Pride It’s our month to stand You should be proud Gather hand and hand And shout it out loud I love who I am Because I am me I don’t give a damn If you disagree Pride 2 Gender and sexuality Neither matter to me If you are kind, that’s a lot Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not You’re beautiful all around Don’t let mean words get you down Be proud of who you are Because to me, you’re a shining star Love Everyone deserves love, even you Spread it to everyone and be true We all live our own lives It can be hard to think of others sometimes Don’t let that drain your cup We could all use a little pick me up Let love flow left and right You just might make someone’s whole night Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

What do we tell our daughters? The myth told to many adoptive parents of Korean girls is that their mothers were prostitutes. I was told, and reminded that the cost of my Korean identity would have been a life of prostitution. The “Prima nature” fear also prevailed when I was young—the idea that the life of an illegitimate child would lead to the life of a wayward girl. Though this charitable mission of international adoption was to bring seeds from the East, the accompanying myth was that we were bad seeds. Could we be saved? As Asian American women, this burden of prostitution screens all of us with a decorative layer of Western imperialism. We have become the cost of doing business, the currency of global Asian commerce. We have paid the price of a patriarchal complicity. How little value is the life of a girl, a woman, the progenitor of our cultures and our species? As Asian American mothers all too wary of the world, what must we tell our daughters? You are not a territory, an object, a cup of tea, a butterfly, a blossom, or a fortune cookie. You are made from the stuff of the universe. And, in all of the universe, you are a beautifully unique collection of organisms. Your beauty comes from your strength and the perseverance of the women who have come before you. Know your strength. You are human and can therefore be hurt. Know your allies, keep them close. Beware of the dragons, you will know them by their fear and their hunger for gold. Please contact A.D. Herzel for prints & Licensing. © 2021 All text and images by A.D. Herzel

Gwendolyn and Estella are close-knit sisters of an influential Chinese-Indonesian family. While their family has done some questionable things to gain its power and wealth, the sisters have always had each other to rely on. Gwendolyn’s world comes crashing down when Estella uses poison to murder their entire family. Gwendolyn is the sole survivor and retraces her memories to try and solve exactly when her beloved sister decided to commit such a heinous act. "The Majesties" was marketed as a thriller, but I found it to be more of a slow-burn mystery with similarities to "Crazy Rich Asians." Page one immediately hooked me by throwing me right into the murder, but the plot began to slow down considerably once Gwendolyn began revisiting her memories. The mystery remained, but the pace was definitely not as thrilling as I had anticipated. Tsao is a really talented writer, and I loved moving back and forth in the timeline to learn more about the sisters and Estella’s motivations. At times, the timeline switches could be confusing. While this could have been a strong tactic to aid to the suspense, I found it actually slowed down the pace. There were a few sections, including the ending, that I had to read twice to ensure I understood everything. Overall, this is a beautifully written novel that offers some amount of representation. The characters were a bit unrelatable due to their positions in high society, but I haven’t found many mysteries/thrillers featuring Asian characters, so this is still a viable option. I think I would have enjoyed it more had I known it would be a slow-burn mystery instead of a heart-racing thriller that I anticipated.

Sneezy Beautiful flowers in full bloom Even sitting in my room I can’t escape the pollen’s doom This puts me in an unwanted gloom I love the sunny season But I just can’t stop sneezing The sun feels oh so pleasing But medication’s what I’m needing Finals Studying hard and long hours This semester is making me sour I need to at least at least a C But I’d really like a B After all this work I hope I do succeed Break Semester is coming to an end Need to say good bye to all my friends Have to wait 4 more months until I can see them again School is really hard But they’ve helped me get this far I can’t wait for Summer nights With good friends and water fights Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

Kyunghee Kim is a Korean-American poet, storyteller, and writer. She is devoted to sharing words of healing and that of the Korean diaspora. Her poetry stems from lived experiences as an immigrant and human being; and it is her desire to make others feel seen and heard.  She is driven by how grief and hope show up in our lives, and how to be honest with who we are in order to embrace ourselves and each other. Although an introvert, she is not quiet when writing about hard things in life. Kyunghee believes that stories change lives. During the day, she is a public school literacy expert. Kyunghee is currently seeking a literary agent for her poetry books. She resides in Ann Arbor, Michigan with her husband. Outside of reading and writing, her muses include yoga, spending time in nature, and FaceTiming with her nephew.

