] must never go against what raag is meant to be.”
– Omran Shafique
Hyatt expected artists, like Shafique, to show understanding of all the fundamentals before they deviated from the rules. Hyatt’s approach was key to Coke Studio’s initial success because it ensured that the essence of Pakistani music was preserved.
Artists walk a fine line in balancing Eastern and Western components, as seen with “Kangna,” a qawwali song by Fareed Ayaz and Abu Muhammad on season four of Coke Studio. The point of qawwali is to spiritually connect the listener to a higher plane through repetition and has long recording times for this purpose. Shafique saw many classical performances, like “Kangna,” get cut down into a shorter format, diluting the genre. However, Shafique makes the point that if listeners enjoy the short version, they would be pushed to experience the longer version “to see how much more powerful [qawwali] can be.” This careful consideration of traditional elements aligns with Hyatt’s emphasis on preserving Eastern music while allowing it to resonate with wider audiences.
Mixing generally makes Eastern music more palatable to younger audiences. Eshaal Baber, a Pakistani first-year at the University of Florida, said that “Coke Studio helped [her] appreciate a lot of the older poetry and Eastern languages.” Additionally, the incorporation of Western elements bridge cultural gaps between Baber and her peers, making it easier for her to share Pakistani music videos with friends. By modernizing Eastern music while preserving its essence, the platform has sustained its relevance and expanded its appeal on a global scale.
Corporate Influence
Before Coke Studio, much of Pakistan's music industry had collapsed. There was a lack of royalties, rampant piracy, anti-competitive practices, a countrywide ban of social media platforms and domestic terrorism that prevented concerts from taking place. In an interview for Business Insider, Fasi Zaka, a Pakistani music critic, states “the role of corporations —while not necessarily altruistically motivated— has been integral to supporting the edifice of music in the country.”
Coke Studio was a massively successful branding tool for Coca-Cola. Arnab Roy, CocaCola’s vice president, said in The Economic Times, “In Pakistan, Coke is now the number one brand by far. Ten years ago, Pepsi was the market leader there. The single biggest growth driver to the Coke brand in Pakistan has been Coke Studio.”
Despite backing the industry, Coca-Cola’s involvement is a double-edged sword. Corporations are profit-oriented, and focus investments in commercially viable music. When the band Strings took over as Coke Studio Pakistan producer, the program became more polished. The production style was cleaner and incorporated more Western elements, garnering mainstream appeal. However, this can compromise the authentic voices of artists. Shafique saw firsthand the evolution of Coke Studio’s voice over time. “Once the corporation figures out what sells more, songs start becoming formulas and equations and cookiecutter music,” he said. Despite this, it was the goal of every Pakistani artist to make it onto Coke Studio. Many tried to tailor their music to align with the platform’s vision, leading to countless remakes of old folk songs rather than fresh, unique compositions.
“Once the corporation figures out what sells more, songs start becoming formulas and equations and cookie-cutter music.”
– Omran Shafique
Coke Studio was built on the idea of discovering and elevating unique Pakistani artists. However, profit-rooted incentives create an inherent tension between the show’s original vision and its evolving direction. As the platform grows, it must continually balance authenticity with commerciality.
Coke Studio has amplified Pakistani music to a global stage. We see its influence even in Hollywood, where tracks like “Pasoori” and “Peechay Hutt” were featured in the Ms. Marvel series on Disney+. The platform has slowly grown to be a point of pride for Pakistanis as its impact extends beyond South Asia.
Despite the debates on commercialization, Coke Studio has undeniably entrenched itself within Pakistan’s music sphere. The platform redefined how tradition and modernity can coexist, ensuring that Pakistani music evolves while remaining rooted in its heritage.
The global role of Asian animation and its impact on Western media
written by: Ananya Pradhan
landscapes and emotional complexity, the style has expanded to incorporate a wide range of genres which has contributed to its recent surge in popularity.
Asian animation represents even more than its innovation of the entertainment industry–painting a unique image of the cultures and artistic traditions which shape the region and leading as a global inspiration.
Tracing the Roots of Asian Animation
“Japan is animated as a technological power, despite losing the war by falling behind in that same technology. Nuclear-powered atomic technology is visualized as destructive, but being used for better purposes of peace by fighting bad guys and achieving justice.”
Japan’s emerging animation industry also sketched the framework for animation in several other Asian countries. In both Korea and China, Japan exhibited a large amount of control until the end of World War II, allowing studios to emerge in cities such as Pyongyang and Shanghai. Dr. Ying Xiao, an associate professor of Chinese film and media at UF, characterizes Chinese animation, known as donghua, to be deeply rooted to tradition and culture with the incorporation of Chinese mythology, legendary stories, and folklore. Some defining works of the time include Journey to the West and The Monkey King Conquers the Demon. Despite this, political tensions from Korea’s division and the Chinese Cultural Revolution hindered both industries from expanding into commercial advertisement.
Like the stories it brings to life, the history of Asian animation involves complex layers of people and details that influenced its future success. In Japan, its early 20th century animation industry initially had a lot of competition with United States’ Disney, forcing it to focus on publicity campaigns rather than storytelling. However, the post-World War II climate introduced a new goal: to reinvent modes of entertainment. Traditional values rooted in tale-telling were now used to contest new governments and constructs of social and gender roles.
Mushi Production is one of the oldest Japanese animation production companies with its founder Osamu Tezuka considered as the “Godfather of Anime.” Several of his animation techniques drew from his love of Disney’s Snow White, as he envisioned for his own company to become the “Disney of the East.”
In 1963, the company aired Tetsuwan Atomu (translating to “Astro Boy”), becoming the first televised anime and later the first anime aired in the United States. Dr.
