Infertility: She Will be the Strongest Mother She has a special place for her unborn child in her heart To become a good mother with empty arms is an art Those injections and surgeries left a big bruise And there she waits and prays for one good news Oh darling, please realize the power you endure To hide that grief and to believe faith is the cure The society is so cruel who labelled her as cursed They burdened her with pain that can't be versed How long will they take to realize a mother's worth? That it's something more than the concept of birth. Female Foeticide She may be small But she has feelings too She is wondering what was her fault? That she wasn’t a boy? She will still love you the same She will still bring you fame Let her be born Let the world pamper her Let the world watch her ascend the throne. - Varada Author's Note: Infertility: Why don't people understand that motherhood is something more than the concept of birth. A woman who can't give birth to a child can also be a good mother. And she will be the strongest mother too. Author's Biography: I am Varada, from India. I just finished my graduation. I love to read and write. I started posting my writings on my instagram pages: elixirofthoughts, shethepoetess. I strongly believe that self love is everything and everyone should realize that self love is a journey different to everyone. Instagram: @elixirofthoughts Cover photo source: https://www.designmantic.com/blog/designers-take-on-contemporary-women/

Brown skin, melanin touched Like dirt and soil and life The colors of your family and ancestors forgotten within history; You called it a curse. Under societal conditioning You never realized until now that It is a tightly wound cord That connects you to your heritage. Your people had been taught to hate it By those who stole from them And you fell prey to the same pain. All brown girls know the feeling Of hating our own skin. We try to escape from it, Bleach it and scrub it Until we are clean and bright Because that is what we are told it means To be beautiful. We must be fair and lovely, Light and pristine To be seen as beautiful. Only time could gently show you that Your brown skin Should not make you feel ashamed. Right now The only shame that you feel Is the stinging remorse of spending too long Trying to peel your own skin off And attempting to take the Indian girl out of yourself. Author's Note: When I was in middle school, I struggled with my cultural identity quite a bit. As an ABCD (American born confused Desi), I felt disconnected from certain aspects of my Indian culture and began to despise my skin in particular. Many of the friends I hung out with at the time cared a lot about how pale they were, and this idea rubbed off on me as I began to feel terrible for my darker skin. Colorism is especially prominent in many Asian cultures and can be unavoidable at times, which was what inspired me to look back on my emotions and write this poem. I hope that all brown girls who struggle with this conflict can also learn to see the beauty of their own skin. Author's Biography: My name is Nivriti Krishnamurthy and I am an Indian-American high school student from California. I love to draw, write, and play the bass guitar in my free time, and I am happiest when I am spending time with my family and dog! Instagram: @_neevee Cover Photo Source: Brown Girl Magazine

Dear Asian Youth, I’ve always wanted double eyelids. Since elementary school, my parents were set on giving me double eyelid surgery at the end of senior year. It wasn’t just my parents that wanted it for me, it was also my relatives and grandparents who always reminded me to open my eyes wider to look prettier, of course. I looked into eyelid tapes and other ways of giving myself temporary double eyelids, but my mom forbade me from purchasing any items out of fear that my skin would get loose by surgery time. Of all my monolid friends, every one of them wished they had double eyelids. Ever heard of the fox-eye trend? This makeup trend has been popularized recently with social media influencers like Bella Hadid, Kendall Jenner, and Emma Chamberlain. They pull back at their temples to achieve a more elongated eye shape slanting upwards. To them, it’s trendy, different, exotic. “But when these exact features are on an Asian, it’s funny and something to mock them about,” said 15-year-old Esther Park. The pose that had been long used to poke fun at East-Asian features has suddenly become a trend, our eyes appropriated for an aesthetic. Cultural appropriation, according to the Cambridge Dictionary, is “the act of taking or using things from a culture that is not your own, especially without showing that you understand or respect this culture.” Asian cultural appropriation manifests in several different ways: in pop culture, fashion, and sports, to list a few. When makeup artist Nikita Dragun wore box braids, she received an immense amount of backlash for appropriating African culture. But when American rapper Saweetie sexualized the ao dai---traditional Vietnamese clothing---and wore it to the 2019 Billboard Music Awards, she was praised for “paying homage” to other cultures. Kacey Musgraves also wore a sexualized rendition of the ao dai paired with a maang tikka, a traditional Indian headpiece. She had cherry-picked these pieces purely for aesthetic purposes, disregarding the cultural and historical significance behind them. While white appropriators receive admiration for their sense of “fashion,” BIPOC get discriminated against for wearing the same thing. Fashion brands like Forever 21, Urban Outfitters, and Princess Polly have been selling sexualized