Co-curators: Anthony Shu, Diann Leo-Omine, and Shirley Huey Designers: Jeffery Liu and Haylie Chan Lunchbox Moments is a charity zine featuring work by Asian American Pacific Islander artists and writers that explores our relationships with food and cultural identity. The zine will feature art and writing from 25 contributors. Print copies available for pre-order in early May; digital copies to be sold online once the print run sells through. Proceeds to benefit San Francisco’s Chinatown Community Development Center. For more information—and to be the first to find out when pre-orders open—follow them on Facebook and Instagram and visit their website.

Stress I’m feeling so stressed I just want to be blessed I have too much weighing down on my chest I’m feeling overwhelmed, just want to be the best All of this pressure has been my biggest pest Help me out I’m getting so depressed I have a million tasks plus five more tests Bloom You’re sour then sweet  Everyone one you meet When I see you in the street My heart skips a beat What can I do To get you close to me Why don’t we See what could be Be Yourself Take a second Take a break Do what’s real Not what’s fake Do what you love Not what you hate Always be yourself There’s no time to wait Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

I have always sought refuge in stories and mythology. Every culture makes and looks to its own mythologies for guidance, sense, and purpose. The American cultural experience homogenized by a White Western Art aesthetic has represented a counterpoint to my experience as an Asian American woman. Am I to accept its rules, digest its parameters, or do I ask for more? As a creator, I have always believed in creating my own world, my own rules, my own vision, and mythologies. Redefining the culture, I was planted in and re-assessing the one I was born out of I have chosen my own dreams. "Madame Butterfly," the opera by Puccini, tells the story of a Japanese woman who falls in love with an American. She turns her back on her culture and family, marries him, has his child, and then is ultimately abandoned by him. He returns to her country with his new white wife. Madame Butterfly commits suicide and her child, a son is taken to be raised in America. I have a love hate relationship with this story and the libretto. The parallels to my history as a Korean-American adoptee are obvious and the empathy I feel for Butterfly is heartbreaking. My life is interwoven in the story of Western imperialism in Asia. My image, "Madame Butterfly sings the multi-verse," is an ode to my birth mother, my ancestors, the women of Asia and to Korea. A series of singing bowls, forming a seed like the spires of DNA, pink bubble-like cells, like cherry blossoms, each universe a different reality, a different dream, perhaps a world that sings with beauty and without such sacrifice. The question of my birth mother, the archetype for a fantasy, the woman I dream of becoming, Eumoni; mother. What is a grail? Christian mythology has imbued the Holy Grail with the power of immortality. It is the cup that Jesus drank from at the last supper. Pagan and gnostic interpretations equate the cup with a flower and with female sexuality. Today, the term is more commonly used as the ultimate consummation of one’s desire. When my son was little his pronunciation of girls was grails. I always wanted to have daughters, but was only given sons. As a Korean girl, imported to America I was re-named, Amy Doreen, this means beloved gift of god. This moniker was my adoptive mother’s desire and her religious tether. In the sea of pink, a girl like a flower is brewed for consumption, but the internal organism that she will become will one day break free. A natural disaster brings Dorothy’s house down. We begin with a death.  And then a blessing of ruby slippers, and safety But Dorothy only desires to go home. Only mildly charmed by the wonder of the world and remorseless for the deaths seen and rendered. Home, the shoes take her back, the price, a dream. How many times after waking will Dorothy have wondered how to get back to OZ? Red shoes, ruby slippers worn as a child. A golden rice pot grains like ripples of time and memory. Learn more about A.D.’s Illustrations, Prints & Fine Art here. See her work on Redbubble.

