Harsh, jagged lines mark calloused fingers, Like cement split from an earthquake, The skin of their hands is cracked open. Fresh blood spills thickly out of open wounds, Soaking soft brown dirt with the dark red Of sacrifice. It is my grandfather’s blood that was spilled, When the news broadcasted Crimes of hate and anger. An 83-year-old man, Hair turned silvery-white by age, Was left cradling broken bones, A grocery bag still in his hand. Instead of a stranger in the news, I see my grandfather, Joints fragile with age, Hands stiff with time. His lips are damp as he peppers My forehead with light kisses. I am scared for him. It is my grandmother’s blood that was spilled, When the news broadcasted Crimes of hate and anger. Blue and purple stains the cheek Of a 75-year-old woman, Who has lived life, been worn down by the passage of time, But strength remains in the curve of her spine. Instead of a stranger in the news, I see my grandmother. Eyes dull with age, Ears quiet with time. Her hands are dry and papery As she gently pinches my cheeks. I am scared for her. The blood of these strangers Is the blood of my family. - Feileen Li Cover Photo Source: https://www.globaltimes.cn/page/202103/1218818.shtml

Death is not a friend of mine But is more like an acquaintance Although I haven’t met him personally, My father has. It’s been 17 years since that day. 17 years and 25 days. 17 years and I am still grappling with the lasting effects of Death’s visit. 6 Women Killed. 6 Women of Asian Descent. Atlanta. Massage Spas. 6 Murdered- It’s too much for my body to process. I know the grief of living while our loved ones pass. Feeling the weight and burden of having to live out every moment without them. Having to say goodbye without ever saying goodbye. The pain, the trauma, the anger. It’s too much. It’s too close. My mother, with her big warm eyes and enveloping hugs. My two sisters with their hair black as night and skin as bright as the sand on the beach. Our eyes turned upwards towards the sky like sunflowers reaching out for the sun. 6 women like us. 4 of us women like them. - Emily Kim TW: Death, Trauma, Domestic and White Terrorism, Mass Shooting. “Women Like Us” is a sorrowful and gut wrenching response to the racially motivated mass shooting in Atlanta that resulted in 8 people murdered, 6 of whom were Asian. In this poem, Emily explores the extremely personal impact of this news in connection to her trauma of losing her father as a child and her identity as an Asian American woman. Biography: Emily is a Korean-American who is passionate about making others feel like they're enough, that they're seen, heard, and feel validated simply as they are! She hopes to do that through her everyday interactions with others and through her pursuit of voice acting. Cover Photo Source: https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/takeaway/segments/atlanta-shooting-asian-american-violence

Dear Asian Youth, here are two words: oppression (uh-presh-uhn): the state of being heavily affected by unjust rules and systems and competition (kom-pi-tish-uhn): rivalry; the act of striving to outdo another words that sound so similar, yet are worlds apart or rather should be worlds apart when the struggle of one is used to erase the struggles of another, oppression suddenly becomes competition. a meaningless war rages on, and the winner is the one with the most blood spilled the most scars etched into your flesh the most bruises radiating gruesome hues of black and blue people fight so violently for a prize with no prestige a plastic trophy a certificate that carries no honor for a prize of selfishness or stupid self-validation as i look in the mirror scars stinging, muscles tensing i think to myself, “why do they want my wounds?” - Julianne T. Cover Photo Source: http://www.goldentiger.com/set-of-3-1st-2nd-3rd-trophies-with-plastic-kick-figurine-eagle-and-stone-base/

TW // Discussion of gender dysphoria and transphobia/transmisia. Dear Asian Youth, My mother raised me in a household where my dreams had no limits and praying to Hindu deities was the norm. These deities had many forms and could present themselves in different ways; they could look like women, men, both or neither. I remember thinking at a young age, “I wish I could do that.” I promise, I don’t have a god complex. I’m just genderqueer. I was assigned female at birth, but this year, I have started to come out to my friends and members of my family about my gender identity: I am non-binary, and my pronouns are they/them and she/her. I was thirteen the first time I told a friend that I had a crush on a girl, and I’ve come out numerous times since then, but opening up about my gender identity has been an entirely new experience. For most of my life, I accepted that I was a girl. I was definitely not a boy, so girl was the only other option for me. When I was fourteen, however, I learnt that gender identity and sex are not the same