Shifting towards South and Southeast Asia, many countries such as India, Malaysia, and the Philippines were used as outsourcing hubs for animation. While the skilled workers of these countries contributed to the success of renowned animated works, their domestic animation industries lacked the same government funding and connections to the global market of East Asian countries at the time, preventing them from reaching the same level of growth.
Niche Art Form to Global Phenomenon
Considered one of the most iconic animation studios since its founding in 1985, Studio Ghibli is known for its traditional and hand-drawn animation style. It earned
design by/ Julia Su publicity/ Ho-Jung Lee
global success with works such as Princess Mononoke in 1997 and Spirited Away in 2001. Spirited Away also received an Academy Award for Best Animated Feature in 2003, projecting Asian animation into the Western market. It is one of two hand-drawn animated films to have ever won the award, the latter also produced by Studio Ghibli. Disney also shared a partnership with the company in the 1990s, allowing more access to Asian animated films in North America.
That decade also introduced the broadcasting of anime by Cartoon Network’s Toonami, including Dragon Ball Z, Pokémon, Sailor Moon, and Naruto. According to Smith, much of American television at the time was dominated by repetitive profession-based shows, which allowed anime to offer a fresh alternative with its unique, culturallyspecific settings.
“The internet was starting up, people began recording on VHS, and Nintendo and Sega came into the American market as the American video game industry collapsed in the 80s,” added Smith. “There were several points of contact for introduction into Japanese culture.”
Some anime, such as Cowboy Bebop, Akira, and Ghost in the Shell, became even more popular in the West, enhanced by the infusion of new Western aesthetics.
This infusion has expanded tremendously as new animated series now display both traditional Eastern and modern Western elements, each adapting to the strengths of the other.
In 2003, Teen Titans introduced a new Western perspective on dynamic action sequences and character designs inspired by anime, broadening the animation audience from children to teenagers. Both The Boondocks and Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA) in 2005 were known for the same with heavy anime influence in the exaggerated facial expressions of their characters. Moreover, ATLA also imbued aspects of East Asian culture within the settings, characters, and themes of the work rather than just the artistic style. Most notable was their inclusion of character archetypes seen in anime, such as the heroic protagonist, wise mentor, and conflicted antagonist.
The 2020 COVID-19 pandemic also saw a rise in the popularity of Asian animation, as streaming services such as Crunchyroll and its relevance
on social media allowed for its greater access. Adela Wiercioch, a sophomore public relations student at UF, attributes her interest in Asian animation to have grown during this time. As she now watches both types of animation, she says the appeal of Asian animation lies in its humor. Her favorite work is the donghua Link Clink, in which she enjoys the accentuated features of the art style and more muted color composition of donghua compared to anime.
She also believes that people engaging with anime on social media allowed community-building as “there is something everyone could find interesting.” From Link Clink, she finds the joint discussion with others a part of the community a fun bonding experience. She says the same for Western animation, describing how “it’s really cool to watch people incorporate different aesthetics and techniques to elevate a work, exposing others to media they may have not gone for otherwise.”
“It’s really cool to watch people incorporate different aesthetics and techniques to elevate a work, exposing others to media they may have not gone for otherwise.”
– Adela Wiercioch
The impact of donghua is also seen with the recent film Ne Zha 2, which has become the highest grossing animated film of all time. Xiao views this as proof of the industry’s ability to “cross national and cultural boundaries, as several of the scenes look like Hollywood with the martial arts and action sequences,” attributing martial arts in new Asian animated films as an element attractive to all audiences.
The Future Landscape
Both Asian and Western animation continue to evolve, blending together to contribute to the global storyboard. Despite this, many, including Smith, believe that the animation styles will remain distinct, as cultural distinctions will still be prominent even if production pipelines become similar.
Xiao also believes that the progress of animation will help popularize donghua like anime. “Chinese animation is trying to catch-up and draw inspiration from manga and Hollywood. It takes time, but can be done if they are able to create new characters for the universal appeal to resonate with Western audiences.”
With this, the global prominence of Asian animation has provided the unique aspect of incorporating fantasy and imagination craved by their growing audience, etching a new path for storytelling.
At Daylight Donuts, where the day starts — or, for some of their most loyal customers, ends — at 5 a.m., more than just sweet treats are rising. Behind these pastries lies an immigrant success story as rich as their frosted confections. When Cambodian refugee Ted Ngoy fled the Khmer Rouge and discovered a sweet opportunity in Southern California’s donut shops, he unknowingly created a cultural phenomenon, with Cambodian families now owning 80% of the region’s donut shops. In Gainesville, Cambodian immigrant and co-owner of the shop Phalla Chea continues this legacy. Her humble storefront serves not just donuts, croissants and kolaches, but also as the unofficial dawn sanctuary for Asian American students completing their all-nighter rituals.
Behind the Counter
of them being in Gainesville. With its blue roof and bright yellow exterior, Daylight Donuts appears as just another chain location amongst many more, when in reality, it is a hearth of student culture and the tangible product of Asian American success.
Daylight Donuts, a hole-in-the-wall shop on Main Street, is actually part of a larger franchise that just celebrated their 70th anniversary. The franchise holds hundreds of locations all over the country, however there are only two in the entire state of Florida, with one
Meet Phalla Chea, a Cambodian immigrant and co-owner of Daylight Donuts in Gainesville. Since coming to the United States in 2013, she and her husband have been working in pursuit of supporting themselves and her family back in Cambodia. Chea’s friend, Tharath Ven, originally roped her into the donut retail business while they were living in Alabama. Unfortunately, the first three years of this venture were unsuccessful. Phalla recounts times when she wasn’t able to pay her employees and was making a net loss each year.