Frank Li has a problem. He wants to date a girl his parents would never approve of. She’s white and they’re Korean. As luck would have it, his friend, Joy, has a similar problem. The solution? Frank and Joy will pretend to date each other so they can continue seeing their respective partners behind their parents’ backs. I was not expecting this YA romantic (and comedic) novel to touch me so much. While I am not Korean, I am Asian-American. David Yoon masterfully intertwines necessary conversations about race and not being “enough” into a story about high schoolers just trying to get accepted into their top colleges. Be aware that there are some conversations that could be triggering to POC and Asian-Americans; such as: dialogues that are accurate representations of the ignorance and hate shown toward POC and Asian-Americans. It was startling to read offensive slang that has been directed at me in a YA fiction, but I believe it was entirely necessary for the dialogue to be there too. Aside from providing an absolutely accurate portrayal of the internal structures of being POC and American, Yoon delivers even more thought-provoking plot lines that center around discovering oneself while remaining loyal to one’s family. His novel is nuanced and incredibly emotional. The overall story is funny and heartwarming. I fell in love with the characters and their complexities. I felt connected to all of them, and actually slowed my reading pace so I could savor the story for longer. "Frankly in Love" made me laugh and cry. It may be classified as YA fiction, but I truly believe this is something everyone should read.

Easter Silly Rabbit hops about Leaving eggs that children scout Pretty colors that decorate Making cookies on a date Easter time is coming round As Peter Cottontail comes to town Stop the hate For us, this is nothing new We’re sick and tired, angry too Why must we live in fear No matter if we’re far or near Not a joke, nor a rat We are not your doormat Why can’t you leave us be Our elders are our family Be prepared because we will fight For equality and for our rights. Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

A Spring Thing Why does the wind blow 'round Gentle quiet or roaring sound What happened to the warm breeze Where are the leaves on the trees Soon they will be here It will all be clear The warm spring will appear Baby animals will run about Cute as a button without a doubt I love the warm as I love Spring A sunnier day is everything The Carousel Round and round we go Going high and swinging low Cotton candy in my hand In the back, a merry band Grab the ring made of brass Get it quick and get it fast Funny horses spinning away Let’s go to the fair today Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

