Izumi grew up without her father, but she and her mom have done just fine. One day, while browsing through her mother’s books, Izumi learns who her father is…the Crown Prince of Japan. Despite never having connected with her Japanese heritage, Izumi is whisked off to Tokyo to learn about her family and culture. Will she crack under the pressure? I didn’t expect to relate to our main character, Izumi, as quickly as I did. Izumi never knew her father and, as a result, always felt a little displaced. Furthermore, she has been disconnected from her Japanese heritage. When people ask her about her Japanese roots, she can’t answer. Even within the first few chapters, I saw my own struggles as a transracial, international adoptee reflected on the page. "Tokyo Ever After" may be something of a modern fairytale, but it instantly resonated with me and had me hooked. The remaining book was a whirlwind of royalty and fairytale amidst an identity crisis. She experiences great pressure to be the perfect Japanese princess under the public’s eye. She grew up not knowing her father and with limited information about her mother’s family. As a result, she wasn’t exactly sure where she belonged or what her roots were. Again, while I can’t relate to Izumi discovering she is a princess, I can relate to her intense struggles with not connecting with her culture. The story was nicely paced and Jean was able to fit a lot of character development into this YA novel. I lost track of some of the characters, but there was a handy family tree diagram at the beginning that I could refer to. Even with a lot of plot developments, I appreciated seeing Izumi’s relationships with her family and friends. Each person helped her develop while having their own identities. Overall, this was a very fun read. "Tokyo Ever After" not only provides some Asian representation in a modern day fairytale, but also introduces challenging themes surrounding identity and culture. There was a lot packed into just 320 pages and there is so much more that could be explored. The sequel, "Tokyo Dreaming," will be released in 2022, and I am eagerly awaiting its publication date.

Be part of a movement by helping fundraise for a groundbreaking project that Janet Yang, the legendary "Joy Luck Club" executive producer and Governor of the Academy of Motion Pictures called “an ode to the bond between mother and son, told with radical vulnerability and honesty,” and “a deeply moving look into the love that binds a family.” "Journey of a Thousand Miles" is directed and produced by Dr. Zhu Shen when Shen’s husband Changyou was stricken with terminal cancer, she throws herself into a six-year odyssey to produce their 12-year-old artistically gifted son Perry’s animated film—"Changyou’s Journey," unleashing a mother-son tug of war. Shen must learn to look inward to reconnect with her son, reclaim her own buried artistic prowess, and transform from “Tiger Mom” to “Zen Mom.” Changyou’s Journey—a young animator Perry Chen who crafted this labor of love to inspire his father during his long battle with cancer and to pay tribute to the life he led, beginning with his childhood in rural China. A story of grief, loss, perseverance, and enduring hope in the darkest times of our lives. The fundraiser includes access to exclusive scenes from this personal documentary feature "Journey of a Thousand Miles" and its companion short "Changyou's Journey" + Q&A with director/producer Dr. Zhu Shen and other prominent film panelists to raise awareness and funds for this groundbreaking project All funds will be used to fund production and post production activities like cinematography, editing, sound mixing, color correction, music, licensing, marketing, legal, and distribution costs. The program features a brief introduction by Director Zhu Shen, a short sample from "Journey of a Thousand Miles," followed by screening of "Changyou’s Journey"—the 2019 Oscar-qualified animated documentary short, written and directed by Zhu’s young son Perry Chen who became the youngest director with an Academy Award-qualified film while still in high school. The event ends with a dynamic Q&A featuring director/producer Zhu Shen and other prominent documentary filmmakers, entrepreneurs, and advisors, moderated by Gordon Skinner, executive producer of [Re]-Frame Media, LLC., who has produced and directed numerous feature films about the human experience in a myriad of genres. Streaming is available for a limited time only, so click here to watch. If you’d like to connect with Dr. Zhu Shen, you can find her on these platforms: LinkedIn | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter

As adoptees, we share our stories with each other and that is the burden. That is the work; the remembering, the rephrasing, the reflecting on things that should not be true on lives that could have been different. We reconstruct our stories, retell them to each other; and they seem less tragic, more bearable, because they have been borne. So, we know it can be done, has been done. Tragic, not a tragedy, a phrase that echoes in my mind each time I hear a new story. And as my Korean adoptee portrait participants are all still alive, we do not delve into the tragedy of suicide or death though those thoughts hang in the ether as they have whispered to some of us, much like the lotus eaters with seductive fruits promising emptiness and forgetfulness. "Butterfly dreams" is the latest drawing portrait in my "Seeds From the East: Korean Adoptee Portrait Project." The drawing is of Lisa Jackson, Han Jung Ja, and her Korean mother, Han Ok Hee. The adoption photo I referenced was likely taken circa 1966. Lisa was relinquished in 1968 and finally adopted in 1969 by a loving African American couple. As a Korean American mixed child, Lisa lived with her birth mother until the age of 5. In those five years, she was loved and cherished. In those five years, Han Ok Hee waited for the man who had spent 11 months with her and impregnated her. He would not return. In Korea, Han Ok Hee may have been ostracized for having a child with an African American soldier. That is not the catalyst for Lisa’s story. Lisa told me that according to the story, she had been so abused at school by the other students that she would often come home in tears. For that reason, and because of tensions within her own family, Lisa’s personal safety had been in jeopardy. Lisa’s birth mother believed she had no other choice. She dressed Lisa up and brought her to the orphanage. She also escorted her to the plane that would take her daughter to the United States. Han Ok Hee would wait her whole life for that daughter to return. She knew her name was on her daughter’s adoption file. Her daughter was also registered in her grandfather’s family registry even without a Korean father. She was desired. She was loved. At the age of 81, Lisa’s birth mother would succumb to Alzheimer’s. Han Ok Hee would regress mentally to the year she surrendered her daughter to the orphanage, 1968. Lisa would not see her adoption document with her birth mother’s name on it, until two years after Han Ok Hee had passed. Lisa unwittingly had the document in her possession. It was filed in her adoptive father’s boxes which she inherited after his passing, two years prior to Ok Hee’s passing. Lisa knows all this because she is “in reunion” with her birth family. In the adoptee community, this means an adoptee has found someone in their birth family and they are communicating. The level of communication and engagement for adoptees “in reunion” runs the gamut and it can come with a variety of complicated and new emotional hurdles and trauma for some. Lisa has been to Korea and met with her biological aunt and uncle. She also reunited with her birth father, an African American military man. She found him through DNA and connected with him, a multitude of siblings, and an extended family here in the U.S. In addition to her African American siblings, she has a half German sister and a half Vietnamese brother. Lisa is the eldest of six. I tell the breadth of Lisa’s story because what she knows of her mother so moved me. I was born in Korea in 1968, the same year that Lisa was in an orphanage. Though we were in different parts of the country, we were both in foster care through Holt and could have passed each other, though I was still a baby. The bravery, or foolishness, of Ok Hee to fall in love with an African American soldier is contrary to the general accusations of racism during the time. There would not have been these babies if everyone were willing to be segregated. She never married and never had any other children. As the story sometimes goes, some women marry and want to keep their past a secret. Some will not reunite with the children they relinquished, now adults, for fear of the repercussions in their current families and lives. I interpret Lisa’s birth mother’s refusal to build another family as a refusal to wholly relinquish her daughter. This feels tragically sad and beautiful to me. Han Ok Hee lived the rest of her life never knowing the beautiful woman, wife, mother, and grandmother her daughter had become. She would not ever learn of the tribe of 19 great-grandchildren she would have and the beautiful legacy her love had created. After my two-hour long interview with Lisa, I sat with her story for weeks. I avoided the portrait and then each drawing attempt eluded me, as if I did not truly want to know Han Ok Hee’s face, as she, too, belonged in the picture. Part of my drawing process is memorization. I draw the portrait until I know it from memory, intuitively. In conversations around adoption, often the spotlight shines on the new adoptive mother and her joy, her grace. With this project, I stand on the other side of the river reflecting on the loss of a birth mother, of a child. In truth, I too am the child, and the loss. I surprised myself after listening to Lisa’s story. Tracing the footprints of other adoptees’ stories makes me confront unexamined possibilities. The story I was told about my own adoption was that I had been dropped off at the orphanage, and my birth mother had died. I still had not quite forgiven my own birth mother. I understood the sacrifice, but the truth of her possible sorrow I had never allowed to be considered. I thought I had passed through that gate. I had not realized it was a circle. Hearing Lisa’s story woke me to forgiveness, a land far from understanding, and for that I am truly grateful. As I continue to interview adoptees and draw adoption portraits, my fortune grows with the new friends I am making and the lives I am witnessing. In any story the pieces can be made shiny and romantic, but for many adoptees, the day-to-day work of knowing, not knowing, of being, and accepting continues. I believe the sorrow, the love, and the work intertwined create beauty, not because they are tragic or romantic, but because these acts create and endure hope. It is this hope that has saved so many of us, and if shared, may save or bring peace to many more. In the spring of 2022, I will kick off my national tour of the "Seeds From the East: Korean Adoptee Portrait Exhibit," at the Phillip Jaisohn Memorial House in Media, PA. The meaningfulness of this Foundation in Korean American History is profound, and I am honored to be sharing the Korean adoptee experience in this of all places. Dr. Philip Jaisohn (Soh Jaipil) was the first Korean American immigrant to become a naturalized US citizen in 1890. He was an activist, revolutionary, and during his time living in Korea he printed the first Korean paper typed in Hangul called The Independent (Tongnip Sinmun). He settled in Media, PA, and worked in Philadelphia for 25 years as a surgeon, a medical researcher, and an activist. He was the first Korean American to receive a medical degree in the United States. He is credited with bringing together the first Korean American Congress in 1919 and establishing “21 Chapters of the League of Korean Friends all over the United States.” Dr. Philip Jaison’s spirit of activism and his belief in cultural freedom were welcomed by America back in 1890. It is a spirit still needed today. The exhibition will also be exhibited in Virginia at the Eleanor D. Wilson Museum at Hollins University from September 29th to December 10, 2022. With funding and support, the show and accompanying workshops on transracial adoptee issues will travel to Minnesota and Oregon in 2023. If you are interested in learning more about and supporting the project, click: Seeds From the East Touring Exhibition, or subscribe to A.D. Herzel’s Patreon. All funds will pay for the shipping, travel, framing, and cost of the portrait donations to the Adoptee Participants. You will get access to free swag, and first looks at the new portraits, Limited Edition prints, process, and stories. You can also join us at the #UniversalAsianVoices: Making Change-Seeds From the East- event Cover image: Drawing "Butterfly’s dreams" 20 x 24, A.D. Herzel Image: "Mother Ship" Ordering window opens Nov. 1 – Nov. 30