So, naturally, the next step was to try again, and she did so in 2015 in Gainesville. This time around, Phalla runs the shop only alongside her daughter’s friend and the baker/
design
shareholder. However, like any other business owner, Phalla has faced a variety of challenges and was no exception to the COVID-19 pandemic’s economic consequences. Customers were scant, hours were cut back, and without support, Chea would have to close down shop. It wasn’t until a kind customer posted to the Facebook group “Gainesville Word of Mouth” about Daylight Donuts and its struggles. The post racked in over 300 likes and kickstarted the resurrection of Chea’s success. Today, she is grateful for the love she has received on social media and all of the people who visited the shop because of it. Since then, Chea’s shop has been rebuilding its relevance among locals and students.
A “Bite” of Passage
Funny enough though, Daylight Donuts isn’t just an Asian American success story, it’s also a source of comfort and a backdrop to blooming friendships within the University of Florida’s Asian Pacific Islander Desi community. Among the Asian American Student Union (AASU), the Filipino Student Association and the Vietnamese Student Organization are two of the most prominent cult-followers of the beloved donut shop. As a commonly understood but not often mentioned tradition, Bigs take their Littles to the shop to commemorate the end of an all-nighter.
that students participate in multiple times a semester.
Though this “tradition” only started within the past two to three years, younger AASU generations have coined the terms “daylighting” and “daylighters,” to spark interest in group chats, often posing the simple question:
“ANY
DAYLIGHTERS?”
Jason Dela Cruz recalls during November of last semester, he and his Big underwent the sacred rite of passage together. When first arriving, Dela Cruz thought that the shop was smaller than he initially expected, however, this surprise element added a sense of home-y-ness. Accompanied by the smell of fresh donuts and Chea’s warm smile, Dela Cruz was hooked. Since then, after pulling his weekly all-nighters to catch up on school work and hang out with friends, he tops off the night with a half dozen of red velvet and blueberry donuts. Along with typically four to five friends, he often runs into other members of AASU at the crack of dawn.
Sweet Relief
Oftentimes, “daylighters” will spontaneously plan their allnighters the day of. Then, they will seek out other friends that are willing to pull an all-nighter at Marston library before they get their “kiss of relief” in the form of a sweet donut. One particular friend group with members Bekzod Ismatulla, Laura Vuong and Patrick Ouano will often start with the notorious “Any daylighters” in their Discord group chat. Following the question, they must decide: to daylight or to not daylight, usually with the “I’ll do it if you do it” mentality. When the decision is tough, sometimes Ismatulla refers to a digital flip of a coin to decide his fate.
After executing the all-nighter – whether it be filled with focused studying or lighthearted conversation – daylighters will make their way to the shop. They usually arrive before it even opens, anticipating their Jalapeño-Cheese kolache or Red Velvet donut with a warm fragrant coffee. After many nights and days of this ritual, Chea has started to pick up on the hordes of Asian students creating TikTok dance videos while they wait in the dark for the clock to strike five. “[The students] are good. I think they bring me more customers too.”
Through Daylight Donuts, freshmen and locals have found solace in their unconventional sleep schedules. In a small town
However, more recently, incoming students are discovering and visiting the shop on their own. Even more, visiting the shop altogether is increasingly becoming a social event
support of the community has allowed Chea’s shop to become a beloved AASU tradition and a lasting part of Gainesville spirit and students’ college memories.
First-year UF student Ava Pham still remembers the time she spent $300 on a resold Hatsune Miku figure. For Pham, the purchase meant more than the price — it was about the arduous search for the figure, and finally getting her hands on the elusive piece. The resale market for Asian pop-culture merchandise is not just about making money, but about passion, accessibility and community. The market has a bad reputation for price gouging and scalping, but for many Asian hobby enthusiasts, reselling is a necessary way to access scarce goods in the West, afford to expand their collections and help others do the same.
Why Fans Turn to Resellers
Pham, a freshman at the University of Florida, enjoys collecting anime figures and plushies. Although she enjoys hunting for good deals through proxies, her main motivation for buying secondhand is the cheaper price. “It’s easier to buy through a proxy and take the L with shipping,” Pham said. Proxy services allow buyers to order items from Asian online stores, such as JP Yahoo Auction and Mercari; cheaper prices are often found through these middlemen than on Western resale platforms or official retailers.
Similarly, Levi Ye, a college student in California, collects and resells figures and plushies. When Ye first started purchasing figures, they would purchase them off of American Mercari, where Americans mark up merchandise significantly. “At first, using Japanese proxy services was confusing,” Ye explained. Because of this, many buyers miss out on better deals from Japanese resellers. “I personally price my stuff pretty cheap because … it’s unfair for people who don’t know how to buy overseas.” Unlike many resellers
who inflate prices to take advantage of limited availability, Ye believes in reselling to make items accessible to fellow
The Joy of Collecting Over Profiting
For both Pham, Ye and many others in these collector communities, the purpose of buying and selling isn’t rooted in financial gain. Rather, it’s about fandom. Pham explained why she doesn’t resell primarily for profit. “A lot of people collect just because
“It’s about searching for and collecting things that bring you joy and selling them once they
don’t, so they can make others happy.” – Ava Pham
There are opportunities to profit in the resale industry. Pham herself once resold a plushie for far more than what she paid for it, but her main purpose for reselling it was because she was no longer interested in the media it came from. The money she made from the transaction was a bonus, not her intent. Ye, who often resells figures to make space in their collection, shared a similar mindset. “I usually sell for about half of what I originally paid,” they said. Ye barely makes a profit off of the figures they sell, but they don’t mind because selling allows them to make room for new interests. For many collectors, selling their items is a way of letting go of past interests and allowing someone else to enjoy them.
design
by/
Katheri
Almeda
publicity by/ Lisa Wong
The fandom-driven resale market for Asian pop-culture merchandise
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Pricing Concerns
While Ye prioritizes fair pricing, some Western resellers take advantage of collectors’ limited access to Asian goods. By marking up prices on items that are widely available overseas, they make it difficult for Western fans to collect without overpaying. “If you buy in bulk, you’re already saving money,” Ye said. “You shouldn’t be doubling the price just because you don’t have other options.” These high prices are common in brick-and-mortar stores that cater to mainstream audiences rather than niche hobbyists, frustrating those who know how cheap these items are overseas.