I was placed on the steps of the Baby Green Meadow Home on May 26, 1957. It was estimated that I was less than about two months old. I was named Gwi-ae, but it was translated to sound alike “Ki-Ai Lim,” which is on all my official documents. I started researching the background on my adoption around 1996. I felt so guilty because I felt like I was betraying my family that adopted me. However, with both parents passed by the time I was 35, I just had to do something for me. My mama and I had talked about this very day, where one day I would want to find out who my birth parents are if I could only find them. “What would I say and do and what were all the scenarios?” For example, “What would I say? Why did you adopt me out? Did any other family members know about me?” Eventually, I went to Korea and went to where my orphanage once stood, as it is no longer there. The trip was so overwhelming. To know that is where my life was for almost six years of my life; yet, I could not remember a thing! I wish I could! I wish I could of kept my native language; though my parents had tried hard to find a Korean person who knew Korean. When I was in Korea at the daycare facility, I asked my translator if he could ask the lady, “Are there any pictures of the orphanage?” She said, “Yes.” I then asked, “May I take pictures with my phone of the photos in the album?” She said, “Yes,” and so I clicked away! When I took a shot of the photos of the dedication of the orphanage, and saw that they were dated with 1957 and the month, it suddenly hit me that I had been there not too long after that. If it wasn’t for the lady and translator, I would have burst into tears. However, I held it together, which was so hard to do. I have learned and accepted that life will be what it will be. We can’t make things happen when we don’t have the resources. Those of us who belong the generation of first wave Korean adoptees, we had disadvantage of what our younger generations have today. The majority of the younger waves of adoptees have the internet at their disposal to assist them in finding and searching for their birth parents. We didn’t have computers, which only came around, in the early nineties. For much of our lives we didn’t have support systems, such as the Korean adoptee (KAD) groups on FB, that we do now. (I am grateful that I have been able to bear witness to how accessible to both information and community has evolved over time for my fellow Korean adoptees.) The stories below, which have shared with me by my mother, brother, and other family members, are about my life after I came to America. Missionaries from my adoptive family’s church were instrumental in connecting my parents with my orphanage in Korea. They also provided some helpful hints so that my adoptive family would be able to better prepare in helping me to adjust to my new life in the States. For example, they said that I would not be familiar with Western things like the type of bed, the style of food, and non-Korean people. They also explained that just the general environment would be a shock for me. Due to the cultural shock, the missionaries predicted that I would either remember my past or just shut it out of my mind. The psychologist whom my parents spoke with said that if the past were memorable then I would remember, but if not, that as a child I would push it back into my subconscious and make the decision to not remember. My subconscious told me my memories were not worth remembering. I was born on April 1, 1957. I was left on the doorstep of the Green Meadow Baby Home Orphanage (I entered the facility on May 26, 1957). I was almost six years when I arrived in the United States on March 17, 1963. The orphanage people sent a picture of me to adoptive family. They asked them if I would be the one, and if would they like to adopt me. My mama had to support me with clothing, and had to give the orphanage monthly payments for the next two years. During these two years of supporting me, my mama would write to the orphanage and ask about her little girl, what was I doing, and so forth. The orphanage kept in contact with my parents about me and would always thank them for the money and the clothes. The Republic of Korea’s Child Placement Service would correspond and write back to my parents on very delicate and fine rice paper! Once all of the paperwork was completed, the money was sent for the airline ticket. The adoption agency sent an escort with each child that was on the flight to Seattle, WA. I came with a blue bag with some clothing. I traveled from Korea to New York, and onto Seattle, which is where my life started. Mama told me that she was in tears when she saw me in person for the first time. She said that she was so scared. She was hoping nothing bad would happen, and she hoped that I got there safely. Mama came by herself. I guess the adoption agency had suggested that one person from each family member come to greet their new child, as they thought it would be too overwhelming if everyone came. I just wished someone had taken photos of that