thing. Sex refers to the biological features of a person, such as their reproductive system and secondary sex characteristics, while gender identity is a personal perception of your identity and “a social construction relating to behaviours [...] based on labels of masculinity and femininity.”1 My initial reaction was confusion. If gender wasn’t the same thing as sex, what made me a girl? Was it people’s expectations of me, or shared experiences with girls and women? It felt like I didn’t have control over either of those things; they were thrust upon me by other people. I knew that womanhood wasn’t defined by conforming to stereotypes about femininity either. I spoke to some of the women I know, and they said that calling themselves women made them feel comfortable. Some of them wanted to change parts of their body, but they always wanted female anatomy. I couldn’t relate. I recall feeling like my body wasn’t always the right fit. Whenever anyone asked me, “If you could have a superpower, what would it be?” I would instantly respond, “Shape-shifting.” Gender, for me, is fluid, so I knew that my assigned sex could not match my gender identity, even though I didn’t have the words to express myself at the time. It is important to note that transgender and non-binary people don’t all deal with the same severity of dysphoria and the severity can fluctuate. Some trans people don’t experience dysphoria at all, and some use a different term for what they experience. When I first heard of the term “non-binary,” I felt instant relief. I didn’t have to call myself a “man” or a “woman”, whatever those words meant. There were other people whom I could relate to, and they were living full, happy lives. Initially, I only used the term “non-binary” because I thought that the term “transgender” referred specifically to trans men and trans women. However, “transgender” is an umbrella term that does include non-binary and genderqueer identities, but not all non-binary and genderqueer people identify with it. Ultimately, these words are here for us if we want to use them, and if we don’t, that’s fine too. My mental health improved significantly as I began to figure out how I really experience gender. At fifteen, I tried to come out to someone I trusted. I explained what gender dysphoria was to the best of my ability, and that I was still the same person I always was. They told me that I merely had a self-esteem problem and that I was self-absorbed for thinking about myself so much, along with other hurtful things. It was crushing. Afterwards, I tried to numb myself to all the sadness I was feeling. I thought, “I just won’t think about my gender anymore.” In my mind, it was right for other people to be non-binary, but I wasn’t allowed. It took me three years to work through my internalised transphobia. I was fortunate enough to access therapy, and even though I didn’t speak about gender often, just being able to rebuild my self-worth helped me accept my own identity. There are stereotypes about non-binary people that I seem to break by simply existing. For a start, I am not white. Among some (usually older) members of the British Asian community, there is a belief that queerness is reserved for white people. In reality, there are vibrant queer Asian communities across Britain and all over the world. Furthermore, queer people have existed all around the world for millennia. Ancient civilisations of India, Egypt, the Americas, Rome and many more regions did not conform to a rigid gender binary. Another stereotype about non-binary people that I don’t conform to is that I am not strictly androgynous. I like wearing “feminine” clothing, and she/her pronouns are familiar and comfortable for me. A white queer person told me that I shouldn't grow out my short hair because it would make me “look straight.” The truth is that “non-binary” does not have just one look. Now, I am confident enough to say that, regardless of my gender presentation, no one could convince me that I’m a woman and not non-binary. Unfortunately, there are certain times when I think that telling people that I’m non-binary will put me in a disadvantaged or dangerous position. In sixth form, I was part of the Debating Society. On three separate occasions, members of the society attempted to debate the existence of transgender and non-binary people. They said threatening and violent things, and I didn’t report them because I was scared that it would lead to even more harassment. According to Stonewall UK, “More than four in five (83 per cent) trans young people have experienced name-calling or verbal abuse; three in five (60 per cent) have experienced threats and intimidation; and more than a third (35 per cent) [...] have experienced physical assault.”2 I cannot make projections but, based on personal experience and listening to the experiences of others, schools in the UK are not safe spaces for transgender and non-binary students yet. Young