In March of 2021, eight people were killed in three Atlanta spa shootings. Six of these people were Asian women. In 2019, rapist Brock Turner’s victim revealed her identity as an Asian-American woman. From the overrepresentation of Asian women in violent porn categories, to the hyper sexualization of Asian female characters in movies; harmful stereotypes of Asian women have been around for generations. Many of us are still feeling the negative impact of them to this day. A global report on trafficking by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime found that Asian women are the most trafficked group worldwide. An organization called Stop AAPI Hate found that since the pandemic, Asian women reported hate crimes 2.2 times more than Asian men. So, why these alarming statistics? And, why is this false narrative of the Asian woman as an exotic temptress so dangerous? Because for so many of us Asian-American women, our very existence is reduced to a punchline. For Asian-American women, the experiences of racism and sexism are oftentimes inseparable. To grow up as an Asian-American woman is to experience a very sexualized form of marginalization that is rooted in misogyny, masked as complimentary Asian fetishization. Hollywood’s favorite way of placing Asian female characters on screen is to reduce them to the stereotypical exotic sex worker, the fierce dragon lady, or the forbidden lotus flower—an exotic fantasy for men to chase after. The constant in all these character depictions is the presence of sexuality. This portrayal of Asian women is echoed in movies, porn, literature, and even talk shows and comedies. In 1989, the musical "Miss Saigon" debuted, which attempted to portray life in Saigon during the Vietnam War. A synopsis of "Miss Saigon" online describes it as a “powerful tale of love” in a war-torn country between a Vietnamese orphan and an American GI hero. Underneath this romantically painted portrait however, exists a twisted distortion of the traumatic experience of Vietnamese people during the war, glamorized as a sexual fantasy. The overrepresentation of Vietnamese women as submissive and passive sex workers looking to be saved by the white American hero reinforces the objectification of Asian women and the entitled ownership over their bodies, even justifying violence against Asian women. This constant dehumanization of Asian women in media is a result of the long history of violence and inequality against Asian women in the United States, reinforced through larger institutions such as the U.S. military and the government. Dangerous stereotypes of Asian women can be dated back to the 19th century, where Asian women were seen as exotic conquered objects by American military officials and missionaries during their time in Asian countries. The 1875 Page Act, which was the first U.S. immigration law based on race, prevented East Asian women, predominantly Chinese women, from migrating over to the United States. The reasoning for this was rooted in the false narrative that Chinese women were all prostitutes who wished to come to the United States to marry American men. Laws such as this and The Chinese Exclusion Act were the blueprint for the anti-Asian sentiment that continues to exist in the United States to this day, and especially during the pandemic through phrases such as “kung flu” and “Chinese virus.” During the mid-20th century where various wars occurred between the United States and Asian countries, such as Vietnam and Korea, American soldiers experienced a version of these countries that was reduced to the sex industries surrounding military bases, or the service workers that were on base. This limited interaction with Asian women perpetuated the narrative that most Asian women existed as a service to men, either through their sexuality or their obedient hard work. These layers of stereotypes, such as the exotic sex worker and the obedient service worker, create a misogynistic view of Asian women that is birthed from toxic masculinity and male entitlement. The hard truth about “yellow fever” is that it isn’t a compliment, an advantage, and especially not a privilege. We need to continue to change this dangerous narrative by telling our stories as Asian-American women, by shutting down rude comments such as “me so horny,” and by continuing to advocate and raise awareness for our fellow sisters. For Suncha Kim, Hyun Jung Grant, Soon Chung Park, Yong Ae Yue, Xiaojie Tan, Daoyou Feng, and the many Asian women outside of the Atlanta spa shootings who have been victims of hate crimes. In May of this year, the Georgia district attorney stated that she will seek the death penalty and hate crime charges against the suspect of the shootings, Robert Aaron Long. This is a victory for Asian-American women everywhere, and a stark reminder that we aren’t your property, your “sex addiction,” your temptresses, or your model minority. We are human, and our experiences matter. Cover image: Jason Leung

She couldn’t put her finger on it. What was it? Could she have known that restlessness and a je ne sais quoi draw would lure her down this grunge-dressed rabbit’s hole? Don’t be tempted by the evil bunny who both teeters on the edge and dwells in den, cocooned, wrapped up, in utero. Oh, but maybe she plays anyway. She’s young, it’s fun—and this is LA! It was half past midnight in North Hollywood. Kristen Chien turned up 'Come as You Are' from Nirvana’s Nevermind. She pulled off her black and white lace choker necklace, undressed, threw on a flowy nightgown, and went downstairs to get some water. As she walked by a window, someone—or something—caught her eye and she let out a blood-curdling scream. When she moved, it moved, mocking her. Okay, so it turned out to be her own translucent reflection that appeared like an apparition in the darkness outside. Who could read twelve to fifteen horror screenplays a week and not feel a little on edge? When her friend, Ethan Hong, an actor, called her the next day about a CAPE party on the Columbia Pictures lot, she was like, “Yeah, let’s do it! I need to forge a new path.” “You don’t want to be a script reader anymore?” he asked. “I don’t know. I feel a need to explore and change things up a bit.“ “Let’s just go and meet some cool people!” said Ethan encouragingly. “Are you talkin’ men?” “Heck, yeah!” And they both chortled. The events put on by the Coalition of Asian Pacifics in Entertainment (CAPE) were always a blast. Kristen made her way through the crowds of hip, beautiful people—minglers who worked in 'the industry'—actors, producers, assistants and such. The Asian community in Hollywood is such a small world, she thought to herself. Kristen got herself a Midori sour from the bar and caught up with Ethan, her college pal who had graduated a year after her. Ethan had always made Kristin chuckle. His parents thought he was studying pre-med at Pepperdine, but he had actually transferred and was studying theater at UCLA. “So I assume you eventually told your parents about your major and all?” “Oh, Kristin, sweetheart. I had to come clean! My dad’s a pastor. They were gonna find out anyway. But we’re good now. I’m actually helping them make the coolest t-shirts for the youth summer camp.” Ethan laughed. “I think they always knew…” “That’s awesome, Ethan.” “Hey, girl, we gotta mix and mingle. We need jobs—and guys!” They laughed as they looked out at the busy room around them. A young man surrounded by a group of people caught Kristen’s eye. He was tall, slim built, and clad all in black—t-shirt, jeans, and steel-toed Doc Martens. “I wonder who that is,” commented Kristin. Even from a distance, this mysterious man gave off a laid back, silent type vibe—and oh, that subtle but noticeable mischievous smile. “Oof, what a hottie!” remarked Ethan, checking him out. Kristen tried to play it cool as she didn’t want the guy to see them gawking. Her heart skipped a beat. Something about him seemed almost devilishly alluring. Ethan stole another glimpse out of the corner of his eye. “What an enigma. Soo cute!” he remarked, trying hard not to stare. Hunter was totally bad-boy cute. In fact, in today’s terms you could say he was 'K-pop' cute. But this was the '90s. Kristen would later learn almost his entire wardrobe was black. Hunter chain smoked and listened endlessly to Kurt Cobain. He had vices. But Kristen didn’t know about any of that yet. “Ugh, but too straight for me,” said Ethan, dejected. “I can tell.” Hunter seemed to notice Ethan and Kristen. He looked over their way again. “Oh, those eyes!” gushed Ethan. “Like a dagger to my heart!” Ethan shot another glance at Hunter and then turned to Kristen; his face brightened, eyes wide open. “Oh, it looks like he’s coming over to talk to you!” He leaned into Kristen and whispered, “That’s my cue to skedaddle!” “Ethan!” squeaked Kristen, but Ethan had already left. Inside she was screaming, but she tried to remain calm. She tossed her long hair over her head and knocked over her drink. And then he was there right in front of her. “Whatcha doin’?” said the guy dressed in black, sporting a sly, boyish smile. Kristen looked up and was struck by his dark, silky eyes. Kristen nonchalantly turned her cup back upright and took a sip of what was left. “Huh?” she responded. It was as if a spell was being cast over her. Her mind was already mush. But then she remembered that this attractive human came over to talk to her, and she regained her confidence and composure. His name was Hunter Ro. He was twenty-four, like Kristen, and had studied filmmaking in college, like Kristen as well. Hunter was visiting from New York and was thinking about moving to LA as he was trying to get his latest film made. “You definitely should move here,” said Kristen trying to hide her expectant eyes. “LA is where it’s at.” Hunter flew back to the East Coast, but they stayed in touch and talked a few times on the phone. With student film and French film festival awards to his name, Kristen realized what a true talent he was. Hunter, in turn, encouraged Kristen not to quit her job, not to give up. By the end of the month, Hunter had left New York City and had moved into a place off of Melrose in West Hollywood. “Are ya gonna come over and visit me?” teased Hunter. “I can make you my famous hot dog fettuccine Alfredo.” How endearing and charming, Kristen mused. Her office was nearby and she agreed to stop over after work. “Uh, don’t be afraid of my roommate,” cautioned Hunter. “Why, what do you mean?” “Harley doesn’t have eyebrows. He’s cool, though,” he chuckled. “Um, okay,” said Kristen. “I won’t call him out on it.” Kristen was starving, but she tried not to eat too much. Hunter’s habits weren’t exactly healthy. Plus, all that sour cream. Dairy often caused Kristen to become dangerously bloated. After dinner, Hunter sat on the couch and they watched some films. Kristen was fascinated by Hunter’s avant garde storytelling style. His directorial skills were creative genius, an auteur in the making. Hunter even allowed her to read his script about a girl living in dystopian times. Kristen was in awe. Hunter sat down and played some Nirvana CDs. The smoke from his cigarettes churned and twisted like paisley snakes. Its wisps wound its way through the air, moved in lockstep to the moody, light and dark beats of 'Heart Shaped Box' and 'All Apologies'. Hunter quietly looked at Kristen. He smiled sheepishly and said, “You’re beautiful.” Kristen’s heart was pounding in her chest. Hunter leaned in and playfully pushed Kristen with his shoulder. “You’re too good for me,” he said. “Why do you say that?” “I’ll be nothin’ but trouble for ya.” “You don’t seem bad,” offered Kristen. Hunter paused and took a drag from his cigarette. Billowing clouds of smoke unfurled from his mouth like a dragon. “I once stole a little baby Jesus from the Catholic church. I stuffed it in my pocket and I never got caught.” He chuckled and glanced over at Kristen who sat next to him, clothed in a soft grunge, flower patterned, babydoll dress. Hunter took another drag. When the air cleared, he squinted his eyes and added, “I was a bad kid. I caused a lot of heartache. I’ll be no good for ya, Kristen.” But it was already too late. She could feel herself falling into his world of addictive, tragic emptiness. The seductive charms of this angst-ridden, talented soul had already taken hold of her. When he kissed her, she could feel herself drifting among the ethereal clouds he created with his magical Marlboro lights. Hunter was a brooding film artist, who had an aura about him a lot of people were attracted to. Kristen introduced him to her film school connections and contacts she had in the industry. He made friends easily and hung out while Kristen worked all the time. With his easy nature and X factor charms, he made even more friends. Next thing you knew, a well-known director was reading his script, and then he was partying with another famous director and an actress about to debut in a television show featuring her character. Kristen wondered what risqué things Hunter might be doing with these famous people. Hunter bought Kristen a candy pop ring and told her that he loved her. Kristen was enamored, but when she turned twenty-five, an uneasiness began to nag at her. She wasn’t really looking for a job—that had stalled—and as the months wore on, she wondered about her future with Hunter. He had joked that they were opposites, and she knew that it wasn’t totally untrue. She wondered what Hunter would be like at her extended family events back home in the Midwest. She envisioned Hunter at her grandmother’s home, around her baby niece, smoking cigarettes around the corner outside, being antisocial, just wanting to do his own thing. How was that going to work? One day, Hunter called Kristen and told her that he