versions of traditional Asian clothing. Zara and Topshop, popular retail brands, don’t even try to be discreet about it by marketing tight bodysuits and mini dresses under the label Oriental. “[When] white teenager Keziah Daum caused a stir on Twitter when she posted a photo of herself posing stereotypically with friends in a traditional Chinese garment: ‘My culture is NOT your goddamn prom dress,’ one Twitter user wrote, explaining that Daum’s dress is called a qipao and has a rich history,” writes the HuffPost. If Kim Kardashian’s cornrows or the innumerable Native American headdresses at Coachella can stir an uproar, then why isn’t it the same for Asian cultural appropriation? “No one has ever taken Asian cultural appropriation seriously and I’m tired [of it]. Stop with the chopsticks in ur hair. Stop buying Chinese traditional dresses sexualized off Shein, Fashion Nova, etc. Stop wearing [the] ao dai as a sexy mini dress. Please stop it,” reads a comment on Instagram. But Asian racism doesn’t end there. What do Megan Thee Stallion, Migos, and Jay-Z have in common? Yes, they have all landed songs on Billboard’s Hot 100. But they have also all referred to Asians in a negative way or used Asian slurs in their songs. They’re among the countless artists our generation looks up to as the influencers of rap. In “Rerock” by Lil Shun The Goat---a popular song that appeared on TikTok---he raps, “Eyes look Asian, Ling Ling.” This is accompanied by a dance that pulls the eyes back. The song sparked controversy among Asians, as the artist who wrote this song wasn’t Asian himself. However, many users claimed that this wasn’t a big deal, that we’re snowflakes for getting hurt over a simple lyric. “No one was offended by it until someone told you to be offended by it,” commented TikTok star @zsmitty. Racism towards Asians often goes unnoticed, or is considered okay because we are viewed as the “model minority”---Asian Americans are well-educated and well-off---a shining example of overcoming ethnic discrimination. Let’s say a non-Black celebrity says, or even mouths the n-word. Their audience would be quick to call them out and cancel them, tarnishing their reputation for the rest of their career. Then how is it fair that when an artist releases a song playing into offensive Asian stereotypes, people try to defend him? “People don't take us seriously when we talk about these things because there's never been a huge stigma, wrote @fortnite allnight on YouTube, reacting to the increased backlash Asians received after the coronavirus outbreak. “We don't learn about Asian American struggles as extensively as other ethnicities. I've never felt ‘accepted’ because of the way I look and how people choose to see me. I'm scared of going outside because of the violence. I'm scared of going back to school because people make fun of my eyes, my food, and they call me things that should not be said. I wasn't born smart and so many of as Asian Americans feel so pressured to meet that standard.” There is often not a specific encounter, but rather just the media that we consume confining us in a box of stereotypes. “I don’t necessarily think (personally) that I can describe a specific sole instance of racism that I’ve experienced. But I think that it’s more of a subtle accumulative thing,” wrote Jacqueline Kim, a high schooler. “I had to be quiet, conservative, shy, smart. And I allowed those pre-selected traits to define who I was for years. I couldn’t say or do certain things that would be ‘out of the ordinary,’ in the case that it would make anyone ELSE uncomfortable.” Sanika Shanbhag, another high schooler, also commented on her experiences: “At school, I’ve always felt the need to act a bit whitewashed, so that no one would judge me for anything. I stopped bringing leftover Indian food for lunch after people told me it smelled weird. I didn’t bring up anything about my culture, ever, even when we were discussing it in social studies. I tell people a completely incorrect pronunciation of my name so that no one butchers how it’s supposed to be said. Actually, I found out that lots of my Indian friends do that ---[they would] have an American pronunciation and a correct pronunciation.” It’s unfortunate that Asian-Americans are forced to conceal their native culture in fear of sticking out. At such an impressionable age, I was told that I would be more liked by complying to Eurocentric beauty standards. So many of us have learned to distance ourselves from our culture, to bury our native language, and to avoid packing traditional foods for lunch because it’s foreign. “I buried my culture, didn’t learn my own f****** language, changed my name, and wanted nothing more than to be white because people bullied me for being Asian,” wrote a user on Instagram. “Cultural appropriation and sexualization of other people’s culture for the benefit of white people needs to stop.” Most of us can probably relate to this in one way or another. We’re tired of being forced to stay quiet just because that’s how we’re portrayed in the media. Some people are lucky enough to be able to put things on and take them off: put on different features and take them off at the end of the day, put on different cultures and take them off like it’s nothing. To those who are just uncovering the truth about Asian cultural appropriation and discrimination, thank you for taking the time to learn more about it. Though social media can perpetuate negative ideas, there are positives that come with it as well. Mia Davis commented on a YouTube video about growing up Asian-American: “[As] a Black Caribbean American, [am] watching this [because] learning is important in order to debunk toxic stereotypes and be open minded to different upbringings and the struggles :).” It’s not your fault for not being exposed to the microaggressions and discrimination against Asians. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know you guys were going through so much. I will learn to be anti racist,” wrote @halleayante1 on an Instagram post raising awareness for anti-Asian sentiment. I hope that we will all begin to recognize the indicators of cultural appropriation and speak out whenever we encounter it. And to all my fellow Asian friends and readers, I’m with you. If no one told you yet, you all are amazing and beautiful; each of your diverse cultures are wonderful and accepted. Don't let anyone take this from you because you are enough just as you are. I truly hope that Asian cultures receive the amount of respect they deserve---that we no longer have to be ashamed of our incredible cultures. - Gia Shin Author's Note: With more social media users spending time online during the global pandemic, there has been a significant increase in racism directed towards Asians. From being called dirty for “spreading” the coronavirus to appropriating Asian culture, normalized Asian racism has been increasingly present in the media that we consume. Author's Biography: Gia Shin is a sophomore from New Jersey. She enjoys writing creative nonfiction and journalistic pieces that express her unspoken thoughts. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, The Incandescent Review, and TeenInk. Gia is the founder of a teen mental health organization which you can visit at urnotalone.org. In her free time, she likes to journal and doodle while listening to chill KRnB. Instagram: @giashin_ Cover photo source: https://www.healthline.com/health/eye-health/monolid-eyes

sometimes, i wish you would just die. life would be much easier without everyone asking is that your grandpa? this is what i wrote in my journal when i was 8. mulberry trees it was 6 pm, our class was picking mulberries outside. rows of mulberry trees lined the parking lot and we picked the little fruits off the branches and popped them right into our mouths. when we went back to the lobby, you were waiting for me, standing hunched over your white cane. an indescribable feeling washed over me -- was it disappointment? shame? i wanted umma to pick me up, not you. is your grandpa sick? why does he look like that? disgusting. monster. don’t pick me up ever again. trampoline when i was eight, i visited korea and made a new friend at the trampoline park. she thought i was cool for being a foreigner. we went down giant slides that turned our stomachs into mush, we stabbed the bubbles floating past our heads, we tried to bounce back up from our knees on the trampoline. we entered the sand building area where other kids and adults were molding castles out of colorful sand. you limped over and sat down next to me. what’s this old man doing here? do you know him? no. i don’t. then, i turned my body away from you and met her eyes with a smile. let’s keep building. i just wanted to be gia the cool foreigner, not gia the granddaughter of a sick geezer. 외국인 foreigner, alien i’ve never felt korean in korea, american in america. when i was in kindergarten, i went to an after-school program for korean children whose parents were at work. i was the only student in the class who couldn’t speak english so i had a teacher’s assistant who served as my personal translator. that day, i had finished my school work early so we moved on to the classwork assigned by the after-school. i took a worksheet--we were learning how to count coins. a quarter is 25, a nickel is 5. do you know how to count coins? no. then you don’t need to do this worksheet. there were other kids who needed help and i guess she didn’t feel like sitting next to me, teaching me how to count coins. i wanted to learn, but i couldn’t. my classmates at after-school always translated their conversations around me, asked do you understand what i just said. i started speaking english at home until talking to my parents in korean felt unnatural. i buried my native language deeper and deeper into the depths of my mind. then when my parents sent me to korean school in 4th grade, i was placed in the basics class, back to kindergarten. our palms on the grass, our foreheads resting against the backs of our hands we drove hours to the countryside, arriving at the cemetery. you told us that if we bowed to the tombstone, money would rain. so davin and i kneeled, our palms on the grass, our foreheads resting against the backs of our hands. the grass was prickly. i took a small peek from my arms, kind of like how i did while playing 7-Up at summer school. and there it was. a yellow 50000 won -- 50 dollars -- in front of me. i immediately snatched it up and thanked the sun, the clouds, the sky. what i realize now i didn’t thank you. i stumbled upon a photograph of that day, one that grandma took. you stand behind us, your head is slightly bowed, and your cap lays neatly folded on the grass. i wonder who it is that we were paying our respects to -- is it any of your four siblings? is it your father who passed when you were a kid? is it your mother who struggled to keep the household from falling apart? a phone call in korean, 3.5.2019 MOM i’m calling haraboji. be polite when you talk to him. oh, hello? HARABOJI hello? hello? i can’t really hear. how are you? MOM we’re good. gia wants to talk to you. i shake my head and squirm away from my mom as she pushes the phone towards me. what do i say to him, i don’t remember the last time i spoke