trans people need more support. Specifically, we need the government to support legislation that protects trans lives. If someone you know comes out as transgender or non-binary to you, it’s likely that they have mustered up a lot of courage to do so. Empathy is key. Saying, “It’s not a big deal to me!” might come from a place of kindness, but you run the risk of trivialising the anxiety that the person may have felt or disregarding the conversation they’re having with you. Saying, “I could have guessed,” isn’t helpful either. I’ve made similar mistakes in the past, but now I know that it’s important to focus solely on the person who’s speaking to you and not on your own perceptions and feelings. You can congratulate them, thank them for trusting you, and listen. You should consider whether this is a good time to ask them if there is a name and pronouns they would like you to use, and also what situations you can use them in. To anyone questioning their gender: hello there, I’m just here to give you some quick reminders! It’s great that you’re taking time to figure this out, and whatever happens—whether you realise that you’re cisgender or transgender—it will be okay. There is no rush to pick a label. You never have to pick one if you don’t want to, and it’s okay if you change the labels you use. Likewise, it’s completely up to you when, where, and how you come out. You choose who you come out to as well. In fact, you never have to “come out” in the conventional sense unless you want to. The most important thing to keep in mind is to prioritise your health and safety, and I hope you’re taking care of yourself. If you’re a young person in the UK questioning your gender and you need to speak to someone, Mermaids UK is a great place to start. They have a forum and a chatline, and can direct you to support.3 It may not feel like it, but you are not alone. Another piece of advice that could have saved me a lot of pain: try your best to avoid transphobic rabbit holes on the internet. All of us have probably stumbled upon some pretty horrendous comment sections, and sometimes I find myself scrolling through transphobic vitriol, stuck in a whirlpool of anonymous hatred. Please, if you find such comments, turn off your phone. Once again, looking after your mental and physical wellbeing is one of the most important things you can do. I have weighed the pros and cons of writing this piece. With every word I typed, my mind was running back and forth between, “What will happen if my extended family sees this?” to “I’m so happy that I can finally talk about my gender identity.” I think about those protagonists in the mainstream queer films we have, who shout something like, “I’m not just who you think I am! I’m tired of hiding the real me!” Maybe I’m actually just thinking of Troy Bolton from “High School Musical.” - Suman Ray Sources: 1: https://www.ons.gov.uk/economy/environmentalaccounts/articles/whatisthedifferencebetweensexandgender/2019-02-21#definitions-and-differences 2: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/sites/default/files/trans_stats.pdf 3: https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/young-people/ Cover Photo Source: https://greatist.com/health/nonbinary

TW: Suic*de, de*th, hom*phob*a ‘My mind is bisexual. It's easy for me to love a woman. It's also easy for me to love a man, too” - Leslie Cheung, 1992. Dear Asian Youth, Amongst the actors and singers of the canto-pop scene, the late Leslie Cheung springs into the mind of many as a figure who embodies the genre. My older cousins were especially fond of his music growing up and felt an affinity towards Cheung, they even called him “gor gor” (big brother), which I later found out was a nickname that the people of Hong Kong gifted him. It was clear to me that he was a figure of hope to my cousins for his determination to express his sexuality despite belonging to a largely homogenous culture. It was only natural that this admiration would be later passed onto me. It wasn’t until a trip to Hong Kong in 2013 though that I had been truly informed of his impact, particularly in East Asia. I was in Tsim Tsa Tsui watching the famous skyline under humid heat when a dome pitched with projections of the ‘追 Chase’ music video was crowded with mourning fans. It wasn’t until I had gotten home and recounted my memories of the day that I realised it was a homage to the late actor and singer ten years after his death. Although I was only three when he passed, his legacy had made a definite mark on me and many other young individuals. I remember stumbling across his performance of ‘Red 紅’ at his 1997 world tour concert on Youtube and feeling both enamoured and surprised at the man donning red heels and a sparkly suit while dancing sensually with his same-sex dance partner. His movements on stage evoked a feminine image to the masses despite his identity as a cisgender male. There was a part of me that felt like