would be busy that Saturday night and not to be alarmed if he didn’t pick up. When Kristen asked why, he admitted that he was hosting a birthday party for his roommate, but he felt Kristen wouldn’t have fun if she came. Of course, Kristen was upset. “Why? Why wouldn’t I have fun? What’re you all doing?” “Stuff.” “What stuff?” demanded Kristen. “Just stuff.” Hunter wouldn’t say. Kristen called Ethan for moral support. “If you want me to go with you to crash that party, girlfriend, you just let me know!” said Ethan. “You know, that’s a great idea,” said Kristen. “You’re the best, Ethan. It’s time to pay these party people a surprise visit.” On Saturday, Ethan drove up to Kristen’s place in a brand new Polo Green Chevy Corvette convertible. “Sweet mother muscle car!” howled Kristen. “Took it from Daddy’s garage,” said Ethan beaming. “Nice ride, Pastor Hong,” said Kristen. “Only in LA!” She laughed. Ethan was wearing a white t-shirt that read in bold letters, 'AGAPE, Godly Love'. Kristen smiled. “And I love that t-shirt, Ethan!” “Thanks! We’ve got loads of these in the church basement,” explained Ethan showing off his shirt. “That shirt gives me strength for whatever we find over there.” “Well, let’s go!” exclaimed Ethan as he stepped on the accelerator causing their heads to fly back. And, off they raced to the party in West Hollywood! As they came up to the front door of Hunter’s apartment, Kristen could hear music playing and lots of people talking and laughing inside. They knocked and rang the door bell and waited. Finally, Hunter answered the door. He was surprised to see Ethan and Kristen. He told them to wait a minute and closed the door. What the heck was happening in there, Kristen wondered. Her heart was racing and her adrenalin was so high, she could taste the acid reflux in her mouth. After what seemed a good amount of time longer, the door reopened. Hunter looked Ethan up and down. “Who’s he?” he asked. “My friend, Ethan,” replied Kristen. “Nice shirt,” remarked Hunter. Kristen and Ethan walked in. A sweet, smoky smell permeated the air. Asian American Hollywood Gen-Xers were crammed into the two bedroom unit. Up ahead, Kristen saw there were people in Hunter’s bedroom as well. Hunter himself was standing in the doorway. He seemed to be trying to shield Kristen from something. Kristen pushed her way past him and went in. Ethan followed. “Hey, Kristen!” greeted Hunter’s roommate. Kristen was startled by Harley’s sudden appearance. His eyes looked a bit wild, framed by his hairless eyebrows and a goofy smile. “You want some tequila? We got plenty in the kitchen.” “You look red, Harley. Are you okay?” asked Kristen. And then she saw her. Standing behind Harley was a late middle–aged woman with long, frizzy hair. Hunter’s black leather jacket hung on the woman’s sagging frame. Kristen stared at the woman’s bare, leathery legs. The woman turned and revealed a big, wrinkled belly. She was naked! Kristen’s mouth dropped. She was stunned. She turned to Hunter. “I’m not cheating. She’s a stripper!” explained Hunter. He had hired her as a present for Harley’s birthday. Kristen gave Hunter a dirty look. “What?” he protested. “She’s all I could afford. You know how much the younger ones cost?” Kristen spat on Hunter and walked out of the room. “Shame on you!” scolded Ethan as Hunter wiped the spittle off his face. “You…you…adorable scoundrel. Geez, you’re cute.” “Ethan!” Kristen had re-entered the room. “Geez, uh, Jesus. You need Jesus!” said Ethan to Hunter. Hunter looked at Ethan. “I know I’ve seen you somewhere. You’re the pastor’s kid at the church in Diamond Bar, right?” “Small world—” giggled Ethan. “Ethan!” yelled Kristen. Ethan and Kristen hurried out of the apartment as Hunter yelled after them, “Jesus loves me too!” The next day, Kristen got a call from Hunter. He wanted to check up on her. “We need to talk,” said Kristen. Hunter agreed and Kristen made her way back to his apartment after work. Before Kristen could begin, Hunter sat down and said, “I have something to tell you, too.” “What is it?” demanded Kristen. Hunter looked down on the floor. Finally, he confessed, “Well, I kinda met this girl…and I kissed her.” Kristen stared at Hunter. “Are you kidding me? Who?” Hunter didn’t readily respond. “Who is she?” “She’s just a girl I met. I kept running into her at different film festivals in different cities around the world. We finally hung out at an Asian film event in Honolulu, the Hawaii International Film Festival. She’s a filmmaker.” “Well, so, what is it about her?” “I dunno. She’s a lot like me. It’s like she’s running and running. And if she stops, she’ll die.” Kristen was in shock, despondent. Hunter’s charming looks meant nothing to her at that moment. They both sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity as Hunter smoked cigarette after cigarette. Finally, Kristen said, “Perfect. You’re like two dramatic peas in a pod.” Kristen started to laugh, but suddenly felt sick to her stomach and had to focus on not barfing on that stinky, brown, shag carpet Hunter had tacked in, wall-to-wall, in his apartment. Kristen got up. “I have to go. Good luck with everything.” “I’m sorry, Kristen,” said Hunter. But Kristen was already out the door. For some reason, the tears didn’t come, but she felt queasy throughout the drive home and threw up on the desert plant near the steps outside her front door. Kristen went inside and cleaned up.  She told herself that Hunter was nothing but a sad rabbit in a beanie cap. How could she have been charmed by this trickster clad in poser anti-fashion? Kristen looked at the huge pile of scripts she still had to read for work. She wasn’t sure she could stomach any more horror stories. She had planned on finding a new job, but had taken a detour and was at the same place where she started. Kristen went to her PC and typed up a resignation letter. The next morning she turned it in. The warm afternoon sun was comforting. The sky was a hazy, baby blue. Kristen jumped into her Laguna Blue Mazda Miata convertible, made her way to the Pacific Coast Highway and slammed on the accelerator. The tears that streamed down her face were immediately dried by the arid winds, warmed by the distant fires that burned in the Santa Monica mountain range backdrop. The rolling, misty ocean waves cooed and hushed her quiet gasps. As miles of velvet asphalt stretched out before her, she began to feel a vibration in her feet. The sounds of rhythmic beats grew louder from her car body’s chest; it was New Order’s 'Blue Monday'. Soon a wash of colorful New Wave vibes energized her synthpop drive. The playful, tumbling bars of 'Bizarre Love Triangle', 'Blue Savannah', and 'West End Girls' surrounded her in a moving, open air club. The rush of melodies and uptempo beats cheered her on along the lush, scenic highway. Kristen didn’t know what she really wanted. She still felt dazed and confused. But at least she knew what she did not want. Kristen held onto the wheel, pressed on, and navigated the beautiful, winding road. The California sun kissed her and the invigorating coastal winds gave life to her hair. The high tech, futuristic sounds of Erasure’s 'Chains of Love' felt like a song announcing the promise of days to come. Kristen felt relief, and all at once a sense of hope and even excitement. She felt free. Cover image: David Mark

20/20 is usually recognized as perfect vision. I have astigmatism in my left eye, I will never have perfect vision; and so it goes with my past. I will never know why I was abandoned as a newborn, taken to a police station, and sent to a local orphanage near Seoul, South Korea. Yet, the year 2020 brought into focus and provided a little more clarity to my unknown past in a very unexpected way. All the world was panicked and hunkered down in 2020 because of the COVID-19 pandemic. Like many, I decided to try out some new recipes. Time to get out the dusty, rarely-used cookbooks from the old boxes in the garage. What I found instead, was a tattered cardboard box. In it was a manila file folder that held only three pieces of obscure information about my past: a concocted “Korean Family Registration,” a statement of release for immigration and overseas adoption, and a 1988 U.S. Congressional teletype transmission, which stated my abandonment at birth had brought me to my Korean orphanage, Yangju Childcare Center. Knowing the name of my orphanage was the key to telling my "Seoul Story." After looking at the file folder, I screamed: “Yangju Childcare Center! That’s the name of my orphanage!” I had long forgotten the name of my orphanage because I had been informed by Korean Social Services that Yangju Childcare Center had closed in the late 1970s and locating my biological parents would not be possible without the proper background information and necessary legal papers. Even if I went back to South Korea, what was there to look for, what would be found? Nothing. I didn’t speak Korean. I knew nothing about Korean culture. I gave up. Now that technology has changed at warp speed and any information needed is quite literally at our fingertips, I quickly ran back into the house and my husband and I Googled the name, “Yangju Childcare Center.” Lo and behold, a former U.S. Army soldier, CW2 Larne Gabriel, who had served with my non-biological dad in South Korea, 1969–1970, had created a website and dedicated it to its orphanage director, Kwak Sun Yong. I only have a few obscure memories of my time at the orphanage; my brain was too overwhelmed and couldn’t handle the overnight trauma of leaving all I had ever known to a whole new life of unknowns. While viewing the Yangju Childcare Center website, one year of my forgotten past was in front of me as I quickly scanned the pictures of the orphanage and its many innocent orphans with brown eyes and bowl haircuts staring back at me. They had a longing look, for food, for a family, for love? I don’t know, but I do know, I became emotional; streams of tears were flowing down my cheeks as I was viewing unseen pictures of me! I was one of those orphans…longing. Just a small moment in time was given to me, the rest, unseen, lost, and forgotten. Then and there, I decided to share and write a bilingual children’s book about my transnational, transracial adoption. I wrote "Seoul Story" for three reasons. Firstly, I always wanted to write my personal and unique story of adoption. It is an untold story that needs to be told; every Korean adoption is a single, solitary story that stands on its own, unparalleled, and incomparable. My vision for the book was to use the black and white photos I had come across; to tell an authentic story of how one orphan arrived in America. Once I am adopted, the story with its black and white photo album format transitions to color photos to infer a bright new beginning in America. Secondly, I wanted to dedicate my book to my adoptive dad. He was career military and enlisted in 1959 and retired in 1990. He served in multifarious positions throughout the world and the United States. As you can well imagine, he was extremely formal, regimented, and very evasive and ambiguous about his various jobs. In 1969, he was sent to South Korea as a Unit Executive Officer, Battalion Operations Officer, and Commander in the 7th Aviation Battalion. He did not go to Korea looking for a young orphan girl to adopt; but you know the story, as fate would have it… While protecting and maintaining South Korean democracy, my adoptive dad and his fellow soldiers chose to put their recreational down time, money, and hearts into helping the local Yangju Childcare Center where he inevitably crossed paths with a happy 4-year-old girl with a sunny disposition. He opened his heart and adopted me. Sadly, my adoptive dad passed away from COVID-19 on January 28, 2021. Thirdly, educating adults and children about a true, Korean adoption was important to me. My "Seoul Story" is unique and specific to my experience. Adult readers may be fascinated, how on its face, a seemingly simple children’s book has a multilayered, complex construct. Familiarity and understanding of the backdrop of Korean culture, the devastations of the Korean War and its aftermath, allows adult readers to navigate and impart the story to children in a more enlightened way. "Seoul Story" is not just a children’s picture book. It connects readers to a story that they otherwise may not have been exposed and present an opportunity for anyone to begin an open conversation about adoption, why are children adopted and what makes a family. Since finding my orphanage website, I have been able to connect, via Zoom, with several of my “first family” members from Yangju Childcare Center. We were at the orphanage in the same years. What an exhilarating experience! November is Adoption Awareness month. Help educate others by sharing your personal story of adoption using social media, reading about adoption, and donating time and money to organizations that support and value positive adoptions and celebrating your heritage. Susie Lawlor was adopted to an Army military family of five children and has lived in many states. She is one of four adoptees in her adoptive family. Lawlor is married and has two grown children. Currently, she is a substitute teacher, author of “Seoul Story” and a cat rescuer. She received her B.A. in Journalism. Lawlor is pursuing her MAE at Pepperdine University and is writing many more stories and books.

Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in a garden of the most vibrant colors. This garden overflows with flowers of every imaginable shape and blush, cascading as far as the eye can see. Pools of water hold dancing reflections. Bees and butterflies live happily alongside the hummingbirds. When I find myself in this magical place, created from the imagination of this brilliant man, I feel the most overwhelming sense of happiness. And so can all of you, just by visiting Jun Yang’s Instagram page. When I stumbled upon his page for the first time, I could have spent hours immersed in the visual serenity his pieces evoke. So, you can imagine my excitement of having the honor to chat with an artist whose work, personally, means so much to me. Like his paintings, his hair is bright and colorful when he appears on the screen in front of me. It’s dyed green and yellow. “Walking sunflower,” he tells me, smiling. He’s in his studio in San Francisco—the place Jun’s called home for the past 11 years. His journey to get here is one built out of desperation and loss. But, all I see when I look at him is his strength and perseverance. Jun was born in Seoul, South Korea and lived there most of his life. As he grew older, he remembers struggling as a queer man in Korea. He didn’t feel accepted and able to live authentically. The expectations to get married and start his own family, simply wasn’t the life he wanted for himself. As difficult as it was to have to sever his connection to his home country and everything he knew, staying wasn’t an option. He is simply too self-respecting to fake his way through the rest of his life. So, he fled to find a place he could belong. Jun explains that before he came to the United States, he’d tried living in several cities around Europe. But found it difficult to fit in with the language barrier. That’s when he decided to try again, someplace new, and that place was California. As a self-taught artist, Jun has used the influences of others as his muse to explore his craft by mimicking techniques and trying to create a painting that looks like something by Vincent Van Gogh or Claude Monet. Yet, his work, is always recognizable by his own unique touch. The many stages in his art exploration are clear when scrolling through his social media page or looking at his website. He also explains that his subject matter varies upon his environment and what surrounds him. When I ask him where he finds his inspiration for what he decides to paint, he replies: “I open my eyes and look around. There’s the mountains over here, the ocean over there, there’s everything. Everything is beautiful here. I go outside and see the flowers. So, I paint the flowers.” It’s not just beauty that inspires Jun, though. Many of his creative works represent bigger political, social, and environmental issues, such as paintings of the wildfires that consume California regularly; portraits of people of color, bringing awareness to the beauty of diversity; and so many in support of the Black Lives Matter movement. His incredible works unapologetically represent the queer perspective and have titles like "Love is Love." He has created breathtaking images of Harvey Milk and a memorial portrait of Ruth Bader Ginsburg; his passion has no end. I’m struck throughout our conversation by how much beauty Jun finds in the world every day. How his struggles haven’t dampened the wonder and joy he’s able to feel in life. And, it seems curious that he was able to find a way to share so much joy, through an outlet that was created out of necessity, from tragedy. When I ask Jun to tell me about what made him start painting, he tells me that it wasn’t until later in his life after he’d traveled back to Korea to be with his mother, who was dying of cancer. He explains that his struggles with mental health and depression became critical after she passed, and he became afraid for his own ability to continue in this life. That’s when he decided to start painting as a form of therapy. It was a way to expel some of the deep emotions of guilt and sorrow that weighed heavily on him. It’s amazing to think that art saved his life, and still is to this day. I appreciate Jun’s vulnerability he shows when telling me about his struggles with mental health. It’s courageous that he’s able to speak so openly, helping to normalize conversations surrounding the topic. These days, he isn’t afraid to express himself. Even his fashion sense is bursting with celebration of his unique identity. When I ask him to tell me a little bit about his personal style, he laughs before saying: “I’m Korean; Koreans always look good. Always dressed well; you can see Koreans in a crowd because they’ll always have the best style. And, I can wear whatever I want now because I’m my boss.” Throughout our conversation, I find my favorite trait about Jun is his charming sense of humor. When I ask him what his advice is for anyone trying to do what he’s doing and may not know where to start, his comical response is: “Just start making art. Make bad paintings so it makes my paintings look even better!” I urge everyone, who needs a bit of sunshine on their social media feeds, to go follow Jun Yang on Instagram and Facebook. I find my days have been brighter since discovering this vibrant, radiant, and very stylish Korean artist. His irresistible imagination will sweep you into his magical garden. And you’ll find that the real world is made more beautiful once you see it through his eyes. To Jun, for having the courage to create your own “happily ever after.” BIO: Jun Yang is an artist born and raised in Seoul, South Korea, but San Francisco has been his home for the past 11 years. The city inspires him and his art with its amazing cultural diversity, its celebrated urban landscape and natural beauty. He also enjoys the support and protection it provides him as a gay artist. Jun can be found on these platforms: Instagram @junyarts Website Tiktok @junyartsbyjun Twitter @junyartsjun Facebook

Have you ever had a screaming debate with your family about diversity? I don’t recommend you test drive it. It is a scorching hot topic that most people are nervous to talk about openly, and the complexity requires training, not explaining, until smoke is streaming from your ears. Still, a recent quarrel on racism that I experienced was an awakening because I had avoided rocking the boat on racial topics for a few decades. I finally admitted it was time to stop being withdrawn from the broader conversation because, after all, I am a former hillbilly raised by an Asian mom. The intense family dispute was in our backyard for the entire neighborhood to hear. I told my family that I would start writing articles on BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) topics, and when asked what that meant, the reply was, “You aren’t one of those.” I could not believe my ears. My husband impatiently shouted: “YES, she is! Her mom is Thai!” Then, the following comment revealed an interesting perspective, “But…you aren’t ashamed of your heritage.” I suddenly understood what happens to people who watch too much Fox News. I immediately explained that BIPOC people are not ashamed of their heritage; we are proud of our ancestors. From here, with my very white, redheaded husband courageously defending BIPOC people, we engaged in an hour and a half debate about the importance of diversity, whereas, usually, I entirely dodge these discussions. At one point, I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs with raging fury on how the workplace is not always a safe place to tell anyone about being discriminated against for gender or race. It is arduous to prove. Usually, we are damned if we do or damned if we don’t. I do not feel discouraged about my career life, but I don’t waste time dealing with this issue. Looking back, these limitations are often the main reason I change jobs. However, this family argument was my wake-up call; I had not been that infuriated in a long time and surprised myself for going that far. My mother was there and later scorned me for reaching that level of anger toward people I love and treasure. She was right. It was not the high road. On the bright side, we did give our neighbors the gift of education on race. I should email them the guided discussion questions! One part of me experiences white American camaraderie, and another part of me has emerged in Asian pride. So, do I focus my educational efforts to help non-BIPOC understand, or do I create content for fellow BIPOC to embrace our elevated level of acceptance? The answer is both; but I will not explain diversity issues to people who will never get it—if they don’t understand this by now, they will never get it. To convey the layered life I endured as a kid, being “In-Between” was a concept I titled my graduate thesis at Arizona State, examining mixed heritage, missing pieces, and our environments. For example, my paternal grandfather was a charming teddy bear of a man—a respected Baptist preacher in West Virginia. We would ride in his beat-up truck, singing silly songs for hours, and we howled with laughter. He created hours of mountain-living fun; we loved our Papaw. He had black hair like the color of coal with a big tummy like Santa Claus, and he wore suspenders over his white t-shirt and jeans. I adored him, and he loved me, but it was clear he was not fond of Asians. I remember sitting in his double-wide trailer listening to him refer to the Japanese as “Japs.” Pawpaw was in the Navy during WWII. He could not get past the overarching enemy and lumped all Asians together. I was never comfortable because of the obvious, and yet, I knew he relished our time together, and I loved him dearly. While growing up, my position at school was clear because I was not entirely white, but deep inside, I wondered where my place in our family was. Today, as a software sales professional, the tech world embraces our collective critical thinking around diversity, inclusion, and equality (DEI) to stay competitive in the marketplace. Yet, the remaining millions of BIPOC people share a displaced outlook on how we fit in. I don’t blame my grandfather for his view on people of color; I empathize with his inability to see people for who they are. Although he was a man who lived in a rural world, it had nothing to do with shaping his outlook on minorities. I have examined many individuals and considered their upbringing, current environment, social status, education, and more. A person’s ability to accept another person free from bias requires a humbling inner perception; one must admit how they genuinely do not know everything. As I came to terms with being selectively vocal, the startup world taught me to strategize user adoptions by the masses. Some would say each baby step is essential, but I know where and when to persist with family matters. Intense arguments are unnecessary when the people you are arguing with are possibly the kind who may never understand. Their lack of understanding is not my problem; it is theirs. Still, I am choosing to focus on a different approach, aiming to be scalable, as we say in tech. Taking that approach for an impactful DEI expansion, I have to consider time and effort; so, in short, arguing with family will not cut the mustard, plus it can be too damaging. It is a significant error to associate being BIPOC with victimhood because it will hold us back. It is our superpower. It is no longer our weakness. People in the mixed-race clan possess the ability to move among multiple worlds, which is an advantage. Moving forward, we must concentrate on how the magic of diversity enhances. The real journey begins with every one of us taking a long, hard look in the mirror to uncover our biases. Those fighting for equality have our battles with how we also perceive people, both racially and politically. My observation is that everyone is racist to varying degrees. With the discipline to expect the best while omitting to target white people as the only racists, we can advance the profound progress we crave. It is not “us against them.” That is a self-defeating position; we must aid in our greater understanding and run with these times as our chance to deepen our reach. We can identify occasional sour racial realities while making choices to reshape a modern world in real time. As a kid who grew up with a persistent mother who comes from a strong history of courageous trailblazers, self-pity is not an option. My Thai ancestors created a prominent city and have statues and shrines to honor their significant contributions. My family has an ingrained practice of looking at what we want and staying the course until the finish line. Diversity has earned a spot on center stage, and this is astonishingly positive. In general, America expects inclusion, and as my grandfather would roar like Appalachian thunder when he was happy, “AMEN!” Many come together to represent misunderstood and underrepresented populations. Our work relies on more storytelling, awareness of our perceptions, forgiveness, and adaptation. Stories are the highway to the heart and enable us to touch our humanity. People who want to understand the depths of inclusion will move upward. The willingness to empower diversity indicates that either you are a part of the journey or you are not. Beginning with myself is the most complex challenge, because who wants to admit they have racist tendencies? The meaning has evolved to an ugly accusation, when it is more effective to be self-aware of how we make decisions about other people, what we say, and how we treat one another. To see a person beyond their given stereotypes is to live in each minute of your life with attentiveness. Many call it “living in the present” and “being mindful.” I call it “opulent living.” My chosen conversations about race are with people embracing our fresh, fashionable reality. There is no disdain for those who do not get it; think of it like eating at a buffet—select whatever food you want and meet me back at our table to break bread. I’ll enjoy my stir-fry while you dig into your brisket, because this vision exists and is available to savor.

