Reflections Issue No. 4: CHERISH

Cherish SPRING 2024 UT AAJA ZINE

Contents 4 Editor’s note

6 Why can’t we have nice things

10 In every life, I will always cherish you

14 honey

18 A scene of summer before revolution

a note from the editor

a note from the editor

BY FIZA KUZHIYIL There is nothing to writing, Hemingway said. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. That’s what we have done in this, the fourth issue of the zine by our chapter of AAJA here at the University of Texas at Austin. Our words come during a fraught time on the 40 acres — Senate Bill 17 has shut down our beloved diversity offices and laid off caring members of our community. It blocked some of our key funding, but still, our community prevails through protesting, fundraising and the one thing we do best — writing.

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When I logged onto my first AAJA Zoom meeting as a freshman, it offered me the first taste of comfort during the pandemic. Now, as I close out my senior year and walk towards graduation, I know AAJA members carried me halfway there. From late night study sessions to the chapter meetings that turned into yap sessions, this community has become one where I never have to worry about how I’m perceived. This is what AAJA offers us — a place to unabashedly bring all of yourself to be supported, to be loved, to be cherished.

The words in this zine are a testament to our voice, our power and our grit. Our words showcase our love for journalism, yes, but more so our love for each other. We invite you to cherish these words with us.

Magazine Title

always

In every life, I will

cherish you

BY KEVIN VU

I wish I could see you again.

I wish I could eat the homemade yogurt you’ve made, that’s tart and silky smooth.

I wish I could hear you complain about me about not speaking Vietnamese.

I wish I could speak Vietnamese so that I can hear all your stories about you in your youth.

I wish I could hear you talk about how to become a better person and a better man.

I wish you could see how I’ve become a better man.

I wish you didn’t have to miss my high school graduation because of COVID-19.

I wish I knew you would miss my college one too.

I wish I had gone to you one last time before my last semester started.

I wish I could hear your laugh again, as it fills the room with joy and innocence.

I wish to hear your singing as it puts me to sleep, as you tell me you love me, and kiss me goodnight.

I wish in another life for you to still take care of me as my grandmother, to hold me with your warmth and care, and tell me that everything will be alright.

I wish I could tell you that I love you one last time.

I wish I could see you again. I wish I could.

i wish i could see

you again, i

YB

wish i could

Why we can’t have nice things

Why we can’t have nice things

BY AOIFE HOPKINS

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“Some of the only spaces where I felt seen and included based on my ethnicity were in Asian American interest or POC interest events on the UT Campus.”

The

feels

like

write, and speak my language, other

pathetic

low

Japanese people do not see me as

blow to ethnic minorities and the

one of our own. It is upsetting but

systematically

our

I’ve come to terms with it. Some of

community. The Texas GOP’s efforts

the only spaces where I felt seen and

to make life worse and less joyful

included based on my ethnicity were

for all Texans keep chipping away

in Asian American interest or POC

at our state and I couldn’t be more

interest events on the UT Campus.

livid that many programs, such as the

I hadn’t thought about my identity

Monarch Program, The Multicultural

and how it affects me for a while

Engagement Center (MEC) and more

recently, but the passing of SB17 and

have closed. However, I kept seeing

the discontinuation of the MEC had

the bill’s impact through the lens of

saddened me on multiple levels. The

how it would impact other people, and

MEC is a place where I could enjoy

I forgot that it would impact my joy

events

and comfort on campus too.

cultures, which is a true blessing as

a

For

passing

devastating

context:

of

SB17

and

oppressed

It’s

an

in

open

centering

on

other

Asian

secret

being able to experience other Asian

that I have a complicated, painful

traditions and foods from students my

relationship with my cultural heritage.

age in a university setting is a kind

I was born into what I consider the

of niche joy I won’t be able to have

most exclusive and homogenous of

again post-grad. It was truly the little

societies, Japanese culture. Despite

things that created the biggest sense

being “motherland born,” active in

of relief and community for me and

traditions, and my ability to read,

countless other individuals.

Magazine Title

Why we can’t have nice things

Having these celebrations to look forward to was one of the few times I felt seen as an AsianAmerican, where diaspora students who feel the impact of multiculturalism in their homes see me and uplift me where I can’t in other parts of school or even in Japan itself. When you see the leads who promote bills like SB17, they don’t look like us, feel like us, or think like us. They would never know nor understand what it’s like to feel excluded, alienated or even humiliated due to their background, and would never get why these niche celebrations are so meaningful. make restoration possible.