moment. When I arrived in Seattle, I was very sick. The escort lady said I had been sick the whole trip. I was very malnourished. I had rickets and a vitamin D deficiency. Before any foreign children or babies leave their country to enter into the United States, it is required that the child has a full examination and has all of their required shots. This is how they found out I had rickets. My health got better as time went on. I was learning to like some of the American food. Since, to my parents' knowledge, my diet consisted mainly of rice, having a variety of food was overwhelming. It was a lot to take in at the age of almost 6 years old. How well did I receive the rest of the family? I guess I liked my dad and my older brother, Jim, who was 19 at time. Byron was 10 years old. He gave me a present, a full-sized doll, which was the same height as me. I loved the doll but I did not receive him as well as he had hoped. I was afraid to sleep in a regular bed. Mama gave up the comfort of her bed for the floor for about a month. I was still sick and they had to give me some good ol’ Pepto-Bismol (Yuck!). I remember I would let it drizzle out from the corner of my mouth. I would hear my mama say, “Don’t let it drizzle out, you need it so you can get well.” Mr. Sheets, a member of our Pentecostal church, gave my family a Korean dictionary. They thought they would try to say some words from the dictionary, but I just laughed at them. I’m sure they weren’t saying things correctly. My brother Byron didn’t know what to think when I didn’t like him. However, I did like the doll he gave me. My mama told that I made some jesters [sic] about him. I would have bad dreams that boys at the orphanage around Byron’s age were hurting me. My parents finally figured out that I was mistreated by boys around Byron’s age. They had pointed guns at me and put lit cigarette out on my back, which also explained why I hated guns and cigarettes. I also hated war movies. I guess I would hide my face and not watch any type of violent movies. Eating was a challenge for my family. They tried everything, but they had to be careful about how much they gave me. They would give me rice, which I hated. The orphanage fed us rice every day and that was our main diet. They assumed that I liked it because that was what I got in the orphanage. However, I must have done something to let them know that I hated it! Byron said that I did not eat rice for about four years, and that it took me a long time to eat it again. It’s funny that when I look back, I recall how I hated eating rice. It is weird that I only remember that. I had some habits that I had a hard time breaking. I actually still do them to this day. For example, I would hide non-perishable snack foods in my dresser drawers. I never thought about why I did it, but now I understand why. Food was important to me when I was little. My family said that when I got any kind of food, especially non-perishable food, like crackers, I would take them and hid them and save them for weeks! Mama caught me one day, and when she caught onto what I was I was doing she saved 15 shoe boxes (from the dozens of pairs shoes she would buy me). She lined them up along kitchen floor, and I would put my food in them. One day, I caught her going into the boxes (she was putting in fresh bread, crackers, canned food and cookies); I thought she was going to take my food supply away from me. Obviously, this was a result of my having been on food rations at the orphanage. I did finally start liking American food, though I was never sure of the food on the first try. For example, I tried ice cream, and every time I tried it, I liked it more and more until it became one of my favorite foods when I was little. I turned six two weeks after I first arrived in the States, and mama made me my first birthday cake. I didn’t know what to do with it! So, they had to show me what I was supposed to do. I got to blow out my first candle. It was like being a baby with experiencing so many firsts! My family said that one day I started to sing two songs. Byron said he still remembers me singing them, which surprised me, as I couldn’t believe he would remember them (he thinks one song was addressed to the soldiers). The other song seemed to be for an audience of kids and grown-ups. Song 1: (These are spelled phonetically as I don’t know the correct spelling) Hunga, u-jay-me-jay, mi-jay, com-i, me-she-shy-daaa Song 2*: Key-fallda, keya wanda, key-fallda (Repeat.) *I would pantomime as I sang this song for my family, and they said I must have performed it at the orphanage. My mama would say to me, “It’s so funny how we think alike and how we do things so much alike.” She sometimes said to me, “I see you and I look past you being Korean, I don’t even think you’re Korean sometimes. I don’t see it unless someone brings it up or points it out to me. I get mad at them when they do.” These stories are dedicated to my loving family who raised me with unconditional love. They will always be in my heart and their spirits will live on in me.