It is a pleasure to be able to introduce Jun Jung-sik and his work to The Universal Asian community. Jung Henin (Korean name Jun Jung-sik) was born in Seoul, Korea in 1965 and adopted by a Belgian family at the age of 5. After studying Humanités Classiques and then attending the L’Atelier Saint-Luc in Brussels, he enrolled at the Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts de Bruxelles (Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Brussels), and at La Cambre (ENSAV), where he studied animation. It was in 1987 that his career took a decisive turn, when he met Marc Michetz, who introduced him to Spirou magazine. This enabled him to illustrate some short articles in Spirou and Tintin. He then worked a few months in the workshop of Bernard Yslaire and Christian Darasse, and illustrated the covers of Belgian Business Magazine. In 1991, Jung published the first of four volumes of Yasuda, at Hélyode-Lefranc. His origin has always drawn him to Asian stories, whether legends or fables. He keeps working on stories about adopted children with some of his representative works being "Approved for Adoption," based on his own experiences, published in Korea, and made into an animation which won the Audience Award and the UNICEF Award at the 2012 Annecy International Animation Festival and was featured as the opening film of the 2013 PISAF, BABYBOX which was published in 2018 and similarly revolves around the story of an overseas adoptee, and the 2019 Le Voyage de Phoenix. "Approved for Adoption" ("Couleur de peau: miel") The story begins with a little boy digging through trash cans on the streets of Namdaemun Market. The young, barefoot storyteller who smiles brightly as he finds a piece of chicken leg, gently draws the readers in with his innocent and optimistic attitude while reconstructing his experiences with a typical childlike candid sensitivity. This includes not only his personal experiences, but also the political and historical context of Korea, in which the case of "overseas adoption" is tackled. At 14, Jung enters the tough teenage years when he rejects his family in search of his identity. From then on, he will be more inclined to discover new people and make friends. Finally, he discovers the true passion for painting within himself. In response to a question in an interview with KOREAM about the film, Jun says: Does this film carry a message? Is there a message about international adoption, which is a very controversial issue in Korea and among the Korean adoptee community? Or do you hope it prompts more discussion and thought about the many facets of international adoption and the adoptee experience, either among policy makers or the general public? I do not participate in controversies. Nevertheless, through my film, I reflect on international Korean adoption. What is done is done, we cannot rewrite history. Now, it is the Korean government which [sic] has to take the necessary measures in order to definitely stop the abandonments, and to rehabilitate the adopted Koreans if they wish. I think that the Korean government owes a debt to us. I am not against adoption, on the contrary, but it should not exist in this form. The Korean international adoption is the only one of its kind. At one time, two thirds of the international adoptions were originally from South Korea. Too many Korean children have been abandoned and sent throughout the world. Then, we also have to think about the single mothers who all these years have suffered from this situation as much as the adopted people. It is a cultural problem, the mentalities have to change. A single mother should never be forced to give up her child… It is totally against nature. I do not judge international adoption either. Just like for us, the adopted Koreans, a white child adopted by a white family will sooner or later question his or her origins. Who am I? Who are my real parents? Why have I been abandoned? Did they want me? All materials shared by Jung Henin. You can purchase "Approved for Adoption" on Amazon for viewing in English. Jun's work is also available on his Etsy shop. He is also on Facebook and Instagram, if you want to connect.

October 16, 2021, will mark the three-year anniversary of the publication of my debut novel, "Famous Adopted People," depicting a Korean adoptee hero’s journey to identity and self-love. It was a long and arduous journey to get to that day: four years from the first submission to acceptance, with over 60 rejections and the loss of a literary agent along the way. Rejection is not easy for the adoptee, but I refused to give up. I knew my novel was important. While the theme of transracial adoption was trending in fiction ("Little Fires Everywhere," "The Leavers," "The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane," "Everybody’s Son," "Good Neighbors," etc., etc., etc.), very few of those books were adoptee-authored. And, it showed in the feel-good plots that reduced an incredibly complicated and nuanced subject into one-, or at best, two-dimensional stories. Rather than being the subject of the story, these books relegate the adoptee to the object, someone who is saved by others. I wrote "Famous Adopted People" to upend those adoption tropes. Instead of undergoing an arduous search for her birth mother, my mixed-race Korean adoptee protagonist, Lisa Pearl, gets kidnapped by her. Instead of completing her, the reunion with her mother almost undoes her. Instead of being rescued, Lisa must rescue herself. That did not resonate with editors, who wanted a more “traditional” adoption story featuring a “likable” protagonist with whom they could “connect.” This is a common reaction that many adoptees face when they share their authentic experiences. Conditioned by the popular adoption narrative that is shaped by adoptive parents and the adoption industry, the public recoils at depictions of adoption that veer away from the expected heartwarming elements. They do not want to recognize that where there is light, there must also be darkness. They are comforted by the simple fairy tale and refuse to recognize that the subject is much more nuanced and complicated. Which is a pity, because the adoption story is one that addresses the most elemental aspects of what it means to be human. It is incredibly rich and fertile material for probing our human condition, which is the reason why so many of the great works of literature, from Oedipus on, depict the orphan’s (or the abandoned child’s) journey toward identity. Even after I lost my agent, I didn’t lose faith in my manuscript. I decided to submit to one last indie press. I got my fairy tale ending. The publishing house, a well-respected indie called Unnamed Press, signed the book. But, as with adoption, one ending is really just another beginning. Working with a wise and supportive editor, Chris Heiser, I moved quickly through the revision, editorial, and production process, publishing ten months after I signed the contract. On the one hand, it was almost instant gratification to see my book come into the world so quickly. On the other hand, it left little time for pre-publication marketing. Thankfully, Unnamed Press solicited blurbs from adoptee and Asian diasporic writers, because as an adoptee I have a terrible time asking strangers to do me favors for fear they will say no. Say no they did, and I did not get a single blurb. Though Unnamed Press sent out Advanced Reader Copies of my book to entice reviewers, only a few publications reviewed it. Most disappointingly, the rapturous reception I imagined from adoptee readers eager for authentic stories did not happen. However, in doing marketing for the novel, I began to come in contact with adoptee groups. Though my thoughts on adoption had become increasingly urgent and all-consuming over the years, I had never been a part of an adoptee community. Adopted during the Baby Scoop era, when adoption was still secretive and shameful, I grew up in isolation, and didn’t meet another self-identifying adoptee until I was 13. I was in my late twenties when I first encountered another Korean adoptee. During my teen and young adult years, there was no social media to facilitate connections with other adoptees. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA First, I connected with a local group of Korean adoptees through whom I learned about an organization that ran homeland tours, which I went on, meeting other mixed-race adoptees and realizing that community was a crucial component to my adoption journey. On that trip, I learned to embrace the sadness, not to deny it, because grief is an inextricable part of the adoption experience. I learned to accept my vulnerability instead of bluster it away. I learned that it was enough to listen and recognize someone’s pain, that it wasn’t my role to downplay or fix it, but to be a witness. Each adoptee connection would lead to another connection, like a link in a chain, until one day, I found myself a part of a community. Or rather, as adoptees are not a monolith, a part of various communities, including the hapa, KAD, adoptee rights, and adoptee writing communities. I feel a close and personal connection with a large number of people who I have never met in person, safe to share with them things that I haven’t told some of my oldest and closest friends. I confess, I had hoped my fresh perspective on the adoption story would gain attention and literary acclaim, and therefore help to change the popular view of adoption. It is still my hope that Famous Adopted People will contribute to changing the narrative around adoption. But I realize now that my reward for writing my adoption novel has been much greater than the rapturous reviews and literary acclaim that I initially envisioned. Instead of bringing the adoption community to me, my novel brought me to the adoption community. BIO: Alice Stephens’ debut novel, "Famous Adopted People," was published in 2018 by Unnamed Press. She is the editor of Bloom and writes book reviews and a column, Alice in Wordland, for the Washington Independent Review of Books.