“Western resellers scalp off of people who don’t know how to buy from abroad.” – Ava Pham
At the same time, both Ye and Pham acknowledge that there needs to be a balance between profit and altruism. While Pham occasionally profits from reselling, Ye focuses more on breaking even.
“For me, as long as the items find a better home, that’s good enough.” – Levi Ye
The Role of Online Communities
Collectors have built thriving online communities to share buying strategies, reviews and deals. Pham references platforms like Reddit and MyFigureCollection to keep up with her friends’ purchases and price fluctuations. These forums are helpful to collectors because access to Asian merchandise is so limited in Western retail stores, and proxy websites have a steep learning curve. “There are threads from 11 years ago with the same questions I have now,” Ava said. “It’s nice to navigate [the market] with other people.” Online platforms serve as information hubs and safe trading spaces where collectors can connect with trustworthy sellers and avoid scams or excessive markups.
The Future of the Market
As Western retailers expand their offerings, some collectors wonder if the resale market will shrink. Ye believes there will always be demand. “Some figures stop being produced, and once they’re gone, they’re gone.” As many collectors value items based on their rarity, there will continue to be demand for limited or discontinued items. Moreover, even as Western retailers increase the breadth of their Asian merchandise, there is still a wealth of goods exclusive to Asia that can only be obtained through proxies.
The resale market is full of collectors like Pham and Ye, who are better described as hobbyists than business people. Their transactions are about ensuring beloved merchandise finds a new home. “It’s fun seeing what people have, hunting for good deals and finding something rare. It’s like a little adventure,” Pham said. As long as that sense of excitement and passion for fandoms remains, the resale market for Asian pop culture merchandise will continue to thrive — not just as a business, but as a community.
Third Places
A Home Away from Home
How third places at UF have fostered groups and relationships for the AAPID community
written by: Ananya Bhargava
What makes a home? Is it the comfort of one’s physical house? Friends and family? Or feelings of happiness, comfort and nostalgia? Sometimes, home can be a place away from one’s literal home, another place where they feel comfort and joy: a third place. Third places can be anything that’s not one’s literal home or workplace where a person can naturally, casually meet other people, including a garage, room or coffeehouse. Third places can even be virtual, helping connect people with similar interests online.
Comforts of Home
As an incoming student, it is difficult to integrate into a new environment where everyone seems to already have an established social circle. The first couple weeks can be dreadful and cause feelings of isolation. However, third places can help mitigate this issue. A 2022 study done by Narae Lee, a postdoctoral scholar at Pennsylvania State University, considered the connection between third places (specifically cafes, bars and restaurants) and their psychological benefits on Californian university students. Lee found that “spending leisure time at third places can be psychologically beneficial” as well as simply being “a place of relaxation.”
In the AAPID community at UF, a multitude of these third places exist, including the Marston first floor “Pi Room” and Garage 14.
Why Pi?
In a hidden corner of the Marston Library lies the Pi Room, one of the many study rooms in the basement of the library. Former UF Society of Asian Scientists and Engineers (SASE) president, Ian Lai, explains how he started using the Pi Room (formerly known as Nye room, after Bill Nye) post-COVID-19 as a space for SASE members to “comfortably study, socialize and meet other people to form real connections.” Today, the room remains a sacred space and a manifestation of SASE’s community-building. Vincent Lin, a third-year and the current president of UF SASE is one of the Pi Room’s most regular visitors. He discusses how SASE reserves the Pi room for daily use two weeks in advance.
“Everyone needs a place or space where [they] feel affirmed...like they’re worth something.” – John Maze
John Maze, an associate professor at the UF School of Architecture, emphasized the need for people to “establish oneselves” and have everyday casual interactions with people within the same space, providing examples of online communities to interact with those with a common interest. Psychologically, there are significant benefits to finding a third place and keeping it as a comfort space.
Lin recalls his freshman year when a professional resume review held in the Pi Room encouraged him to go and interact with other SASE members, something that laid the foundation for him calling this room “home.” There is a sense of belonging within the space, says Lin, because once a student starts going to the room more often, they encounter and recognize the same people, gradually becoming more comfortable with approaching them.
However, these small interactions allow members to do more than to build personal relationships. The room often serves as a gateway into the professional realm. For instance, Lin explained how the space leads to networking and mentorship opportunities and allows members to receive help with their resume, homework, and projects. . With a simple study room in the Marston Library basement, strangers can join in on community and camaraderie to make friends and also develop professionally.
design by/ Bhavana Kavarthapu
publicity by/ Cindy Zhou
Finding Their Spotlight
Sitting down the hill on Gale Lemerand Drive, Garage 14 is an on-campus student parking garage. But student organizations, such as UF Dostana, one of UF’s Bollywood fusion dance teams, have claimed the area as a dance space. Historically, Dostana’s practices were held in the O’Connell Center garage because of its proximity to dorms and classes, but the roof was often taken by other dance teams, leaving Dostana to choose between small traditional studios or Garage 14. The garage was a space that accommodated Dostana’s size, allowed students to work during practices with Wi-Fi and had no restrictions on creative use of the space so dancers could practice to the side. It has now become a space of growth and belonging for UF’s dance teams like the Vietnamese Student Organization (VSO), Black Student Union (BSU) and many others.