Dan Patrick, Dade Phelan, Brandon Creighton and Greg Abbott, have likely never suffered feelings of solitude based on their race, and yet they got to put our cultural celebrations on the chopping block because they are confused about what racism actually is. SB17 sets a dangerous precedent for erasing history, ignoring the work Texas has yet to do to create equity, and preventing transformative justice. I hope that Asian students never stop talking about this robbery and that we make restoration possible.

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SB17 sets a dangerous precedent for erasing history, ignoring the work Texas has yet to do to create equity, and preventing transformative justice.

Magazine Title

honey

honey

BY RIDDHI BORA

you say “i want to know something good, i’m tired and i want to know this world is still sweet” so i tell you about the first thing that comes to mind. i tell you about honey

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Magazine Title

honey

-017

i tell you about liquid gold packaged in a plastic bear, i tell you about honey 24 fluid ounces of nature’s finest crafted by the busiest of bodies, the busiest bees i tell you about the buzz on my tongue that is the aftermath of a spoonful of honey silver and sweet in my mouth i tell you about sensations accidental brush of fingers, rain splatters on bare skin i tell you about honey u.s grade A honey, dries on your lips, drips down your chin, sticks to your fingers kinda honey i tell you about attachment how that’s the way we love, like we won’t survive if we lose this or if we lose them, how the monks preach against it but i really couldn’t love another way i tell you about honey amber drizzles on my plain toast, not everything we have is sweet but it can be with just a little squeeze i tell you about honey the last drops in the bottle, the ones that take their time moving to the spout, i tell you about moving slow sleeping in on sunday and savoring the first bite of a meal i tell you about honey, about something 100% pure and raw, platonic loves, a school crush, shy touch somethings are best left unrefined https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fvemaps.

somedays you think you know nothing good, some days you’re tired and think the world can’t be sweet on those days i hope it’s the first thing that comes to mind, i hope you remember honey Magazine Title

before

A scene of summer

revolution

BY KEANA SABERI

For my grandmother, Nasrin Behnam Shabahang, who protested against the Islamic regime and championed civil rights in Iran after the 1979 revolution

Summer of 1974, marigold sun rays merging with the lilt of Farsi.

The waves of the Caspian as magnificent and intrinsic as our youth.

We were naive, bathed by blissful ignorance.

We waded in the jewel tones, turquoise glimmering below our waists.

Silver sand shifting beneath our feet.

How expansive the world seemed then, my curls performing acrobatics in the salt-studded air.

My daughter watching from her father’s arms, bundled in her blanket, sleep heavy on her eyes.

How I wished to give her the world.

When I cradled her in my arms, I forgot how envious I was of the stars.

Our summer’s sonata:

journey of passing ships, blending with the symphony of our laughter.

Men playing backgammon, dice dazzling on the chesnut board.

Their competitive banter reverberating with Mashhadi and Tehrani accents.

Grilled corn bathed in salt water sold by the seaside.

Children’s fervent hands grasping the green stalks, coal staining their hands.

Taste of charcoal, taste of childhood.

I thought of that day at the seaside often, held the memory like a secret confession close to my chest, sewn in pastel in the linen of my handkerchief.

In the steel confines of the cell, I thought of movie ticket stamps, late nights in Tehran, girls dressed in the style of Googoosh: stylish short hairstyles, scarlet lips, cerulean eyeshadow.

I listened to her songs as I waltzed around the living room, barefoot, bright nail polish dotting the vibrant shades of the Tabriz rug.

I dreamt of faloodeh and bastani sonati in cafe confectioneries on emerging spring days, books I’d kept in my bag biking to Shahanshahi Park, leather spines creased open, my emerald dress and him leaning against his car as apricot trees blossomed.

Our hair, uninhibited on that blistering July day.

I wish I had known to savor the taste of freedom.

It seemed so decadent now, like cream tucked in the layers of the Shirini Napoleoni.

Chai with sugar crystals dancing in the pool of ruby liquid in our beachside traveling thermoses.

For a moment, my feet slipped, balance rejecting me.

The tide receded swiftly, freedom flowing along with it.

Cherish

honey