in korean, how do i even start a conversation. i don’t want to talk to him, but she gives me the look and i reluctantly take the phone from her. HARABOJI hello? is this gia? are you studying well? GIA yes. HARABOJI (chuckles) do you hate haraboji? GIA no, i don’t hate you. HARABOJI yes you do, i know you do. my mom laughs as if he just told a ridiculously funny knock-knock joke and i shake my head. i wasn’t surprised, he asks the same questions every conversation. we would go back and forth like plucking petals off a flower--she loves me, she loves me not. the day before i got sent to korean school my father told me in korean: you should practice korean. you seem more ladylike and proper. i told him in english: why should i, we’re in america right now. i’ll speak korean once i get to korea. what i didn’t tell him: i don’t want to talk in korean because then i would have to speak more to my grandfather. i have an excuse for not getting to know him better, i wouldn’t get attached to him. haraboji in the backyard whenever you visited our house in the summer, you were most likely 1) sleeping, 2) reading the newspaper with a magnifying glass, or 3) exploring the backyard. you weeded out our front yard crouched over in your purple crocs and a white tank top. the tanktop was tattered. the crocs were an ugly purple, like the color of crocuses. at 3 pm when elementary school let out, kids walking by our house would try to sneak glances at your face. i always rushed across the yard to get to the door before they could see me. but you would look up at me, stand up, put your calloused hand on my back and walk me into the house. i would squirm at your touch and run into the house, closing the door shut. you would turn back around, flimsy tank top exposing your spotted, translucent skin. you went back to squatting in the yard, pulling out the weeds. you would plant perilla in the backyard, setting up the sprinkler every morning when even the songbirds were still half asleep. you would drag out a chair and from the side, watch me and davin run back and forth through the sprinklers, trying to chase down the spray. a conversation between umma and me why doesn’t haraboji want to get laser surgery? i don’t know. maybe it’s because he wants to live life the way it was meant to be. we’re christians, our bodies are sacred and not meant to be tampered with. the mulberry tree it was your last day in america. despite what i told you last time, you came to pick me up. you came when my all my classmates already left we went over to the mulberry trees, and you watched me pick the little fruit ofMulf the branches and pop it right into my mouth. you helped me reach the ones i couldn’t. we collected berries until my hands were stained purple, a pretty purple, like the color of crocuses. the patch on your face reminded me of those mulberries. a dark purple staining the right half of your face, like a permanent black eye. our language we played rock paper scissors goes as far back as i can remember. whether we were in korea or america, you always made that whoosh sound when we yielded our signs. whoosh, rock. whoosh, paper. whoosh, rock. sometimes, your spit went flying into my eye but it was our way of playing the game. once i reached the age of eight, i didn’t want to play with you anymore. i forced davin to do it instead. i bribed him with blue jolly ranchers until he got tired of playing, too. you would stick out your hand and say, aksu. handshake. i grabbed your calloused hand and you would shake it up and down forcefully, crushing my fingers while my arm hung there limp and lifeless. even if i did apologize, i wouldn’t ever know how i would do it. i’m not even sure what to apologize for. do i do it in a letter? over the phone? 한 sorrow, the bitter feeling in your heart when you want to say something but you can’t. - Gia This is a very personal piece I've always wanted to write, but never had the courage to until now. Growing up Asian in America, I felt the need to suppress my native culture and did everything possible to seem "more American." My Korean grandfather, who often visited America, had a facial disability which I was always ashamed of when I was younger. This piece illustrates the increasing disconnection of my culture ultimately leading to the disconnection of me and my grandfather. Author's Biography: Gia Shin is a sophomore from New Jersey. She enjoys writing creative nonfiction and journalistic pieces that express her unspoken thoughts. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, The Incandescent Review, and TeenInk. Gia is the founder of a teen mental health organization which you can visit at urnotalone.org. In her free time, she likes to journal and doodle while listening to chill KRnB. Instagram: @giashin_ Cover photo source: https://chestnuthilltreefarm.com/shop/black-mulberry-2/

- Marcus Eng This piece was written as a reflection on my thoughts regarding being transmasculine and Chinese. As someone who began to come into his Chinese identity around the same time he realized he was trans, I had a lot of conflicting feelings on how I should present myself in a world with Westernized concepts of gender. I felt a lot of grief in cutting the hair I had once prized, and this grief only intensified once I looked into Chinese history and found trans figures. I felt like I was betraying my culture’s values and participating in the erasure of these trans figures by conforming to Western gender norms. In the end, after a long period of self-reflection, I was able to find hope and comfort in Bodhisattva Guanyin, hoping that 佢, as a trans person and the goddess of mercy, would understand and forgive me for doing what I had to do in order to survive in this world. Note: 佢 is the gender-neutral Cantonese pronoun I had grown up using for Bodhisattva Guanyin. Author's Biography: My name is Marcus Eng, or 伍晓烺。I’m a high school senior from Boston, Massachusetts and am currently in my second year as head of my school’s Asian affinity group. I’m a Cantonese trans MLM and I draw a lot of Chinese art, hoping to give others the representation I craved to see when I was younger. Art means a lot to me and I hope to be a visual development artist in the future. Instagram: @AntidoteForTheAwkward Twitter: @Antidote4Awkwrd Instagram: @AntidoteForTheAwkward Cover photo source: Marcus Eng