When I opened the room up for The Universal Asian's first time hosting "The Adoptee Open Mic Night," I didn’t know what to expect. My anxiety-riddled mind ran through all the standard questions: Would anyone show up? What if no one wanted to read? How many times might I possibly ugly cry on screen? But, more quickly than I had expected, the numbers jumped. Three people, seven people, 10, 15, 18, 21. We had 21 beautiful people in the room. Those who had their cameras on, beamed from the other side of their screens. It was a reunion for so many of us. And, yet also, an introduction. For many people in the room, it was the first time hearing each other’s words expressed through their work. I, as well as my co-host Ryan, know about the power of making connections through a shared experience. Ryan and I met while both attending one of TUA’s online events in April. Our brilliant friend Mila held a viewing of three videos for the release of her musical poetry album, Shrine (2021). How were we to know then, that connecting from that one event, he and I would go on to have the privilege of using the same platform to co-host something like this together now? As Ryan’s gentle voice explains our purpose and the goals of holding this space, heads nod in agreement from their screens as he states, “We welcome anyone to join us. Anyone! However, only adoptees are welcome on the mic. This space is going to be centering adoptee voices, and we’re going to be putting black, brown, queer, and trans adoptees to the front of the line. And I’m really excited to create this space. There’s not really a space like this. This is the first meeting and I’m already really excited about how many people are in the room.” He continues, “I’ve really thought about content warnings and trigger warnings, and I think that’s a conversation we’ll have. But we’re also adoptees and we didn’t get those things. When we were purchased out of our cultural, linguistic, and familial settings. And a lot of us have dealt with issues, such as, emotional, verbal, mental, sexual abuse. This is Adoptee Suicide Awareness Month; adoptees are four times more likely to commit suicide. All of these things are our reality, we didn’t get a warning, there’s no model, there’s no framework for us, and so you’re not always going to get a content warning and a trigger warning. And it’s okay for you to share, and it’s okay for you to not share with us. We’re here to support you no matter where you’re at in that. But, if you’re unable to support there is one solution, that is to exit the space.” Silent cheers erupt on everyone’s mini-sized screens. Hands shoot up in the air, several people are seen soundlessly clapping. But, every visible face holds a wide warm smile. Mila was the first to step up to the mic. Her strength, courage, passion, and pain resound in her every word. As she’s reading, the comments stream in. Words of encouragement as well as words of empathy, but more importantly, words expressing only absolute support. When the mic is passed to Heather, she explains that this is her first time reading any of her poetry out loud. Her heart is made visible as she reads a piece that she wrote in the aftermath of the Atlanta shootings. The rawness of her pain laid bare before us. The echo of her anger and sorrow, filling the space long after her words had stopped. Sanjay goes next. This was my first introduction into who this complex individual is. And even now, thinking back on all this, I’m blown away by this human. He casually explains this was spontaneously written the night before, and is more of a reflection than a poem, but that he would leave it up to us to decide for ourselves. His piece not only broke the door open into his complex cultural identity, but also how that became convoluted into his transgender identity. And what it’s like existing simultaneously in these realities. Let me share some of the comments that were coming into the chat during this time: Sohyun An:Wow!!!! Thank you Sanjay! Love your name!! Uyenthi Tran Myhre: !!! powerful. thank you Sanjay! Lina Vanegas: Thank you, Sanjay!! That was so powerful. You did amazing. Kelsey Wheaton: thanks for sharing! Mila Konomos: I related to so much of what you shared regarding our names! Helen Moon: We have such complicated relationships with our names. Sanjay, your story and your words are beautiful. Thank you for sharing and letting me be in this space. As the ball keeps rolling, Kris, a late discovery adoptee, goes next. His entire existence is influenced by the trauma of discovering he was adopted only two short years ago, when he was an adult. His work amplifies an ongoing struggle, his fighting spirit, but always ends with strength. There’s a huge sense of inspiration to be found through his work. Because, despite everything, he knows who he is. And, the entire room can feel it. When it’s Ryan’s turn to step up to the mic, I can feel the anticipation building with the racing of my heartbeat. His intentionally devastating words shatter any illusion of falsehoods that could ever be argued by non-adopted individuals. When you write a piece with the title of, “The ongoing effects of being commodified and sold on an international marketplace,” the message is as clear as it’s going to get. We utilized every minute of "The Adoptee Open Mic Night." We filled every moment with sharing, support, and connection. I hope this gives you some insight into the world we’re trying to create, some confidence to step up to the mic yourself, and share a message only you can—to bridge the gap; to walk in someone else’s shoes; to not be afraid to be passionately, angrily, messily, you. Because you’re welcome here. And we accept you. If you’re interested in registering for the next "The Adoptee Open Mic Night," click here.

Athena Yu hit “end meeting” and booted everyone out of her video conference call. She pushed back on her desk, grimaced and made herself a gin and tonic. She walked to the panoramic windows of her living room and looked down at the city streets dotted with tiny, moving cars and specks of people, scattered on the sidewalk like ants. New York City, for all its grit and hard-bitten glory, was soundless and serene—picture perfect from 42 floors above. In the distance, the sun was beginning to sink into pillows of dramatic red and gold colored clouds that graced the sky over Central Park. But the view did little to uplift her. The growing wrinkles around her eyes were accentuated by a scowl. Athena was livid. Three months ago, Athena was hired to work as interim finance director at Greystrom Financial, an old school institution trying to pivot to survive fast-changing times. All employees were working from home. She had actually never met anyone in person, not even the senior vice president, Art Crandell, her boss. The isolation was beginning to wear on her, but Athena still felt privileged to be able to perform her executive duties from the comfort of her high rise apartment at Tesseract Towers on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Athena was focused on a confidential project between Greystrom and Lokia 4D Visual, the company that would provide the technology for their newest client service initiative. The strategic decision to acquire Lokia 4D was the kind of move needed to keep the behemoth viable in a world being quickly dominated by clever, nimble FinTechs. Transitions are often complicated, though; and sometimes, things can get personal. Athena took another sip of her drink, turned and sat on her couch. She replayed the video conference meeting she had just conducted in her mind. The meeting had included a number of in-house department managers as well as a finance lead from the mixed and augmented reality company, Lokia 4D. Things had gone smoothly until near the end. “And for assessments for the AR Human Touch project, I’ll look forward to the updated financials from Lara and her team,” Athena had said. “Those have already been submitted,” remarked Lara Cho, the financial manager from Lokia 4D. “You sent them to me?” questioned Athena. “I sent them to Art Crandell,” said Lara. For a split second, Athena made eye contact with Lara who appeared to stare back defiantly from the tiny box on Athena’s computer screen. “We’ll speak offline,” said Athena who turned the floor over to a financial manager who provided other updates and strategic recommendations. Athena’s unfazed reaction belied how angry she actually was about Lara going over her head. She knew better than to confront Lara in front of the other department heads in a meeting she was leading though. Instead, she was a master creator of an on-camera image of reticence and restraint. Athena was aware that being home alone a lot seemed to amplify her tendency to overthink things, but she allowed her feelings to fester for a bit. Athena had heard Lara and Art had both worked together years ago at the blue-chip firm, Loughty Associates. Their history together made her feel at risk. She wondered if Lara was after her job. Athena was “interim” director after all; her position was not yet official. She thought about how she—an Asian woman from hard scrabble roots in Indiana—had worked her butt off to get where she was now. All her life she had to prove herself to gain acceptance, to gain access. Her laid back ex-husband, Burt Nelson, could never understand. Athena finished her drink and crushed a chunk of ice between her teeth. She was a survivor. At 48 years old, she had come this far. She would not be sabotaged. Who did this Asian American woman, Lara Cho—this 36-year-old, New York transplant from Georgia—think she was? “Doo, do, doo. Doo, do, doo.” The hollow, electronic organ chime of her Ring doorbell jolted her out of her fixation on Lara. Athena got up, checked her phone and opened the door. Her IoT refrigerator had assessed supplies and ordered a timely delivery of gourmet groceries. As she brought the expertly packaged bags inside, Athena thought of Art Crandell. In the interview, he had also asked how she embraced technology in her own life. Athena had impressed him with her tech infused, on-demand lifestyle where a virtual stylist sent her tailor-made outfits in beautiful, pink and gray boxes; and at the touch of her fingertips, housekeeping was scheduled; organic meal plans were ordered; even salads and oysters on half shell from Mastro’s arrived at her door like room service. Art thought she was perfect for Greystrom’s groundbreaking project. After Athena had received the official offer letter for the position by email, she also received a personal note from the senior vice president. It included the expected niceties but also included a cryptic line: “The cleanliness and efficiency of technology shall never overcome the necessary messiness of human emotion.” Athena didn’t know what to make of the out of place comment. But this was a great career opportunity, so she wasn’t going to question or mess with it. As Athena got comfortable in her “interim” role at Greystrom, her relationship with 42-year-old Art Crandell remained professional, but the distracting, mysterious messages continued. “Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, But to see who cares enough to break them down,” he texted her one evening. Socrates? We’re working on a crucial business initiative and he’s waxing poetic? Was this a warning of some kind or a pick up line? Athena wondered what his wife would think of his off-kilter texting. As the drone of work-from-home life wore on, however, Athena began to look forward to Art’s crafty messages. One that she found particularly perplexing was: “The gift of tech protects, yet it covers a multitude of sins.” As she lay alone in bed at night with her phone, she thought of his provocative texts. She certainly was intrigued by this man. Athena had finished putting away the groceries her smart fridge had ordered. She chose the Big Sur scenic ride video to play on her Peloton exercise bike and jumped on. As she peddled, she thought about how to handle Lara’s behind-her-back antics. The flutter of the Tudo text tone interrupted her private, angry thoughts. Athena got off her bike and hurried to her phone. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the message was from Art. Athena sometimes wondered if Art was taller or shorter than he appeared in video calls. She wondered if his eyes were as blue in real life as they looked like on screen. Her hands grew sweaty as she swiped her fingertips across the polished glass to reveal his message. What Athena saw was a group text. Art had sent a message to both Athena and Lara. “FYI Plans for all employees to return to the office still remains as scheduled for this coming Monday. I’m looking forward to seeing both of you in person!” “That’s right, you’ve never met Athena in person yet,” texted Lara. “Lol. Athena, you should lower your expectations. Art’s been using a beauty filter on those Teams calls.” “Haha,” texted Art. “Well, I may not make it in 'cause my car’s still in the shop. May have to hitch a ride with someone,” he added. “I cannot believe you still have that Audi S8!” teased Lara. “She always gives you trouble.” Athena was speechless. She felt like a third wheel, unreasonably betrayed; she couldn’t think straight. But she couldn’t let on. She was thankful she was in the privacy of her home where no one could see her anguished face behind her phone screen. Athena pulled herself together and texted, “Looking forward to finally meeting you both in person!” The group text conversation had ended. Athena paced in the kitchen, aimlessly opened her refrigerator and mumbled something to herself. She knew she was too much in her head. Living alone does that to you sometimes. Then she got another text. It was from Lara. “Hi Athena. It’s Lara. I think I actually live pretty close to you. Same neighborhood. Weather and fresh air is great today. I’m sitting at the Coffee Belle Amie, nice outdoor seating. Do you want to meet me to talk?” Athena was surprised. She looked outside her window. A cloud obscured her view of the ground below. Athena definitely wanted to get to the bottom of things. An opportunity to clear the air. She was also mindful of how important the rollout was to Greystrom and to her career. “Sure,” she replied. “I’ll be down in a few.” When Athena arrived at the coffee shop, Lara was sitting at a sidewalk table. An Asian American couple stood on the sidewalk chatting with her. Athena immediately felt annoyed. She put her purse down on a chair and looked around uncomfortably. “We’re starting to congregate,” Athena muttered under her breath. The Asian American couple said something to Lara. Lara smiled and her friends walked away. “Hi, Athena,” Lara said. “What did you say?” “Nothing,” remarked Athena who pulled out a chair. “Asians are so clannish.” She straightened her skirt, sat down and asked the waiter for a menu. Lara shook her head and stared at Athena. “So you must be really happy about getting to see Art in the flesh. He talks about you all the time.” “He talks about me?” said Athena trying to conceal her excitement. “Oh yeah. He thinks you’re doing a great job with the AR project.” “Great. Good to hear.” Athena eyed Lara suspiciously. She tried not to sound threatened. “You two go way back?” “Art and I? Oh, my gosh. We’ve known each other for over ten years!” Athena signaled to the waiter and put her order in. She turned to Lara and tried to sound casual. “You two were an item, huh?” Athena tried to force a little laugh, as if she were joking, not accusing. “Oh, no, no, no!” laughed Lara. “He’s not my type.” “Why? He’s a good looking guy. That strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. C’mon. Who can resist?” smiled Athena coyly. Lara studied Athena’s face. “You’re very savvy with insights, trends and financial forecasts. But in other ways, you’re so old school.” “Pardon me?” “First of all. Art is married and has been married ever since I’ve known him.” “That never stopped anyone,” Athena laughed out loud. “I’m just kidding,” she quickly added. Athena knew she had run off a cliff with that comment but she couldn’t stop herself. “Not every Asian girl is all about the white guy, Athena.” Athena looked away. She turned back and said, “Well, that sounds racist, Lara.” “What?” replied Lara. Athena shocked herself with that accusation. Perhaps all those months of being pent up in her apartment at the Towers caused her to forget how to act civilly with others. She knew she had gone too far, but it was too late anyways. She let herself loose. “Asians who date Asians are so insecure. You need to get out of your bubble and be more open minded.” “Okay, Athena. Who I date and marry is my personal business,” said Lara. “Oh my, you are so not woke. Do you know what’s up?” Athena chuckled. “I don’t know what language you young people speak these days.” “With all due respect, we clearly live in different worlds. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. If you don’t mind, Athena, I’d like to talk to you about the conference call earlier today.” Athena calmed down. “I’m listening,” she said. “Athena, I wanted to let you know that I sent the financials to Art, because he had called me and asked me to send the preliminary updates to him early. So I did. I should have kept you in the loop about that. I’m sorry.” Athena paused and then replied, “I see.” “There’s something else I need to tell you,” continued Lara. Athena looked at Lara not knowing what to expect. “I’ll be leaving Lokia 4D Visual at the end of the month. I’m moving to South Korea.” “You’re moving?” “Yes, I’m engaged and my fiancé’s work is there. But I’m planning for a seamless transition on my end at Lokia and for the AR project. Mike Patterson, the finance head of development, will be taking my place. I’ve already been getting him up to speed on the rollout.” “This is all such a surprise,” responded Athena. “Congratulations on your engagement.” “Thank you. It’ll be an adjustment. As someone who’s been raised American, it’ll be a process to become truly ‘Koreanized,’” laughed Lara. “But I’ve got family there, so that helps.” “So he’s the one?” “My fiancé? Yes, he’s the one.” Laura said smiling. “South Korea is awfully far from New York. How’d you two meet?” “We’re both from Atlanta. Our families knew each other since I was young. My fiancé is very international. We did our own things, but we always stayed in touch. No one knows me like Dae-Seong. He’s my best friend.” “Good for you,” said Athena. Lara continued. “You know, I’ll be thirty-seven soon. I really want to have kids and a family. I don’t want to have regrets.” “What does your fiancé do? If you don’t mind me asking,” questioned Athena. “No, that’s fine. He’s an actor. You’re probably not into K-dramas, but he’s Gim Dae-Seong from ‘Uncommon Ground.’” “K-dramas? No, I don’t know much about that.” “The show he’s on is a pretty popular family TV series in Korea. All the past episodes are on Netflix. You can check it out if you want. It’s pretty entertaining stuff.” Lara looked down at her phone. She had just received a text. As Lara texted someone back, Athena glanced over. “It’s my fiancé. He’s here,” said Lara. Lara looked up at Athena. “You can meet him!” “Uh, okay,” said Athena. Lara turned her head to the street as a black sedan pulled up. Athena looked over as well. A body guard got out and opened the back door. A tall, well-dressed Asian gentleman with broad shoulders and chiseled features emerged from the vehicle. The actor and his body guard walked over to their table. Lara was beaming and introduced her fiancé to Athena. Gim Dae-Seong bowed and said, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Athena Yu.” His smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. Athena was impressed with his respectful nature and charm. “Nice to meet you,” she replied back. Lara and her fiancé exchanged some words in Korean. Lara smiled and turned back to Athena. “Athena, Dae-Seong and I have some wedding planning to do. Thank you for coming out to meet me.” “Of course,” said Athena. She raised her hand to her mouth and said as if in confidence, “Hey, Lara. He’s a good looking guy. For an Asian. Congratulations.” “Okay, Athena,” sighed Lara. “I will see you at the office on Monday.” As Lara and her fiancé walked to the black car, a fan ran up to Dae-Seong. Athena watched the actor sign an autograph and take a picture with the fan. He then helped Lara into the car before he climbed in and had their driver take them away. Athena stayed seated to digest everything that had just happened. The waiter came back and brought Athena’s espresso and salad. I should have known to always expect the unexpected, she thought to herself. She was disappointed that Art had undermined her by asking Lara for information without being kept in the loop though. As Athena nibbled on her food, she checked her email on her phone. She saw an email from Art and opened it. He was giving her a heads up that on Monday he would announce her position as the official Finance Director. She was no longer an ‘interim.’ Athena was pleased. Things were looking up. Lara would be gone too. Whatever issues she had with Art, she decided to let it go. Back at home, Athena retired to her bedroom to relax and unwind. She was curious and turned on Netflix to search for ‘Uncommon Ground’ starring Gim Dae-Seong. She watched the first episode and was surprised how drawn into the characters she became. The range of emotions she felt through their storylines was satisfying. She let the second episode roll on. Athena thought of Lara and how happy she looked with her attentive, handsome fiancé. Next month would be Athena’s 49th birthday. She secretly wondered if she too would one day find a companion to draw her out of her tower above, her apartment at Tesseract Towers. A “knock, knock,” startled her. Athena turned off her smart TV and listened. It wasn’t her front door. The sound was coming from her large desktop screen. She froze. And then it came again, “knock, knock!” Athena saw Art’s face appear on the screen of her Alexa Show that sat on her credenza nearby. “Hey, Art. I don’t remember giving you drop-in permission for my Alexa.” “I got in through a loop hole on your smart refrigerator,” he laughed. “Excuse me?” “Athena, I’m in beta testing mode. Go ahead and allow entrance through your computer,” Art said. “I want to come in. Just hit ‘yes’ on your virtual touch screen.” Athena went to her Alexa app on her phone and pulled up a copy of one of the quote’s Art had sent her. She altered it… “'The Art of tech does not protect; it reveals a multitude of sins.’” “Athena,” pleaded Art from the Alexa. “No, Art. This is creepy,” said Athena. Athena went over and hit ‘No’ on the virtual screen, which meant No to his full body, virtual image entering her room in a state of mixed, augmented reality. She stayed out of the camera’s view on her Alexa Show and said, “Spend some time with your wife. I’ll see you on Monday at the office.” “Athena,” said Art. Athena’s heart was racing. She stood behind the Alexa screen, out of the camera’s line of sight and didn’t respond. “Okay,” said Art. “I just wanted to drop in and congratulate you on becoming our official Finance Director. You’re doing a great. I will see you in-person at the office meeting.” Athena pondered whether to further engage in conversation. But she didn’t want to prolong the situation. When Art’s image disappeared from the Alexa, Athena quickly went over to the box and unplugged it. She moved the switch on top to close the camera. She took some post-it notes and covered the camera lens on her desktop computer, her laptop and on her phone. She also pulled out their plugs. She pulled the plug on her smart TV and powered off her phone. Lastly, she disabled the self-automated service on her IoT fridge. She had had enough technology and enough excitement for the day. Athena lay on her pillow in her bedroom and looked out through her expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows. She gazed at the stars in the night sky and at the city glowing below. She could see people in the windows of the building in the distance. Athena got up and drew the shades. She climbed back under the covers of her weighted blanket and closed her eyes. It was the first good night’s sleep she had had in quite a long time. Samantha Der is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

Parachutes. Teens who were picked up from their lives in Asia and dropped into the USA to study. Claire didn’t think it’d happen to her, but there she was in a stranger’s California home. Unfortunately, Dani is Claire’s host sister and is not thrilled about the new competition living at her house. With dreams of going to Yale, Dani has been working hard to earn a full scholarship and lessen the financial burden of college on her single mom. Claire and Dani must navigate living in the same house and attending high school all while handling life-altering experiences. This was a monster of a young adult book in both length (almost 500 pages) and content. Dani and Claire attend an elite school that shows similarities to "Gossip Girl" life. As the story progressed, I grew wary of characters and, unfortunately, my gut feelings were right. Unbeknownst to them, Dani and Claire grappled with similar challenges, but thought they were too different to really connect. I had hoped their friendship would have developed more in the book, but I also appreciated that they needed to find their individual strengths before coming together. While a sequel seems unlikely, it would be interesting to explore more of Dani and Claire’s new friendship and how they connect despite being from very different backgrounds. This featured Asian characters, and their lives reflected their cultures, but it didn’t feel “educational” or “overdone.” As an Asian reader, I appreciated that normalcy. It was an enthralling plot that featured POC. The plot was not enthralling because it featured POC. Overall, this was a stunning and visceral YA debut by Kelly Yang, and I definitely recommend it. Content Warning: Sexual harassment and rape