What Does It Mean To Be a Man? Ohh boy, that’s the question, isn’t it? I even hesitate asking it, because maybe part of being a man is not questioning or overanalyzing your manhood, right? You just be tough; it’s not that hard. Well, to be honest, it was for me. There’s increasing evidence showing that the root of many of our social issues today are because men (and some women) haven’t been taught how to access our emotional intelligence. (Especially me!) I didn’t know it was called “emotional intelligence” at the time, but reflecting back, I was incredibly unintelligent when it came to dealing with emotions. I had no self-awareness, self-love, empathy, or social skills. I suffered from anger, annoyance, frustration, rejection, loneliness, embarrassment, and insecurity—all of which I was not allowed to express. Others said it was not “manly”—that I was being “too sensitive.” In the past, I had no avenues to express what I was feeling, bottling up, getting all tangled with each other, and now it’s extremely difficult to sort it all out. Emotions and Intelligence Don’t Go Together Every man around me was always tough and never cried. I’ve been taught that intelligent people don’t let their emotions get in the way of what is “real” or what’s in front of them. Intelligent people don’t show weakness and vulnerability. Intelligent people ignore the negative emotions, because having them means you’re unstable. This was something that was both purposefully and subconsciously taught to me. I know the men around me were well-intentioned, but they were one of the driving forces for stunting my emotions. Maybe it was a cultural thing, or a generational thing, but I saw the same thing happening with my friends, their dads, and granddads, and in mainstream media. I Wanted To Be One of the Boys I knew I was a boy, I identified as a boy, and I wanted to be one of the boys. So I kept my feelings to myself, because that’s what all the other boys were doing. But for some reason, I was still unable to connect with anyone. I went to predominantly white schools, so I don’t think anyone was used to seeing an Asian kid. The rare ones they did see were on TV and they were either quiet, unromantic martial artists, or effeminate, awkward math nerds. I was already playing the game with extra weights on my ankles. My Experience with Masculinity “I was an emotive boy confused in a culture where I was told not to feel.” Ooh man, even sitting by myself and writing this out is weird to me. I never talked about this as a kid. Growing up, I would always lock up around anyone who showed too much emotion–positive or negative. Even saying the word “feelings” still makes me feel weird or exposed. And any time I was able to express my own emotions, it would seemingly be at the wrong times. Others Didn’t Know how to Communicate with Me I laugh or smile when in serious or uncomfortable situations, which comes off as insensitive or awkward. I cry when there’s even just a tiny bit of sentiment, which comes off as being a “crybaby.” My brother even recently said that when we were kids he would get confused every time I expressed a strangely-timed emotion. It was all because I was (and am) very emotive, but didn’t really see that in other boys who were displaying tough, nonchalant, neutral expressions. Lack of Emotional Intelligence, Lack of Confidence Seeing all of that around me and on screen influenced how I thought everyone else was perceiving Asian men. And because of that, I struggled with my masculinity. I would overthink what others judged about me, which led me to doubt myself, to feel low worth, unattractive, and not “cool.” I crushed on so many girls—none of whom would give me the time of day. And when someone did like me, I was either oblivious, emotionally out-of-tune, or didn’t believe that they were genuinely interested. I was shy and awkward, especially around girls and anyone I deemed to be one of the “cool kids,” which was basically everyone. I thought they were all better than me in every way. I let it get in my head that women probably think Asian men are terrible romantic partners because it’s what everyone sees in the media. That lower self-talk consumed my whole being. I would never cold approach anyone if there was no natural reason to. This wasn’t because I thought I would be awkward, or weird, or not know what to say, but because I projected onto them that I was never good enough. I thought they would never find me attractive because I’m Asian (even to other Asian girls!). The Consequences of (Not) Talking About Emotions It’s Unfamiliar to Most Men Being emotional is probably one of the last things you would associate with “being a man.” The older Asian men around me didn’t go deep with their emotions, with me or anyone else. You’d have to get them wasted before you’d see any signs of vulnerability. I understand that, especially with family, you want to show strength and solidarity—to show no weakness—so that everyone can take solace in and trust you. However, what this taught me was that I was a lesser man if I did show any sign of vulnerability. I see now that things are starting to change, men. are. talking. about. it. It’s been amazing to witness, AND we still have a long way to go. Talking About “Soft Stuff” with Parents Talking about the “softer stuff,” like what we were feeling, and our emotional and mental health, never happened. My dad would sit us down, quite often actually, and tell his life stories, and, don’t get me wrong, there was definitely a lot of emotion in there, but I felt like I couldn’t find a way to connect to his heart. Nor did I feel like he wanted to connect with mine. Sure, maybe I was too young to understand. Or maybe it was too selfish of me to expect anyone to know what I was feeling. But back then, I would have never even thought about expressing anything that could make me look “bad.” I didn’t have the trust to expose myself without judgment. I love both my parents to death and what they have done for my brothers and me, especially for all that they’ve sacrificed to come to America to give us a good life. I am so deeply, enormously, and profoundly grateful for them. Being a parent is definitely the most difficult job, and because of that, I do feel so “extra” or “privileged” to write about something as “silly” as our feelings. I should be studying, working, planning, supporting my family—none of this expressing myself! Saying I love you? Oh, no way, not gonna happen—too weird. Again, this is not me complaining or holding a grudge against anyone. Everyone did the best they knew how to and my parents have instilled so many other great values in my brothers and me. It’s kinda why we’re all, like, suuuuuper cool and like, really fun to be around… However, I realized that I’d been missing out on my own growth from not being able to talk through these deep feelings with people. Feelings such as, what it feels like to trust, to have human connection, a better sense of self, confidence, clarity with expression and communication, and meaningful relationships. Hiding my emotions was isolating. What’s Next? This piece was originally written in 2018 and since then, I’ve created a safe space in partnership with the Badass Asian Dudes, for self-identifying Asian men to practice their emotional communication and authentic confidence. Save the date for the free men’s circle meetup every first Thursday of every month. About Victor Ung After burning out from the tech industry and going through a quarter-life “remodel” of my career and relationships, I realized how much I was lacking one thing in my life: emotional intelligence (aka EQ). As an Asian American, I absorbed the myth of the “model minority” and what it meant to be a man, which was to never show emotions or vulnerability. This limited my ability to be confident, assertive, creative, and communicative. After finally allowing myself to receive help from others for my personal development and seeing so much more fulfillment in my life, it became my calling to help others find their own version of it. Now I specialize in using EQ to help people uplevel themselves as human beings and adapt to the fast-paced advancement of technology. I founded the Emotion DOJO, a gym membership for the heart and soul of growth-minded Asian men to exercise creativity, stress management, emotional resiliency and communication, decision-making, and risk-taking. In my journey, I’ve shared my story on a stage in front 1000+ people, my written work is published on The Good Men Project, ThriveGlobal, P.S. I Love You, Publishous, and more. I’ve released 75+ episodes of my podcast, "Human Up," and co-host the "Badass Asian Dudes" podcast in a Facebook group of over 1,300 members. I shared my self-love journey with cannabis at Crushing the Myth and have been featured on Asian Americans for Cannabis Education and Asian Mental Health Collective. As an Asian American man, I’m fully aware of the lack of representation in the Western world, in media, in leadership, and especially in the wellness industry, and I aim to fill that gap by breaking the stigma that emotions need to be kept behind closed doors.