I was watching something taboo, not only because it was ‘gay’ in a world of homophobia, but because it was overtly homoerotic in a space that I knew was not the most open to homosexuality. BBC even reported that “at that time, homosexuality was still viewed by many as an illness and abnormality in Hong Kong, especially after the emergence of the first local case of AIDS in 1984.” Besides his handsome face being at the forefront of his branding as an actor and singer, he wished to express himself in ways that proved his determination to take back control over his sexuality and what defined him as an individual. Global Times reported that part of his charisma was also due to his standing as a “transparent artist refusing to hide behind masks.” I have always believed in a unifying need within all of us to define ourselves without the judgement of other people. I believe that Cheung’s unabashed refusal to be held back from expressing himself was a large driving force behind his popularity alongside his talent on the screen and stage. His determination was even evident in his English name being Leslie, which according to Time, was because he stated “I love the film Gone with the Wind. And I like Leslie Howard. The name can be a man's or woman's, it's very unisex, so I like it." One of my favourite films amidst Cheung’s widely respected filmography is Happy Together. It was directed by Wong Kar Wai, who is most well known for his work on the cult classics of the Hong Kong film era such as ChungKing Express and In the Mood for Love. Cheung takes on the LGBT role of Ho Po Wing who travels to Buenos Aires with his male partner, played by Tony Leung. After a typical turbulent fight between the two, they realise that they are stranded when they don’t have enough money to travel back to Hong Kong. By then, Cheung had already revealed his bisexuality to the masses and many people, particularly in his home city of Hong Kong, disapproved of his sexual orientation. Nevertheless, the film was considered one of best LGBT films in the New Queer Cinema movement and was generally received with positive reviews despite discussions on censorship. The media during Cheung’s career were relentless when it came to mocking his sexuality at this time and preferred to ignore his artistry because of this. This continued up to the later years of his career, particularly in 2001 after the end of his ‘Passion Tour’ where he collaborated with the world renowned haute couture fashion designer Jean Paul Gautier. It was during his final tour that he donned some of Asia’s largest LGBT pop culture moments with his long hair, flowy skirts, and vinyl pants. My personal favourite had always been the angelic feather shoulders on his white blazer. Although his fans were abundant and filled with passion, it seemed that Cheung was brought into fame in a world that wasn’t ready for him but quite frankly, should have been. His legacy still seems to capture the hearts and minds of many people today despite his unfortunate passing. He still serves as a figure of positivity and hope for many people in Asia, and even has a café dedicated to him in Chengdu, China where fans from around the world can visit and connect. According to South China Morning Post, the owner of the cafe, Lu Xiaochuan, comments that “the café on Chunxi Road is there to keep his legacy alive.” He was not only a role model for the LGBT community, but also all individuals in the world who felt like they didn’t fit in and craved the freedom to express themselves. It is times like these after the anniversary of his death that I think about his comment from Time on his home city, that seems to serve as a metaphor for the world: “The place is so extravagant, vulgar, expensive. I may be too soft for Hong Kong. I don't always count myself as one of them.” Cheung encourages us even after his death to be honest with ourselves in every aspect of our lives and to not only believe in our honesty, but to live it. - Cathay Lau Cover Photo Source: https://www.scmp.com/magazines/style/celebrity/article/3077319/leslie-cheung-7-things-you-didnt-know-about-canto-pop

I see my brown skin that identifies my race. I see my dark hair that I run my fingers through when I’m daydreaming. I see my upturned eyes with irises that can be as sweet as chocolate or as jagged as the rocks upon which ships crash. I hear my parents listening to the soft yet upbeat melodies of Khmer music that floats from the speakers. I hear my cousins and aunts and uncles at a party, their voices raised to the point where they can no longer hear each other. I hear the blend of Cambodian and English woven into conversations, spoken as swift as lightning yet as gentle as rain tapping against the window. I smell the freshly cooked rice that greets me when I visit my parents. I smell the garlic and lemons and soy sauce, scents that remind me that the best meals are home cooked. I smell the smoke of the incense sticks after we’ve prayed to our ancestors for health and happiness. I taste the salmon that’s been cooked to perfection and melts in my mouth. I taste the sticky rice topped with mangos and covered in coconut sauce. I taste the salt in my tears from laughing with cousins over childhood stories, arguing whose parents were stricter. I feel the strength of our community when people see us as less than human. I feel the resilience of my ancestors coursing through my veins. I feel the pride in being Asian American. - Eric Nhem Cover Photo Source: https://grantourismotravels.com/shrimp-fried-rice-with-shrimp-paste-recipe/