Dear Asian Youth, I’m sure many of you have seen the recent news regarding the controversy of a USC Marshall School of Business Professor. Greg Patton, the professor in question, hosted an online class session in which he discussed various public speaking patterns and the common use of filler words during conversations. Patton brought up the example of a Chinese filler word ‘那个’, which can be pronounced as ‘nèi ge (nay-guh)’ or ‘nà ge (nah-ge)’ depending on various dialects. It is not difficult to spot the similarities between the former pronunciation of ‘nèi ge’ and the racial slur of the N-word. Quite a few of Patton’s students took offense to his choice of words, and reported their concerns to the school administration. Students expressed that Patton’s actions were “hurtful and unacceptable to (the) USC Marshall community,” and that he showed direct “negligence and disregard” towards a student audience that is extremely culturally diverse. Some students even revealed that their mental health had been severely impacted, which resulted in a lack of focus during their other classes. “To expect that we will sit through two more weeks of this class, knowing that the professor lacks the tact, racial awareness and empathy to lead and teach an audience as diverse as ours is unacceptable,” the students wrote. The strong disapproval of Patton’s delivery is apparent. Professor Patton has since agreed to a temporary pause in teaching the Communication for Management course in order to properly evaluate and address any issues regarding racial bias and microaggressions. I commend the professor for how respectful and professional he was when handling the situation: sending out apologies and openly acknowledging his actions. While his actions should be evaluated, I feel the need to come to his defense. Professor Patton did actually preface that he was going to use a Chinese phrase, and did not use the phrase of ‘nèi ge’ out of context. Though I am a proponent of reflecting and recognizing social issues, it is important to understand that cultural differences should not be a standard to define right or wrong. As a Chinese individual, I have been in many similar predicaments before. A few years ago, I attended a summer course in the United States, where there was only one other Chinese student in the class except for me. When we talked one-on-one, we often spoke in Mandarin. I remember trying to crack a joke with her, but kept on forgetting what I was going to say. While I was stuttering to think of the right words to use, I said ‘nèi ge’ a couple of times to help me remember. Immediately, a Black student in the class widened his eyes in shock. He stared at me incredulously as his mouth hung open. I paused, bewildered by his reaction. “I never took you as someone who would use the N-word.” “What? I was speaking in Mandarin.” “Nope, pretty sure I heard you say the N-word.” I thought about what I had said, and I immediately understood what he was referring to. I quickly explained to him the meaning behind ‘nèi ge’ and what circumstances Chinese people usually use it in. I assured him that I have never and will never use the N-word, and that this was simply a linguistic misunderstanding. What frustrates me is the lack of understanding. I’ve read many internet comments that call out Chinese people for being insensitive with the use of ‘nèi ge’, and there are many people demanding that we avoid any use of this word in social situations. This request is ignorant and completely out of line. A little bit of history: the N-word originated in the 18th century, and is a derogatory ethnic slur directed at Black people. However, the Chinese word ‘nèi ge’ was put into use hundreds of years before that. Though the pronunciation may be similar, the cultural and historical meaning behind ‘nèi ge’ has absolutely no correlation with the N-word, and should never be associated this way. Asking Chinese people to abandon such a commonly-used and utterly harmless phrase is like asking English-speakers to stop using ‘like’ when conversing—impossible (trust me, I’ve tried). If we really want to take this route of logic and apply it to other languages as well, people would basically be banned from having day-to-day conversations. To illustrate, ‘내가’ in Korean is pronounced as ‘naega’, and is usually used to say ‘I am’. This phrase also shares similarities with the pronunciation of the N-word. There are many more pronunciation clashes of words in various languages that mean completely different things. Therefore, it is not insensitive for a person to speak their native language, because pronunciation does not indicate correlation with derogatory terms in other languages. What we should work on is increasing awareness of the cultural differences that exist in our interconnected global communities. First and foremost, we need to be considerate and understanding before jumping to conclusions that may harm all parties