Two first-year members of UF Dostana, Pranathi Madishetty and Ananyaa Sutaria, recall their first practice with Dostana in Garage 14 where they roamed around trying to find an
“It’s weird to say I know my way around a parking garage, but I definitely feel a sense of belonging [there].” – Ananyaa Sutaria
open space to practice. This led to a scavenger hunt with dancers becoming familiar with the space on day one of Dostana practice.
The dancers also share fond memories of late-night hell weeks (one week of endless hours of dance practice, with most dancers not getting much sleep) “[doing] homework together, [having] study groups, [eating] there and even
the garage during hell week, creating strong bonds through their shared experiences.
Both dancers emphasize the unique feeling of holding practices in the garage, making Garage 14 feel like Dostana’s, especially considering that a parking garage feels like the last place a dance team would hold their practices.“It’s always going to be a joke and something you can connect with,” claimed Sutaria.
What Makes a Home
Like SASE’s Pi room, Garage 14 has allowed UF Dostana to foster their own community, described Madishetty, where everyone truly cares for one another and is able to meet new people, making unforgettable memories.
A house traditionally consists of four walls, a door and a roof for protection and survival. However, a home is more than that — it is where one’s friends and family are and a place where happiness and comfort reside. Third places at UF are not just spaces — they are homes that contribute to building character and growth in students’ personal and professional lives, fostering a community they will cherish
Exploring Proto-Science Fiction –
A Reflection on Youth, Technology, and Striving for a Better World
written by: Neha Thanissery
Proto-science fiction emerged in 1990s Japan, falling under the science fiction genre. It embodies a dystopian ideological trope that post-development Japan has become a shell of capitalist progress, overwhelmed by its own technological dominance. This subgenre is deeply intertwined with Techno-orientalism, where projections of a disembodied and innovative future are coupled with exoticized images of the East.
A Brief History
The cultural roots of Japanese protoscience fiction are tied to the World War II atomic bombs, the Hanshin Earthquake, the Sarin gas attacks and the 1900s Japanese recession. World War II fostered a shift in cultural values in the post-war decades: with the guilt and regret from wartime actions ingrained in the nation’s collective memory there was a gradual focus on democracy, technological innovation and economic growth while moving away from the imperial and militaristic practices of the past. These events fragmented public trust in institutions while globalization and the integration of a digital age brought spheres of Western influence into media, stirring a conflict in national identity.
In 1992, a burst in the Japanese economic bubble led to the ”Lost Decades,” characterized by a loss of confidence in Japan’s financial systems, civil unrest, political disillusionment and general societal feelings of alienation. Material wealth and status declined, leaving
society barren and struggling to find meaning. The recession not only stunted economic growth, but also exposed the deeper tension between individual desires and societal expectations, a dynamic that had previously been masked by the promise of prosperity through compliance to conventional norms.
“Japan has long been an individualistic society, but is misinterpreted as collectivist.” – Christopher Smith
“Japan has long been an individualistic society, but is misinterpreted as collectivist due to the social contract that compels people to adhere to conformist values in exchange for prosperity,” said Christopher Smith, a professor of Japanese literature at the University of Florida. “Systems of power have been successful at suppressing individual desires, creating a structure that reinforces this perception.”
The individual was never subdued in the collective. People were always aware of their own individualism and how it conflicted with what society demanded of them. What abdicated desire was social coercion and material compensation. However, once traditional corporate models broke down and people no longer earned enough to justify sacrificing their wants, this collectivist system that sought a utopia was discredited. The protoscience fiction movement encapsulates the anxiety of navigating an empty, foreign cultural landscape where traditional values are subverted, and people are searching for existential gratification.
Striving for a Better World
Japanese protoscience fiction captures the zeitgeist of the 1990s, acting as a medium to discuss and challenge social issues transcending the constricts of time. “The creators of ‘90s media were part of a generation that had once protested as students in the ‘60s, fervently striving for a better world,” Smith
design by/
Enchang Fan publicity by/ Eva Lu
explained. “Despite their efforts, what they inherited was a reality dominated by an even more entrenched capitalism.” Famous works such as “Serial Experiments Lain” and “Neon Genesis Evangelion” address the social effects of the economic downturn, the surge in innovation and dissemination of technology and the concerns regarding globalization and critiques conformist culture/collective consciousness.
“Neon Genesis Evangelion” (NGE) reflects the idea that Japan’s society was trying to reconcile its collectivist past with the increasing isolation and individualism of modern life. In NGE, this tension is introduced through the “Human Instrumentality Project,” a grand plan to merge all souls into a single consciousness and thereby erase the boundaries between people. “The desire to escape from these burdens of loneliness, depression, and existential anxiety by merging into one unified being becomes a metaphor for the collective yearnings of a society overwhelmed by its own internal strife,” explains Alan Ho, culture chair of Japanese Student Association. The series portrays the psychological toll of societal expectations and the pressure to conform, especially within Japan’s highly competitive and meritocratic culture.
Smith further elaborated on how the Human Instrumentality Project in NGE was conceived by the wartime generation, executed by the middle-aged, and ultimately rejected by the youth. This reflects the generational divides in Japan during the 1990s, where the older generation, echoing imperialist ideals, sought a return to collectivism and an attempt to reclaim the power and prosperity of the Edo period. This project was met with persistent youthful revolt, as younger generations resisted the reinstatement of a social contract. Similarly, “Akira” also presents a chaotic vision
of generational rebellion, where violent biker gangs and psychic powers symbolize the youth’s revolt against societal structures, embodying the rejection of imperialist values and institutional control, while reflecting anxieties about Japan’s future and the rise of individualism.