you told me the other day that wings are made to fly, not to float aimlessly, waiting for a day where i can wake up in a dream, not reality. are you stupid, you asked. i didn’t answer. staring at the floor, there i was. that’s how you see me most days incapable of any thought, indistinguishable from the childish handwriting seeping into brain, inconsistent with what i say. am i wrong, you asked. like a barrier in-between my vocal cords and the air. i said nothing. you weren’t wrong, i thought. you are never wrong. i wonder when it’s okay to be weak. my friends tell me that there’s no such thing as weak, only brilliantly emotional. i wish i could believe them. each night i overthink in bed, replaying the film, and i notice the parade, the hollers of joy, around everybody. they seem happy as they take easy breaths of oxygen and stumble purposefully on their feet. smiles tint their faces, except mine. ha, ha, ha, i want to say. ha, ha, ha. are you there, listening? have you ever been willing to listen? maybe i haven’t given you the chance since i’ve never said anything. you only appreciate me when i don’t say anything. and, when i do, your eyes burn blue and your tongue suffocates the air, and i stand there and watch as you tear the entire place apart, screaming, wrestling, crying, horrified in madness at my madness, oh, how could you say that, you cry, but all i ever did was one harmless rhyme that you misinterpreted as a crime so, really, how could you say that. when the fumes stop, i bleed in my room. terrible, terrible, bleeding. i replay the film once more. then i ask myself: am i being sensitive, or… ? - Hannah Chen Cover Photo Source: http://www.cutedrop.com.br/2016/05/serie-ilustrada-mostra-perfeitamente-como-e-a-vida-de-quem-tem-gatos/

If someone were to ask me, “Who today is the person you'd want to be tomorrow?” I'd say, “My mama: my best friend, my hero.” For a painting would not be a painting without a painter and their paint. My mama soaked me in greens and pinks till all my emptiness became faint. There is something beautiful in the way my mama smiles, in the way she pursues happiness, in the way she runs for miles. It is my mama who loves me when I feel all alone. It is my mama who hugs me even though I am all grown. My mama is the reason I keep a rhyme in the poems I compose. She is the one who taught me to dance to the beat in the direction the music flows And to her, I will always be in a debt so grand, that the only way I can repay is to make the most of the life she has given me and to be a kind human along the way. - Prerna Cover Photo Source: https://www.sahapedia.org/mother-and-child-modern-indian-art

Forenote: This is an experimental piece intended to infuse the vividly artistic and abstract style of ancient Chinese text into English language. Both as writers and readers, it’s often incredibly easy to be caught in the logical meaning of a string of words put together, instead of looking for the emotional landscape these words elicit. Hence, this short prose was first written in Chinese, then translated word by word - with the hopes that the slight disorientation urges the need to understand the story through feeling rather than the chronological interpretation of letters on a page. Yanhua. (fireworks - prose) Dusk dyes close the corners of the world, the sky fades into deep-end. Long winds curl the earth, and the Moon lies clouded and wordless. Snow drifts in unbounded emptiness, thawing the plum blossoms beneath parlor steps. In the depth of the alley, your slender silhouette lovingly floats - paper umbrella in hand, admiring winter’s fireworks. A hundred thousand troops on horseback, blood-soaked districts and sunken shoal. Yet, a smile over the shoulder from you, and immortalized prosperity crumbles at your feet. Stepping over the pitter-patter of moss-grown rocks, under the flood of the night, you take my hand and retrace a thousand years of time and light. Far nostalgia of the then years, where returning dreams made rings around the bath house, shadows stood and fireworks exploded wherever you went. You sang for the city, turned your eyes and whispered homesickness to the strings of the pipa. Under a sky like this, a decade of flightless slaughter is no more than a stroke of verdant green for the history books. Candle sets the jade screen