involved. This applies to many situations outside the mere boundaries of language; it extends to personal values, beliefs, and lifestyles as well. For example: the stereotype of eating dogs in China. Even though I do not eat dogs, there are admittedly some Chinese people that do value dogs as culinary delicacies. In the West, dogs are often seen as a companion and dear friend to humans. Therefore, many people find it ‘disgusting’ or ‘cruel’ to ever eat dogs. However, we need to understand that this divergence in values originates from varying cultural backgrounds and upbringings. It’s like how cows are sacred animals in the religion of Hinduism, while the rest of us may have just had a rib-eye steak for dinner. We do not have to label one side as right and the other as wrong, because we are all looking at the same situation from different perspectives. A way that we can normalize intersectionality of cultures is to implement ethnic studies within the educational system. As we are aware, many schools in the United States only provide mandatory history courses that highlight Western history - with little to no mention of foreign historical events. By emphasizing the importance of culture studies, we can foster an environment where people consider the intersectionalities of lifestyle and languages before making judgments. We are all conditioned to think and behave differently, and that’s the beauty of it. It is time to acknowledge our divergences to breed a society filled with acceptance and empathy, and it starts with you and me. - Eva Cover photo source: Daria Karaulnik

I sip the words from letters Laid upon a chest, ebony Under the still light of the moon Overlooking a deep lake, sapphire In color, reflects in your jewelry Resting on your heart golden Broken hearts are filled, golden Filling the cracks of letters Left behind in shattered jewelry In aftermath of loss, ebony In color, while tears fall, sapphire Under the slivered moon That cycles, like love, the moon Returns to its full light, golden The nighttime sun, sapphire Light that illuminates the letters Rest on your dress, ebony On your heart, jewelry That shines, and reflects, jewelry That steals the soft light of the moon Wishing for you in this room, ebony Shadows that illuminate the gold That fill the cracks of dreams, letters That were once filled with love, sapphire Now fill with broken dreams, shattered, sapphire Broken, splintered, like the jewelry That used to reflect the our love in letters Returned to the sender, under a dim moon Nightlight, but in this void the golden That heals and shares love filling ebony Cracks to build illustrious ebony Art to love that soothes tears, sapphire And reminds that love is still golden In the presence of company like jewelry, Shine brightly in the full moon A full heart heals with the letters Golden from those who print Ebony Letters on paper and hang Sapphire Jewelry on our heart, a broken but full moon. Editors: Nicole O. Leandra S. Image source: Unsplash

is duplicity The whisper of the wind on warm honeyed grass Yet the harsh glare and cold hum of lime street signs, A kind stability and tender breath Or a governing signal and alerting presence; A byte in the apple. is greedy A hunter crocodile pining for fresh prey The shadow of their jaws prowling upward, Reaching for raw morsels eager for innocence Between the glinting gums and teeth; Feeding means bleeding. is commodity The modernity of artificial intelligence vomiting theft Artistry bruised in oily olive hues rather than in purples and blues, Currency as valueless as prized receipts for PNG emeralds Disguised with RBG pixels and ones and zeroes; They obey imperfect rules perfectly. is preciousness The fracturing facets that dresses A corporate landscape dripping in jewel tones, Budding for a decadent display And wrenching out sickly weeds; The rot does bloom richly. is Jaded a feeling Editors: Lau, C. Shin, C. Wickliffe, L. Yan, E. Image Source: Unsplash

Surfing Asian literature in the bookstore shows how the diversity of the Asian diaspora is contradicted by their lack of availability and inclusivity in the global book industry. There is an imbalance of representation that still exists in the worldwide book industry. From a sample of 7000 books published by Simon & Schuster, Penguin Random House, Doubleday, HarperCollins and Macmillan during 1960 to 2018, only 11% were written by authors of colour. The problem is quite complex and different to each individual. Authors of colour tend to have difficulty in publishing their work due to the lack of representation in the big book industry. Furthermore, many readers complain since they expect a perfect representation of each culture which often does not happen. And even when it does, some said being an author of colour is hard because when a story does not centre on the negative experience of people of colour, it is not seen as valuable enough to share. The underrepresentation of not only Asian authors but also people who belong to Black, Latinx, and Indigenous communities, is unfortunate as there is so much potential in their literature. Each representation offers a lot of rich cultural hints and nuances that we can only find by reading books written by people who belong to that community. For instance, an audiobook voice actress, Greta Jung, attuning to small details, said that there are so many cultural nuances she experienced voicing audiobooks that she could only offer by having the experience of growing up in an environment of a particular culture. In short, exploring books written by authors of colour will always give us a new adventure and offer us a unique