“Japan’s portrayal of technology often leans toward cautionary tales, warning about the potential dangers of artificial intelligence, advanced robotics, and the emotional detachment that could arise from these innovations.” – Alan Ho
The Illusion of Control in a Technological Age
Protoscience fiction delves into the paranoia and unease surrounding technology’s potential to surpass human systems or strip society of its humanity. In “Psycho-Pass,” technology governs moral behavior through state surveillance, replacing human judgment with automated systems that strip away personal agency and reduce individuals to data points, diminishing human connection. “Serial Experiments Lain” explores identity in a digital age, as a young girl creates an alternate persona and becomes entangled in a virtual world, blurring the lines between self and reality. “Ghost in the Shell” deepens this theme by questioning what it means to be human in a world where technology and humanity merge, asking what remains of personal identity when the soul can be digitized.
In contemporary Japan, technology has become so deeply woven into the fabric of daily life that it diminishes interpersonal interactions. As foreseen in the media of the 1990s, technology has engendered a profound social disconnection, leading to the erosion of traditional support systems. A notable manifestation of this alienation is the rise of “hikikomori,” individuals who retreat from society, often sequestering themselves indoors and spending their days immersed in the digital world. This form of social withdrawal now affects 1.46 million people in Japan, with the ease of online shopping and entertainment acting as key enablers of this isolation.
Together, these anime form a complex dialogue on the interplay between technology, identity and society. They question whether the increasing isolation and loss of personal agency in a techdriven world can ever be reconciled with the human need for connection, belonging and self-determination. Each series, in its unique way, portrays the psychological toll of navigating a society that increasingly demands conformity while simultaneously alienating its individuals.
STORIES WOVEN AMONG GOLD and jewels
A Focus on South/ Central Asian Heirlooms
written by: ARISSA LATIF
Whether gleaming, rusted, hand-crafted, engraved or in other states, family heirlooms are inanimate objects filled with life. These objects connect individuals to those who came before them, serving as a testament to their history and cultural identity. Due to this, they carry great power and jewelry is the most prominent one across Central and South Asia.
Under their glamor, glittering from gems and metals in delicate and bold designs, each piece encapsulates various meanings. Across UF, students share their jewelry heirlooms and respective tales.
Afghanistan Bangladesh
From the heart of a valley, west of rugged mountains in Herat, lies the origin of first-year student Kiyanaz Foroogh’s heirloom. The traditional Afghan-style bracelet with gold coins was given to her mother by her paternal grandmother as a wedding gift and has been passed down to daughters through the generations by mothers and mothers-in-law in the events of family unions.
Gold holds great significance because it fosters “a sense of security and stability, which is something the country overall lacks right now,” Foroogh explained, noting that the symbolic value of the metal has remained constant over the centuries.
“I get so happy when I see it because it reminds me of how much my paternal grandmother had loved and cared for my mother,” said Foroogh, describing how her grandmother had wanted to extend a warm welcome for her mother despite external hardships.
Furthermore, after moving to America, Foroogh explained how wearing these pieces helped with maintaining her cultural identity. “For us Afghans, our gold is 24 karat and looks different. Wearing it out, everybody sees it and makes comments, and it brings up the conversation of my background, which I love talking about. It’s what want everyone to see me through the lens of instead of stereotypes”.
“It’s what I want everyone to see me through the lens of instead of stereotypes.”
— kiyanaz foroogh
“Every time I wear them, I think of all my ancestors who’ve worn them before.”
— Rumaysa Qader
In the land of the rivers, stemming from the royal lineage of the Mughal Empire in the Bengal Subah, arises the origin of first-year student Rumaysa Qader’s heirloom. Her gold earrings, circle-shaped and engraved with flowers, have been passed down for generations on her maternal side, who are direct descendants from a general during the reign.
Qader described how the simple style “represents how old it really is … it keeps its time and the beauty is still there.” It was gifted to her for her 16th birthday by her parents, who chose to honor the American tradition of the “Sweet 16” because Qader is the first American in the family.
The earrings were crafted by the family and acted as something constant while they lost nearly everything during the 1947 partition, which separated British India into India and Pakistan, and then the 1971 war that created Bangladesh. “Every time I wear them, I think of all my ancestors who’ve worn them before. This is part of my lineage now and I get to wear it and feel proud of who I am,” she explained.
The earrings have had different meanings over the generations as well. Qader described how “it signified respect and power before royalty was diminished from the subcontinent.” Now, the earrings speak stories of perseverance. With all the re-drawn borders and later immigration, the earrings have served as “a piece of home,” Qader described, and how despite it all, the earrings have kept their shine.
design by/ Maria Navas
publicity by/
Stella Lee
India
Amid bustling metropolises and ancient temples in the state of Andhra Pradesh lies the origin of first-year student Ananya Padala’s heirloom. The gold ring has hearts on either side and a flower embedded with diamonds in the middle. “The floral aspect is very apparent in Indian jewelry, with very intricate and geometric design,” Padala added, describing how it pays homage to the traditional styles.
However, it carries a deeper significance as it symbolizes the milestone of pursuing higher education. Her mother received it as a parting gift from her parents before college and it was passed down to Padala before her journey at UF, with the same intentions, acting as good luck and commemorating a new era. Wearing it reminds her of how far her family and society have progressed. “In past generations, women weren’t adequately educated … My mom becoming self-sufficient and employed represented a new shift,” Padala explained with pride.
Amid this transition, one thing didn’t waver: family support. She described how Indian culture “has a lot of intrinsic family values and it symbolizes support, even if pasts diverge and people do different things than they did before,” proven by how the ring symbolizes support shown for taking a new path. As a marker of strong women and the pillars of support behind them, Padala plans on passing the ring down with that significance.