alight - your face opens in smile and the ink on your brush burns to an end. Tossing up your bamboo hairpin, I wondered if you were the empress of the world. Even in the midst of contemplation, tearfall is nothing further than a moment’s splinter. By the time I turned, falling snow had bled into gray hair. Full moon breaks dawn, illuminates the smudge of carmine sand between your brows. Unsung stories with no one to pass on, a dream of gold at the end of estrangement. Beneath the blade, plum blossoms fall like broken snow, and the streetlights fade into your eyes. Lake glow and water tinge coalesce on the strings. You play softly - of sunset years. The city lay in ruin, and the people bury their heroes. At the end of your life, refasten your hairband and repaint your carmine sand. Drain your tea in one swallow. Only then you know, life is just a dream. Return to reality. Fireworks tear through snow, soar towards the brink of heaven, dissolving as silk looms do. The light of fireglow masks the long untended-to breakbone flowers. Moon shines on the courtyard, yet it will never find your clement smile again. Set foot towards the end. Turn of the head, and the only thing I see: A fading laugh, a song of yanhua. - Lily Shen Cover Photo Source: https://www.chinahighlights.com/festivals/chinese-new-year-firework-performance.htm

Dear Asian Youth, The most recent setback for transgender rights in the United States targets the youth. While debates regarding the inclusion of transgender athletes have been brewing for many years, these objections are now extending to adolescents. At the moment, the country is divided over the surge of bills banning trangender youth from competing on sports teams in accordance with their gender identity. Legislation like the Mississippi Fairness Act specifically prevents transgender women from competing on female teams, arguing that trans women have a physical advantage over cisgender women because they were assigned male at birth. Proponents who claim to be fighting for the integrity of these teams point to statistics demonstrating that males compete better athletically than females. For example, a study in NCBI analyzed 82 quantifiable events since the beginning of the Olympics and found that the gender gap between male and female competitors ranged from 5.5% to 18.8%. Another paper by Duke Law claims that there’s an average 10-12% performance gap between elite males and elite females due to a difference in testosterone. This statistic is described as “beyond a reasonable doubt.” Additionally, the previously cited Mississippi Fairness Act states that testosterone levels affect hemoglobin levels, body fat content, the storage and use of carbohydrates, and the development of Type 2 muscle fibers. These are all traits that impact one’s speed and power while performing physical activity. While it may seem like people assigned male at birth have an inherent advantage, opponents find that these incomprehensive studies are being weaponized against the transgender community. Pediatrician and geneticist Dr. Eric Vilain, who has dedicated his career to researching sex differences in athletes, points out that we aren’t actually seeing evidence of transgender women using this potential advantage to systematically compete and win. Despite the lack of restrictions for transgender athletes in the 2016 Olympics, no transgender athletes competed in have ever competed in these games. Dr. Eric Vilain also discusses that these “inherent advantages” differ greatly from sport to sport. In an interview with NPR, he states, “the body of a marathon runner is extremely different from the body of a shot put champion, and a transwoman athlete may have some advantage on the basketball field because of her height, but would be at a disadvantage in gymnastics. So it's complicated.” Additionally, many transgender women who are transitioning choose to take hormones that can reduce their testerone levels, but also and, in turn, their speed, strength, and endurance. Many wonder whether these women will be forced to compete on male sports teams too. Some studies have found that transgender women retain an advantage over their cisgender counterparts after a year of hormone therapy (NBC News). But as these studies are not widely applicable, at what point can a transgender woman be considered not to have an athletic advantage? Some global competitions have set upper limits for testerone levels, but whether this is appropriate for high school and middle students is questionable. This opens the door for anyone to question whether a team player is competing in accordance to the sex they were assigned at birth, leading to the potential of sex testing. Sex testing has been weaponized against female athletes who are competing on an elite level for many years. Many have come to object to this practice, often describing the forceful use of this procedure as invasive and humiliating. Common methods