perspective of a specific culture. Asian culture provides subtle hints at Asian spirituality and moralism we can notice when reading them. The writing style often reflects common traditions, philosophical ideas about life, and many more aspects that Asian communities share. A Layer Within the Lack of Representation The issue of Asian underrepresentation in the book industry is a multi-layered problem. Recently, we saw the rise of Asian literature in a positive direction, focusing on three Asian countries: China, Japan, and South Korea. This, of course, is a good sign seeing the Asian representation gradually increase in the global book industry and people start to appreciate Asian literature. It also tells us how modern Asian literature is now heavily represented by only those three countries. Chinese, Japanese, and Korean authors deliver many masterpieces. Some titles have even saved their spot as global best-seller books. However, the rise of the three extensive Asian countries’ literature shows how the other parts of Asia are often forgotten and even neglected in the book industry. When people refer to Asian literature, it is almost always books from China, Japan, or Korea. This has mostly been due to the deeply rooted problem in the global media industry where the Asian image is often portrayed and centred by East Asian. In contrast, many other parts of Asia remain invisible and underrepresented. This also affects how literature from South, South East, West, and other parts of Asia are mostly underappreciated because of the lack of spotlight given to them despite the many great classical and modern writers spread across Asia. Despite the fact that there is indeed an increasing representation from all across Asia, such as Southeast Asia, Asian literature is still underrepresented globally compared to books from Western literature. This problem is not due to the quality of the writing, but the lack of opportunities that were given in the very first place. Deconstructing The Art of Translation The art of translation has a heavy interdependent connection with classical Asian literature. The language barrier is historically mentioned as one aspect that creates a gap between Asian and Western representation in the book industry. This is why translated books are often considered a bridge to connect people with more plurality in literature, not only from Asians to the West but also from Asians to other Asians. For example, the classic ‘One Thousand and One Nights’ was introduced to the world by the contribution of the art of translation. While some people think translated books are a great method to close the gap between literature that could not be read due to language barriers, adding an element of complexity from the multicultural process between languages, some also think translated books erased the traditional nuance of how books are supposed to be delivered. On the other hand, the art of translation itself is quite a complex topic as translated pieces are at times not solely based on the original language’s structure and ambience but also on the translator's perception towards the language and culture. As R.F Kuang says in her Babel, “An act of translation is always an act of betrayal.” How we perceive this matter depends on us too. Whether reading translated books will cause a lack of sincerity in understanding the culture and how we can not grasp the content originality or how we believe that translated texts are just translated books will always remain an open question for us all. An Attempt to Create a Happy Ending For the Global Book Industry Everyone loves a happy ending. Now acknowledging these nuances, it is important for us to contribute to creating an inclusive environment and a happy ending for the book industry. Start by browsing more Asian literature, supporting authors of colour, or challenging yourself to learn more and explore what Asian literature has to offer. These small acts might be able to make a significant change. Editors: Alisha B., Uzayer M., Lang D. Image source: Unsplash

In the time of the quiet men I listen to the sounds of the distant wails. Howls, whimpers, disintegrating tears softening the edges of the mountainous foils, slowly– decaying in the hands which wearily caressed their hills. Used, distressed, damaged. In those nights embracing my own stomach, I give my grandmother’s womb the tenderest of kisses, the tenderest of songs which she never let herself to own. I sing to her of her real name which her mother, and her mother before gave in memory of the swallows that grazed the Tengri sky, giving passage to the sun-kissed Umai. Soothing– the blissful cries of those who came before the wrenched out tulips. I quietly hum to my grandmother’s womb that I too hear the girl knocking, thumping, pleading to see her memory. Sometimes I wish that I can even call it a memory, not a distant pain that I feel in the presence of the familiar sunken face. The withdrawn eyes in the secluded center of the mindless glees of her own frail tulips. I wish I could tell her that her memory, her womb is safe with me– caressed with lullabies that she never let herself to hear . I wish I could tell her that in the time of the quiet men and the distant wails I could hold her tight and call her by her real name. Editors: Danielle C., Cathay L., Joyce P., Claudia S., Erika Y. Image source: Unsplash Tengri: Also known as Kök Tengri (Blue Sky), Tengri is a titular sky deity of Tengrism personifying the universe. Umai: Also noted as Umay, is a deity/Goddess of fertility and afterbirth. She is often represented with the color yellow or that of the sun-kissed beauty.

