Roots: A Communal Journal

This week was a week of victory for many. A week of relief. Of celebration. Of hope. For some of us, it was a week of reflection and contemplation. Many of us believed in an America that wasn't - a mirage of unrealized hope and unfilled promises. These past years taught us what America was, and yet, this week offered glimpses of hope. And amidst these glimpses of hope - the celebration of democracy, of America - we ask ourselves what America can be to us. In The Accidental Asian, Eric Liu, a second generation Chinese American, shares his story of identity, culture, and assimilation. He writes about his journey growing up in a suburban community, going to school in majority white settings, working at the highest levels of our country's government - and through it all, tries to understand how his identity has been shaped by each of those experiences. And on a week when we're constantly reminded of the promise of America, I ask myself whether I believe in that promise, and whe...

We watch television for many reasons. Sometimes, we watch it to escape. Or to feel a rush of adrenaline. Sometimes, we watch it to laugh. Other times, it helps us learn, or grieve, or remember. But sometimes, we watch it because it is a mirror on a screen. We see glimpses of ourselves through another reality. We pick up on threads that connect us to characters or stories. We tie those threads together to create tapestries of our lives - the little parts of us that make us whole. When we want television to act as our mirrors, it's even more important that what appears on those screens represents - even if only in little pieces at a time - the parts that make us who we are. So, when I see someone that looks like me on television, I jump at the opportunity to watch the movie or the show. I don't often care how good it is - I watch them because I think, in some small way, I'll find a mirror through the screen. I believe that I'm going to resonate with some part of...

Face masks are now ubiquitous wherever we go - you'll rarely see someone at the grocery store, post office, or other public places without one. These masks are physical barriers to protect ourselves from others' germs, and to protect others from ours. But for many Asian Americans, we've had to contend with whether we'd put on figurative masks. Many of us have held in tension whether to amplify or hide our identity - to protect ourselves not from others' germs, but from their bigotry.  First, two things are important to keep in mind. One: this isn't a story about the experience of every Asian American. It's a tension I feel myself. It may not be one that other Asian Americans feel. Two: I don't believe one group's hardship should ever diminish that of the other. Racism and racially-tinged bigotry are very different hardships from contracting COVID-19. I don't believe highlighting the hardship from discrimination should hide the fact that tho...

As I prepare to spend a week in my homeland – my formerly and currently colonized, beautifully diverse, and unfortunately battered-by-violence homeland – I reflect on my own yearlong personal and professional journey learning about place, power and people. I had the privilege of visiting several U.S. cities to learn about just, equitable places that dignify all peoples. It was a journey that revealed the pain of racialized oppression, highlighted the stark reality of systemic injustices and challenged everything I knew about how our country functioned, but ultimately, it celebrated the beauty of humanity that found joy in its fight for justice and liberation. The Lakota people at Standing Rock in North Dakota powerfully demonstrated the centrality of place. Even though they were systemically removed from their ancestral lands, and have since had access to their resources slowly stripped away, they continue to honor their past and present homelands as sacred. They ...

I love getting up on a Sunday morning to breakfast that awakens my senses. I love the sound of Spam (or more accurately, Great Wall Canned Pork and Ham), sizzling in its own salty, fragrant oil. I love poking through an over-easy egg, its bright, rich yolk gently piercing through. I love the smell of Nissin ramen, its rich broth of MSG, faux beef and sesame oil evaporating into the air and spreading across the room. Most importantly, I love the memory of what spam and egg on ramen brings. It brings the nostalgia of sharing a table with strangers in a Hong Kong teahouse, slurping our own bowls of piping hot noodle soup, never making eye contact with each other, but knowing that we all are joined by a shared experience: a communal, sweat-inducing, cholesterol-raising, and yet incredibly joyful three-and-a-half minute journey through the senses. These days, I joke about spam and eggs. I joke because it's the weird thing I still hold dearly to from my childhood. But I was reminde...

As roots grow over centuries of nurture and support, so do our identities – as peoples and cultures evolve and shape each other. Each of our identities become nuanced, with every experience and story unique from another. Yet, many of those stories are beautifully interconnected as if they formed an intricate tapestry. Those are the stories I’m hoping this communal journal will explore. The first is mine – a story shared by many Chinese Americans, and a story that holds both pain and privilege in intractable tension. This story, oftentimes, is one of privilege. It’s one that, whether we’ve chosen it or not, many of us enjoy. It’s where we can often choose to be accepted as if we were white. It’s where we’re thought of as smart and hard-working, earning the moniker of the “non-threating,” or “model minority,” or the “good” immigrant. It’s where many of us can walk into a conference room and be thought of as a trusted partner, not as the person bringing them coffee. It’s a privilege...