include a gynecological exam and blood work or chromosome testing (NPR). These procedures themselves are inherently invasive, but even more so when women are effectively coerced into them by the public for their careers. Another consequence of sex testing is that women who don’t meet stereotypical standards of femininity, or anyone who looks “too masculine,” are often accused of lying about the sex they were assigned at birth. Often, naturally high testosterone levels in females are contributory factors. This has disproportionately affects women from the Global South, due to naturally higher testosterone levels, who are subsequently subjected to sex testing as a requirement to participate in their respective sports (The Guardian). Once again, this exposes that these regulations are solely based on arbitrary definitions of gender. In 2019, Human Rights Watch worked with scholars Payoshni Mitra and Katrina Karkazis to research and interview athletes, coaches, and officials involved in this issue. The article states that, “Women interviewed described intense self-questioning, shame, and withdrawal from sport – even when it was their livelihood – and suicide attempts. A runner who had been sex tested and subsequently disqualified said: ‘I wanted to know the results…. I wanted to know who am I? Why are they testing me? They’re not testing other girls…. I wanted to know why they have taken me to the hospital, removing the clothes’” (Human Rights Watch). Sex testing is invasive for adult athletes competing on an elite level. These bills proposing to subject middle and high school students to the same kind of treatment is incredibly disturbing. Luckily, as we begin to see more transgender athletes set a precedent that they have a right to be included in thse activities. An inspiring example is Andraya Yearwood. Yearwood was cruelly thrust into the public eye when those threatened by her success challenged the inclusive policy in the State of Connecticut that allowed transgender student-atheltes to compete according to their gender identity. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of Yearwood’s popularity, she has taken her newfound position in stride. Yearwood uses her social media to assert her gender identity and right to a play in accordance with this identity. In addition, she is is set to star in Changing the Game, am upcoming documentary that delves into the personal experiences of transgender athletes who faced discrimination for their athletic passions. (Bleacher). Hopefully, these changes will encourage greater participation in team sports, as these activities are crucial for development in adolescents. The Washington Post delves into this issue through high school, transgender track athlete Terry Miller, who stated “Track helps me forget about everything, and I love it.” Similar to Yearwood, as she began to perform better in competition, girls who lost to her, their coaches, and their parents complained about an unfair advantage and began petitions to demand the use of testosterone suppression. Publicizing such a personal decision and bitterly excluding an adolescent from a marginalized community is incredibly unfortunate. As more students redefine their gender identity at young ages, more are exposed to overwhelming transphobia. By making these opportunities accessible to transgender youth, we can begin to change public perception from a young age. - Lora Kwon https://www.motherjones.com/mojo-wire/2021/03/mississippi-is-about-to-ban-trans-athletes-over-a-hypothetical-problem/ Editors: Anoushka, K Nadine, R Joyce, S Cover Photo Source: https://www.nbcnews.com/feature/nbc-out/biden-administration-withdraws-transgender-athlete-case-n1258723

- Trish Luu This drawing depicts the hands of my mother—the hands that raised me. My parents, both immigrants from Vietnam, sacrificed all they knew to give my sister and I the opportunity to achieve our own dreams. We have seen a sharp increase in attacks against Asians and Asian-Americans throughout the last year due to COVID-19. Xenophobia, racism, and hate crimes against the AAPI community have always been present in our society, but this pandemic has brought to light actions that used to take place behind closed doors. I want to give back to the AAPI community by selling 8.5” x 11” art prints of my original piece! Each print is $15. A portion of the earnings gained from these art prints will go directly to the AAPI community. Your contribution will aid victims of hate crimes, rebuild communities that have been targeted and attacked, fund programs that fight social injustices, increase education and awareness on racist policies, and much more. Biography: Trish is an incoming freshman at the University of Utah who plans on majoring in Graphic Design. She creates art in hopes of spreading awareness and educating those in her community. With that said, she has actually sold original pieces and donated all of the proceeds to nonprofit organizations. Instagram: trishl_art