The Universal Asian had the privilege of doing a follow-up interview to get to know Eric Lee McDaniel more after our introduction of his Ted Talk, in which he shares his adoption and birth family reunion. When Eric appears on screen clean-cut, in a white shirt and black tie with a backdrop of books in his office, one senses the positive nature of the 34-year-old, who already has a lengthy and impressive resume. After receiving a baseball scholarship to Jefferson Community College and later to Rockhurst University, McDaniel switched directions by joining the finance world with an investment management company in 2008. That same year, during the bubble, he decided to up and move to Seoul where he started working as an English teacher for a national English teaching company. Meanwhile, while based in Korea, he: started a fast-food franchise and a media channel, was the CEO at an international events company with a large audience involving booking celebrities, DJs, and artists; and now, runs a media consulting agency that helps startups and existing company brands reach recognition and connections amongst all the noise out there. Although we already know a bit about McDaniel’s story, it was important to begin before his adoption with his vivid recall of the raw and harsh aspects of his early life in the rural part of Incheon. In these snaps of memories, Eric recalls being in an orphanage, abused by his father, fighting with kids in the streets for survival, and finding himself frequently in police stations. He shares one particular memory from being 4 years old fighting on the street with other kids using a broomstick to break a kid’s arm in protection of himself, which resulted in him going to the police station. Upon reflection of that time in his life, he believes his frequent visits to the police station lies in considering it a safe place from what was going on back home. McDaniel’s time in the orphanage is what triggered issues with anger, depression, and mental health issues that he took with him to his adoptive family at the age of four, when he was sent to Kansas City, Missouri, USA from South Korea. Eric recalls channeling his fighting survival instincts when he was on the plane over and being handed over to his adoptive family. It was when his American family gave him a photo album of his new family and home that he was instantly comforted and relieved. More importantly, he was aware that this was his second chance at a good life—even at a very young age. Still, he faced challenges such as not speaking at all for about six to eight months, as his brain went into a silent period trying to adjust and learn a new language, environment, people, and all that being internationally adopted entails. Further, elementary school was typically tough due to social anxiety and trying to learn to speak perfect English after having Korean as his first language. This opened him up to getting bullied, but his time in a Korean orphanage gave him the fire to fight back, but wisdom to soften the long-lasting effects. Eventually, the bullying changed as he decided to fight back with kindness and focused on doing what it took to be happy. Still, he did not let on at home that this was happening to him at school. Obviously, from the moment he arrived in the U.S., he knew that he was different and his identity as Korean remained. However, rather than fight the difference, he embraced it and focused on adjusting and improving himself, which he points out is an important life skill throughout any aspect of life—work, relationships, etc. As the memories of Korea started to fade, he replaced them with happier ones with his adoptive family. His father gave him strength and courage and his mother gave him love and compassion. He chose not to let his negative past define him by making a simple choice to focus on the love of his family and working to improve who he is. The main breath of fresh air in McDaniel’s existence throughout his school years that gave him a sense of “belonging outside of family” was baseball. Being accepted in rural Missouri was through sports. So, he got good at it—very good. McDaniel wasn’t aware that he was the first Asian American, and adoptee, who could pitch both left- and right-handed. He says he was too busy focusing on just being Eric McDaniel. Everything changed, though, in his third year of university when he met his first Korean friend, which also coincided with his quitting baseball. He chose to give up baseball when a culmination of events occurred. Most impactfully was his father’s diagnosis with terminal cancer. So, he chose to be close to his family and transfer to the smaller Jesuit Rockhurst University. This is where he began to engage with other Asian Americans and his eyes were opened to racism. Without the protection of sports and academics, he became aware of how others perceived him and other Asian Americans. The factors of not meeting baseball goals, ill father, changing schools, and facing racism caused McDaniel to face mental health issues. To get himself out of his depression, he recalled the kid who survived the streets of Korea, which reminded him that he didn’t want to become that person again; and it propelled him to channel his energy toward a positive direction to create new goals for his life. This was the turning point that brought him full circle to where McDaniel is when we speak with him. When asked, “How do you identify yourself and how important is it?” McDaniel replies: "Sometimes the best thing, when you look in the mirror, is to simplify. That’s it. Just knowing who you are, and identifying the characteristics of who you want to be and who you don’t want to be, can make it clearer who you are now. So, I identify myself as 'Eric' as a label." Ultimately, though, he recognizes himself simply as a human being and that’s it. He emphasizes that “If you don’t know who you are, then go seek the answers and be ready for them.” That is exactly what he did and started to immerse himself in learning whatever he could about Korea after meeting his Korean friend, which gave him the starting point to be able to find his Korean family and go abroad. Through this friend, McDaniel decided he wanted to confirm the pockets of memories that he carried and fill in the full picture of the snapshots that he had, so he returned to Korea. Being in Korea, he faces the same challenges of being forced to fit into others’ boxes, but he says he doesn’t let it get to him. His focus on having been given a second chance at life makes him look at how he can further this chance and build more doors rather than close any. McDaniel refuses to let himself be held back with all the knowledge of his background and origins, instead he uses that, and his new knowledge, and happiness to move forward and give love—even to those who hurt him in the past. He describes his experience meeting his biological family and father again as a numbing moment. “The room filled with silence,” in his mind, when his father and uncle walked in; and he jokingly admits that he looked at both wondering which one was his father. Thirteen years after his reunion, he can calmly recount learning the truth about his family. In fact, just this past December 2020, McDaniel found out that he has a half brother and sister, who were both adopted in France. Through serving as their translator, he learned all the truths about their common father that reinforced his own memories. Based on his experiences, McDaniel’s thoughts on international adoptions are simple. He expresses the dichotomies of adoption experiences, citing Olympic champions to those with horror stories. He wishes that people/organizations would do proper due diligence to ensure that the child is given the best second chance as possible. Overall, he admits that the current adoption policies could be much improved, but also that it can still be an amazing experience like that of Eric McDaniel. McDaniel further expresses that it isn’t a judgement per se whether or not an adoptee is encouraged to have a connection to their birth country and culture—parents always get a bad rap no matter who they are—but that it is really a matter of knowledge and becoming aware in-depth of where you come from. With that, it helps to define who you are and develop your sense of identity to ultimately become a better human being. Finally, in reflecting on whether he thinks his success is due to or despite his past, McDaniel replies: “I am on the success path because I combine everything to be constructive—the positive and the negative. I want to succeed because I don’t want to be that poor boy I was before. It’s not that I’m scared of it, but it’s not who I want to be. I enjoy what I am doing.” He believes his being driven and skill in knowing how to adjust for survival is a natural instinct, but he has nurtured the things of the heart thanks to his loving adoptive family. McDaniel’s final piece of advice for anyone who is going through dark periods like he did is: “Whenever there are feelings of fear, but you know rationally that they are wrong, take a step back, breathe, sit down, and write out what you want, then visualize it happening. Surround yourself with the type of people who are like how you want to be. It’s just one door that is closed that needs to be opened to see the light in the next room. Do things that you want to be done to you. Seek love, seek the joy, especially if you know what death, abuse, and hunger is. If there is an absolute evil, then there is absolute happiness, find the path to get you there.” You can connect with Eric on Instagram: @daeileeplanet

I boarded a Northwest Airlines flight from Incheon to Seattle in March 1990. At just six months old, I could not possibly know what kind of life awaited me or where I was going. I left Korea as Jung Mee Na and assumed a new identity as Lauren Burke. The day my U.S. citizenship was established, I would lose all ties to Korea. Adoption became the lens through which my whole life would be defined. It’s no wonder that it took me so long to claim my Korean and Asian American identities; adoption made me believe a completely different story. I grew up next to my grandfather’s farm; on land homesteaded by my mother’s side of the family decades earlier. I was the only Asian American, and the only adoptee, I knew after we moved to Florida when I was in fifth grade. From what I can remember, I was also the only one with a physical disability, which added to the complexity of explaining my existence to curious classmates. I’m sure I asked my parents questions about these things, but I fail to remember a time where I questioned anything more deeply—until three years ago. I wrote a poem back then that would effectively upend the comfortable existence I had built to keep me safe from dealing with my adoption. So, now, I am flipping the script on the story adoption wrote for me and picking up the pen from here on out. I thought digging into my Korean roots would be an objective and academic exploration of another country. What do the history books have to say about Korea? That is what I set out to learn. However, what has actually manifested is a much more subjective journey that has led me to discover my own reflection. The more I learn about the culture, language, history, and customs, the more I am able to rewire this rusty connection to a place I have always ached to know. Korea is full of duality: trauma and healing; light and dark times; eras of pain countered by collective resilience; poverty, suffering, comfort women, and an ongoing war met by the voices of Koreans keeping their traditions and telling their stories even today. Adoption for me feels much the same. There is: love and loss; hope and despair; the me that I experience and the me that was lost somewhere in a hospital in Daejeon. My life in the United States and the short life I lived in Korea are forever intertwined. Korea is a part of me, and I am a part of Korea. We call this the human experience, and as far as I know, there is no instruction manual on how to navigate being adopted. There are a few things I would like adoptive parents and those with adoptees in their lives to know. It is important to allow your adoptee to determine how much, or how little, they want to engage in their story; for some, this is a really painful subject, and they may not be ready to dive into or disclose feelings. For others, they wish there was a megaphone so everyone else would hear that adoptee voices matter in the triad, even when a child might be too young to speak. Particularly for those adopting transracially, please examine your willingness and awareness of the inevitable cultural barriers that will exist for your child and for your family at large. Ignorance here is not bliss. Try your best to create future pathways for your child to retain, or regain their native citizenship; legally, this is an exhausting, expensive process to go through as an adult. Most of all, love is not an eraser. While it is so important for an adoptee to feel loved and cared for, that will not ever replace the identity that is lost via adoption. One of the ways I have connected with myself and with the peninsula my heart never really departed from during this time of enlightenment is through writing. I started an email account where I write my first mother letters every now and again. If I ever have the opportunity to meet her, maybe I will translate them, or have them translated for her. I also practice freewriting every day, and I have begun with this very piece, to write and contribute to The Universal Asian. I am in a place where I want to tell my story of adoption, what I know so far…and what I learn along the way. I also hope to use my love for writing to meet some of you and get your stories out there, too. If you are an adoptee reading this, wherever you are in your journey, I would encourage you by saying, there is no wrong place to be and no pace you must keep. Go your way, in your own time. Do find ways to express your feelings or safe spaces to process as you go, and take breaks for your mental and emotional health. No one needs to be courageous every moment of every day because adoption, no matter the circumstances or outcome, is lifelong. In case no one ever offered it as an option, I would also highly recommend exploring mental health counseling; the adoptee community, despite its general camaraderie, collective belonging, and safety amongst each other, can be an echo chamber. I have found it personally beneficial to have an unbiased third party to help me navigate the muddied waters of adoption through my own lens. It is okay to rewrite the story of adoption through your own eyes. Take the term “home” for example. It is most commonly defined as: “the place that one lives.” But, it can also be defined as a verb, the action of “returning by instinct to [its] territory after leaving it.” Thirty-one years ago, I was taken from familiar soil, transplanted in a pot, and taken to foreign land. Although I do have a home and a life here in America that I cherish, I am discovering the feeling of comfort you get from being “home” in an entirely new way on my journey back home to Korea, so that’s a term I am redefining for myself. I have learned that living your story is quite possibly the most courageous thing you can ever do and so, this is mine. 저는정미나 입니다. 만나서 반가워요. (I’m Jung Mee Na; nice to meet you). Lauren is on a personal mission to redefine the narrative of her adoption from Korea. She aims to share her own unique perspective in short essays and posts, in hopes that others might be encouraged to do the same. She is passionate about writing on themes like abandonment and loss, connection, identity formation, and self-acceptance within adoption. Lauren is a Korean Adoptee (KAD) from Daejeon, Korea and currently resides in central Florida. She currently works in non-profit finance and taps into her passions for writing and music as creative outlets. Lauren is also learning to communicate fluently in Hangul and hopes to return to Korea for the first time next year. She would love to connect with you and can be found at @itsjungmeena on Instagram.