TW: blood, violent attacks, screams, etc You can’t define America in one word Because it is defined by a constant dichotomy: A dream and a reality Barbarity and benevolence Gaudy idealism and a broken promise. A deep, personal conflict between humanity and hypocrisy A beast to some and a blessing to others. Whoever she may be, Her exceptionalism can only be found in the affirmation of her ideals Through the struggle to make them real The claim of liberty Made by those who were denied it It was the foot soldiers The marchers The freedom fighters I think of March 7th, 1965 They called it Bloody Sunday Edmund Pettus, a literal clash of ideals One that shed blood Women and children, on the ground Bleeding Tear gas, Shattered bones, Screams But Bloody Sunday not only shed blood It shed light It helped to wake a nation To shock its conscience A catalyst Because while the police were armed with batons They were armed with a sacred faith In Democracy I recognize only one face John Lewis He was necessary to the movement, But so were the others The ones I can’t recognize They were foot soldiers America’s heroes are the ones we don’t know the names of Those who lived a hidden life But marched And bled And built Those who believed Who didn’t boast exceptionalism But actually strove to achieve it They called it a holy war* One that’s perpetual One that we have to keep fighting We stand on their shoulders We owe it to them * John Lewis's memoir, Walking with the Wind: After staging a sit-in in 1960 and getting arrested, Lewis says that "with all these friends, these familiar faces piling out of those wagons, it felt like a crusade, as if we were prisoners in a holy war" (Lewis 101). Editors: Chris F., Nadine R., Nicole O., Marie H.

TW: death, sex, pain I loved Giovanni I loved his name, the way he spoke, the way he thought, the way he pulled us in deep The way he fell in love With David The way he became obsessed With a man who could never love him back, who would never let himself Love him back. A man who was trapped in an adamant society Trapped in a skin of superficiality, a skin of ignorance A man confined to a rigid role, a rigid reality A man confined to the Garden of Eden A man unwilling to bear with the beast Within himself A man who could only live within himself, Or that beast would awaken. A man inextricably bound to his author Inextricably bound to me. They fell in love in Giovanni’s Room. A small room, strewn with empty bottles Cardboard boxes Heavy red wine, seeping on the floor String Leather Concrete Filth A mess In here, Giovanni was rotting. This was the evidence of his turmoil His torment The grief of his sex The pain of his past In here their love sprouted In here their love died Died within the disorder Of that wretched room Died in the denial Died because they were trapped Died because neither could escape the other Died because neither could face himself And so we pushed away Giovanni Because he was too much Because he had liberated himself While we continued to lie to ourselves His liberation cost his life Giovanni knew That we loved our purity That we loved being clean That we loved to deny Deny our pain Deny our desires Deny our love Deny the death of our innocence Giovanni knew we would forever be trapped In his room We are trapped Because Giovanni didn’t die at the guillotine He still lives in our turmoil and torment Every there is Giovanni We revolted and repudiated We couldn’t run from his room Baldwin knew “Nobody can stay in the garden of Eden” David, Baldwin, and Me “Au revoir, Giovanni.” Editors: Chris F., Nicole O.