Dear Asian Youth, I used to believe that fortune cookies were magical. Every time my family went to go visit the shabby, hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant in our neighborhood and left with overflowing bags of lo mein and General Tso’s chicken, I made sure to snag a few extra handfuls of cookies from the little jade dish at the front desk and pocket them discreetly. After we arrived home and had stuffed ourselves full with grease and spices, I would huddle into the corner of my bedroom with a blanket tossed over my head, perch a flashlight nearby and crack open each cookie, one by one. Split one sugary chunk after the other, quickly suck away the crumbs threatening to spill onto my mattress and attract ants in the morning, and, with painstaking diligence, unravel thin slips of blue-marked paper from their tightly-curled positions within each cookie. The fortunes themselves were nothing special. Each paper contained some variation of the same dozen phrases and idioms which I already knew by heart, looped in an endless cycle of ambiguity and generic wordplay. They spoke of things like virtue and courage, of pursuing my dreams with determination and perseverance but also remembering to be patient and content with what I already had, of creating my own forms of happiness and overcoming the obstacles in my path over time. After I disassembled each cookie and laid out the fortunes on my bed like a museum display, I proceeded to do something which, years later, drew raucous laughter at family reunions upon retelling and relentless teasing from my older sibling. I took whichever fortune I believed felt most ‘lucky’ at the moment; I folded it in half, then folded it again, and kept folding it into dozens upon dozens of miniature squares which kept folding until the paper could fold no more; lastly, I took this crumpled, almond-sized ball of paper and wax, of inked fortunes and wishful luck, and swallowed it whole. Why did I do this? Well, I was eight years old and, more importantly, a fool, buoyed by the heady, addictive flavor of ancient Chinese idioms scrawled on slim strips of paper and hidden in heart-shaped folds of stiff sugar. I thought that swallowing my fortunes would somehow make them come alive and imbue me with the magical kind of luck I only saw in television shows and manga series. Sometimes I swallowed fortunes I didn’t even understand the meaning of, fortunes with complex words and lyrical, nuanced meanings which elude me still to this day. With each fortune I swallowed, I grew increasingly optimistic about what life would have to offer me. Success lies in the hands of those who want it. Bundles of gold ingots will drop from the sky into my hands. Big journeys begin with a single step. I’ll come in first place on the pacer test tomorrow morning and blow everyone else away with ease. If you want the rainbow, you have to tolerate the rain. I can be patient. I’ll wait for the storm to subside, wait for my opportunity to shine and prove to those around me how amazing I can really be. I believe it. At some point, I stopped hoarding my fortunes, stopped hoarding and swallowing them like they were pieces of candy instead of waxy paper. I outgrew my childish fantasies steeped in concepts like serendipity and good fortune, although I never seemed to stop eating fortune cookies entirely. Perhaps it was when the Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood closed down abruptly, replaced with a shiny new hair salon run by ladies with corn-silk hair and no cookies or food to sell within the span of only a few weeks. Maybe I stopped even before that. All I know is that whenever someone mentions my old fortune-swallowing habits, I scowl, feeling thick, hot embarrassment swirl in my throat like invisible balls of white paper. I’m starting my senior year of high school soon. College season is just around the corner, and the weight of my schedule grows heavier with each passing day. I feel wistful instead of bitter sometimes, nostalgic for those days when I was filled with a hopeful, shivering kind of trepidation instead of perpetual exhaustion and fear for the future has in store for me. I wish I was ten years younger and back in my dimly-lit bedroom, breaking open fortune cookies and applying the little morsels of wisdom they possessed to my life with the same guileless, smooth ease I once had. Soon, I won’t be able to look back anymore; I won’t have the time to reminisce, the same recollection of the memories I’m clinging onto now. Each time I remember this, I take a stroll through my neighborhood and visit any other Chinese restaurant I can find nearby. I order something small, a drink or pack of fried wonton strips that I don’t even enjoy the taste of, and make sure to grab a generous handful of fortune cookies on my way out. - Chris Cover Photo Source: https://www.thespruceeats.com/fortune-cookie-recipe-694545