Pakistan
Between lush meadows and low mountains, fragrant mango stalls and wide roads, the capital contains the origin of an heirloom of a first-year student who wishes to remain anonymous. The bright diamond in the ring contrasts its rusted metal band. She described the design as “not being very traditional and … more western, but the memories make it connected to family”.
It follows a pattern of comfort after death, tracing back to how her older aunt initially received it in the distribution after her grandmother’s passing. “My older aunt wanted to make my cousins happy after the passing of their mother and got them meaningful presents, and since I was similar in age, I also got something.” The presents constituted of jewelry passed down, signifying a connection to how family is always near.
Valued by both her and her cousins, she explained how “even though I got it very young, my mother trusted me to keep it safe because she knew it meant a lot to me,” and it has followed her across borders of many countries, until reaching her new home of Gainesville.
It glimmers from her jewelry box and reminds her of family, giving solace as an international student.
From the rich regions of Afghanistan, Bangladesh, India and Pakistan, these heirlooms hold great importance. Gleaming, rusted, engraved and handcrafted, they all are truly alive, empowering these students with their presence.
We Were Here
The mosaic of AASU: What we’ve inherited and what we leave written by: Morgan Hurd
Thesmell of summer approaching tickles the air as incoming freshmen walk the lawn of the plazas. A buzz of chattering voices, the first of many hello’s are exchanged. Among this group stands Trunk Nguyen meeting his first friend, saying his first hello to AASU.
A vast campus, people too many and too intimidating, and the days exciting but terrifying for their unpredictability. For many at UF, student organizations become a refuge: casual conversation turns into friendship and sleepless nights at the library spiral into deep connections carried for a lifetime. Suddenly, these students are not just part of something. They are shaped by it.
From the moment he discovered the Asian American Student Union (AASU), UF alum Phillip Cheng said he “felt on the shoulders of giants because of the student organizations. There was so much substance, so much history.” Cheng lacked an Asian community growing up, but from the moment he discovered AASU, he knew he had found exactly what he was waiting for.
Adopted from China as an infant, fourth-year Marla Horn was uncomfortable with AASU her first year. “I was closed off to the idea of getting to know my culture in any way. I identified with being Asian, but not necessarily culturally Chinese,” she said. A leap of faith brought Horn to the Chinese American Student Association’s Big/Little program and her mentor, Ying. Without even realizing it, she had created a space for herself that would go on to shape her entire college experience. “If it wasn’t for [Horn’s Big] Ying, I probably wouldn’t have been in CASA or AASU … I didn’t feel like I would fit into that community when I first got here.” Two CASA board positions and seven choreographed dances later, the way Horn looks back on her Gator experience is, “I didn’t go to football games, I went to CNY.”
In contrast, Nguyen came to college knowing exactly that there would be a community for him. He “chose UF because of the Asian American Student Union,” because “it just felt right to get involved.” He had longed for this — a community where he didn’t feel out of place. From that first hello, Nguyen was introduced to person after person, no longer searching for community but being woven into it. “I realized this is my community, this is my family.”
Prior to what AASU has now, Cheng recalls when there was less institutional support, when they had to fight for every dollar — for even the acknowledgment of their existence. Cheng stood shoulder-to-shoulder with every sub-organization president, treasurer and vocal general member in front of UF’s budgeting committee, testifying for receiving funding that semester. That night, they walked out with nearly double the budget they had received the previous semester. “I left feeling very empowered and with a sense of what we can do as a community when we show up together,” Cheng said. He now feels pride in what has continued to build over the years and believes in hope for future generations.
“We’re part of this continuum and what we have to work with is given to us by the students before.”
– Phillip Cheng
Despite the Florida government’s cuts to diversity equity and inclusion initiatives, the community still flourishes.
Over a decade later, the fire that Cheng felt continues to burn, and Nguyen sees it in his peers. “I think freshmen now can see what has been taken from the community, and what has been left behind for us first years. It’s just making us more passionate.”
This passion burns bright because of those who continue to carry and pass the flame. The concept of “legacy” has existed for generations, leaving people wondering not only if they will be remembered, but how. This is particularly special about AASU — legacy is not solely defined by what’s tangible, but by what has been woven into the lives of others and the fabric of AASU. These pieces are not necessarily the names of individuals, but the essence of their memories: those will forever hold a space in history through their connections, intentions and care.
“It’s not about what you physically leave here, but the ways that you can impact the organization for the better and for the future of it.” – Marla Horn
Despite all of her involvements, Horn knows and fully expects that in a few years, no one will know her name. “The importance of legacy in terms of staying with people isn’t super important to me. I think it’s more important that I set up a framework [for] how the organizations are going to work in the future,” she said. “Small things like bringing the dance coordinators’ successors a Happy Meal from McDonald’s on the night of traditions will probably stop in the next few years. So setting up the framework for having camaraderie and respecting each other, knowing how to work with one another … is very important to think about.”
The new class of freshmen already realize the impact of their predecessors. Nguyen has been heavily involved within multiple
organizations and their activities but he’s ready to accept the torch that the upperclassmen are passing. “I’m ready to become a mentor, to be that one person’s intro to everyone. Even when I’m a third or fourth year, I want to help those incoming to find that path to realizing that there is community at UF — there’s people you can rely on, people you can crash out to at two in the morning, people here for you even if you just met them. I really want to think I can be that bridge … the legacy of this class is going to make a profound impact on the future of AASU.”
There’s a thread that connects us all. Different years, generations and experiences, but the same story: one of searching and finding, of hesitation and belonging, of legacy passed down not in grand gestures, but in small, quiet moments. We are a story of people who came here looking for something and found ourselves instead. That is what legacy truly is. Not names in history books, positions held or awards won — but the hands that we reach out to one another, the spaces we create and the feeling of strangers becoming family.