Quarantine I’m sick of being a teen in quarantine The past year has been so mean Stuck inside all by myself To be cautious of mine and others’ health Afraid of the world, so many reasons why Because of this virus it’s easy to hide Away from the hate and prejudice that’s spread It’s so much easier to hide in my bed Come Together This virus is harsh and outwards it spreads Just like the hate that lives in their heads The racists and bigots who call us their slurs Who hate and blame us and hurt us with words Rise against hate it’s all that we ask Be your brother’s keeper it’s not a hard task Work together with me and stand above all Because together we rise and separate we fall I am my own Why do you care About the color of my skin Or the places that I’ve been Why do you care About the things that I do To myself, not you I am me and you are you Why are my choices So upsetting to you Why do you care about what I do My body belongs to me and me alone It is not a thing or an object for you to own Lauren is a regular contributor for The Universal Asian. To learn more about her, check out her Contributor’s Page here.

Jo Kuan works as a lady’s maid by day, and by night she moonlights as Ms. Sweetie, an advice columnist for a local newspaper. As her column becomes more popular, Jo must work harder to remain hidden or else face the punishment for writing for the newspaper as a Chinese woman. While some work to uncover her, Jo works to uncover her family’s identity and secrets. She must decide if risking her safety for the newspaper and finally learning about her family is worth it. As a Chinese-American and adoptee, I went into this story a bit wary of how it would impact me. I immediately fell in love with the protagonist, Jo Kuan. Her spunky and independent spirit had me rooting for her the entire time. Like many of us, Jo was able to find her individuality and strength through writing. Her journey of investigating her family resonated with me. One particular quote stood out and I was impressed that the author, Stacey Lee, could describe the longing to know your parents so well. “Wondering about my parents is a strange kind of agony, an itch that I can’t help scratching until it causes pain.” The story continued to resonate with me as it describes a time in the South when people of color were experiencing segregation and racism. While the Chinese characters were considered “colored,” some people still saw them as more “in-between” than anything else. Despite being a fictional story, "The Downstairs Girl" reminded me of the struggles and challenges Chinese-Americans faced. The plot twists and reveals about Jo’s family were a bit surprising to me. Although unpredictable, I thought a lot of the story was wrapped up too neatly. Jo toed a dangerous line by writing under a pen name and her confidence could have gotten her in a lot of trouble, yet there was not much fallout for any of her actions as the story continued. As a result, everything felt resolved, but a bit unrealistic. Overall, "The Downstairs Girl" was a really powerful story. I found myself represented as a Chinese-American in this historical fiction; but even more so, the story resonated with my adoptee identity in ways I hadn’t expected.