Writer’s note:
This is my seventh and final semester writing for Sparks Magazine. I began as a scared freshman, scared of entering a space that I never quite felt I was allowed to be in because of being an adoptee and not being “Asian enough.” Sparks was truly my ‘spark’ into the creation of my college experience. Through the years I have not only come to find my place in the APIDA community, but to allow myself to take up space and have a voice. I have learned and been immersed in my own culture as well as others. I have found my family here. Passion for living, dreaming and existing that had been beaten out of my soul has been reignited with an even bolder flame. My final article is a love letter to the AASU community, honoring those who came before me, those that have stood by my side and those that will continue to expand our community. I am who I am because of all of you and I cannot thank you enough.
With love,
POETRY & ART contest
Zindagi refers to life and existence. It hones in on how individuals feel alive, and the steps they take towards shaping their life themselves. The bridging feeling between legacy and evolution, zindagi reflects the agency and experiences of being and defining one’s life.
Art & Poetry Prompt: In what ways have you explored, struggled with, or embraced zindagi?
One lifetime, one encounter.
Human life is summation Of an infinite number of infinitesimal moments, Each a lifetime in their own right–Never to be experienced again.
Even a task repeated ten thousand times, Or a face you see each day, Has a nuance, a wrinkle different from yesterday–And tomorrow.
A drop of water traces a new path, Down stone and leaf each time it falls.
And the forest experiences unfamiliar komorebi each day, New sunlight leaks through trees to embrace the waterlilies.
All of life is in constant flow and flux, Like seasons shifting into one another, Lives and lifetimes lost like leaves in autumn, Moments and memories melt like ice in spring, Life blooming and decaying ceaselessly.
One day, I’ll forget your face–And my own, too.
Like snow forgets the footprints pressed into it, As years pass, no creature will recall Our faces or our names.
Our legacies buried with our bodies, Our ashes scattered by wind and water, To be absorbed by some other creature.
One flower’s petals wilt, While another’s bloom.
Do not drown in the past, Nor let the future paralyze you. Live in this moment, And the next, And the next–
Each as they come–Memories in making.
Now is now.
One lifetime, one encounter.
You have but one life to live, And I intend to spend each moment well, For these encounters are all I truly own.
ICHI-GO ICHI-E, Rohan Joshi
I wrote this poem after learning about Japanese art and culture through an exhibit and green tea ceremony at the Harn Art Museum and a movie titled “Perfect Days.” The proverb ICHI-GO ICHI-E and the theme of komorebi (light leaking through trees) made me think about the small, ever-changing moments that make up life. I wrote this poem in the span of a few minutes while sitting in a park with my family in swaying greenery, the bright sun, a strong breeze, and contemplative silence — simply enjoying this moment simultaneously together and alone with ourselves. This connects to Zindagi because these moments and this mindset make me feel alive and allow me to constantly reflect and grow.
Date of Delivery: Soon, Brian Paz
I approached the experience of life from birth, hence the title referencing delivery. I wanted to tell the story of a recent gay crush of mine through a love-letter-confession-esque format and use fruits, line indents and breaks, and italicization to show the emotional highs and lows of that journey, as well as what I did to free myself of inauthenticity.
However you receive these words, by my hand or another, I hope they will be received well. Have you ever had this fear of eating a fruit and having its seed consume you, feast on your every cell, devour your every thought, until there is no space left for you to breathe?
As a child, I imagine a seed was planted in my chest. What it would bear, I did not care. I only noticed that my eyes were drawn to those I was taught as forbidden, that my fingers longed to interact with others, that my heart halted in my stares at other guys. Beneath my skin, under the ribs, I realized a strawberry was growing, and I did not know what to do.
I have seen fruits before, but I never had one myself before,
And with that, there were the flies. What if I –only wanted to be like them? –was too young to decide? –do not have enough guy friends? And so, I put things on hold and held my breath but the fruit would not stop.
When the world became sick and was forced inside, I was left alone, myself and a strawberry for a heart. Here I was, being killed, and let us face it, trying to kill whatever was in me. But why?
Why collect the acid rain and water my flowers with it? I began to live out of spirit and spite, for there was nothing wrong done, and I even told my family
That this boy liked other boys.
Still, before I met you, there were still thorns in my life that did not smell the hint of berries in my breath. I held myself back once more, afraid and rotting fruit; I told myself I would be okay with a life lived alone, with a life encased in the greenhouse. And I actually would be, no doubt. But not for lack of trying.
When I met you, I told everyone you seemed to be the first guy to actually hear what I wanted to say.
(What I did not tell them was all the little conversations we had when the world was asleep except us, and how learning about you, exchanging word after word after word with you made my smile a bit brighter.)
I told those thorns the news, and they received my desire well–for they would be cut if they did not. And here we are now.
It seems though this strawberry has been squashed, a swift stomp to months in the making. You are still sweet and savory, but I heard there is no fruit in your heart, no ray of the rainbow for juice to dribble off of. And unfortunately, news of this crush to you is out of my control, ripped from my hands before me.
But I will not die here.
No, I plan to watch as this strawberry spills its red, to water the space for new seeds, to walk elsewhere and search for sparks that shall surge through these roots I call veins.
Yes, I want you to know, whenever you find this, that this chase was thrilling and one enough for this berry to beat.
Untitled, Enchang Fan
Exploring Zindagi and how I incorporated that theme into my work, I decided to go for a multipleexposure effect that shows the many different layers that come with life itself. I also wanted to utilize this piece to visually represent the saying that “hair holds memories” through the portrait of the woman embedded within the many layers that I made visible. When thoroughly analyzing the multiple layers compiled into the piece, it’s evident that flowers, spirals, mandalas, and movement were present within the composition to expand on the meaning of life and existence.
