"The Global Orphan Adoption System: South Korea’s Impact on Its Origin and Development" by Dr. Kyung-eun Lee is an informative and eye-opening explanation as to how so many Korean adoptees have been placed around the world since the Korean War in 1950. Written as her Ph.D. dissertation, Dr. Lee published this text in English only for international adoptees as the first readers, followed by researchers, and ultimately with a hope that the policymakers of countries will also eventually read the information she has revealed. As a Korean citizen and being involved in the South Korean government for over 20 years, she only became aware of the severity of the South Korean adoption issue in 2015. Since there is no social dialog on adoption in the country, it was all new to Dr. Lee. But, once she became aware, she started her research for her Ph.D. with completion in 2017. This led her to publish a book in Korean in 2019, followed by the publication of her "Dialogues With Adoptees" series in 2020. Her activities culminated in this book published in 2021 and led to taking "Dialogues" online on the Korea Times site (that we have also republished). She explains in her lecture with Adoptionspolitisk Forum that the reason she has not published her work in Korean is because this adoption system is a human rights issue so the voices need to first be heard and pushed forward by those who are the victims of it. Throughout the book, Dr. Lee provides the history of adoption both domestically and internationally not only in South Korea, but internationally as it developed as a human rights issue through the Hague Conventions. In 1980, the South Korean adoption system was scrutinized heavily, but then forgotten about, much like the Korean War, on a global scale. However, this invisibility allowed the country to develop an international adoption program that systematically created “orphans” to create opportunities for private entities to benefit financially at the expense of thousands of individuals. Despite Hague Conventions being created to protect the rights of children in other countries, South Korea was able to escape being required to adjust their practices, but instead became more skilled at ensuring a steady stream of children, whether actually orphaned or not, to be sent abroad. “In reality, a majority of intercountry adopted children [in South Korea] are not orphans. More than 90% of them have living birth parents whose consent relinquished them for adoption.” (p. 206) Dr. Lee suggests that now this system in South Korea is too deeply embedded for the country to be able to stop the international adoption system as an explanation as to why the country has yet to end their exportation of children and continues to be one of the highest senders of their citizens abroad to be adopted. The excuse of the effects of the war are no longer applicable as anyone who has visited South Korea now can see that it is no longer a poor and suffering country. Through this text, we learn about how human rights are being violated for adoptees. “Hague Adoption Convention prescribes that children receive information and counseling on the effects of adoption, and this should be delivered in a means that gives consideration to the children’s age and level of maturity.” (p.205) Further, “Decades of disjointed and flawed child adoption legislation in conjunction with a history of abusing intercountry adoption as a child protection measure have undermined the basic capacity of child protection authorities to such an extent that even searching for missing children can be severely impaired.” (p. 214) What is key in reading this text is the feeling that adoptees have an ally in Dr. Lee as she states, “For children, the often-hidden cost of finding a new home abroad is the loss of their cultural, social, and emotional ties” (p. 248). This perspective is so often ignored by other actors within the adoption system. Although it is an academic text, it is an insightful explanation about the adoption system in South Korea as it relates to the rest of the world and human rights issues for the thousands of Korean adoptees sent abroad. No matter how you feel about being adopted or having adopted, this is a worthwhile read to better understand how adoption is seen from a governmental perspective at the expense of the victims of this system. We highly recommend Dr. Lee’s book: "The Global Orphan Adoption System: South Korea’s Impact on Its Origin and Development"! You can also watch our book talk with Dr. Lee here.

Growing up, I lived in one of those unremarkable suburban neighborhoods everyone has seen and no one remembers. Two-story houses. Well-manicured lawns. A driveway leading to a garage filled with bikes for the 2.5 kids living in the house. An asphalt paved bike path ran by these cookie-cutter homes and around a man-made pond, a gazebo sitting pretty to the side. This pond was the farthest I was allowed to bike without an adult and so I came here often, putting as much distance as possible between me and the vibrational tension of unhappily married parents that filled what was supposed to be home. I sat on the grassy hill, back propped against a rectangular metal box that filtered the pond, and watched the geese float about. I wondered why the geese chose this place to make their home, a pond with a view obstructed by houses set to the constant humming of electricity. They voluntarily lived in water littered with Fritos bags and Slurpee cups, an inorganic home not worthy of them. Did someone pluck them from their families and drop them here, like what happened to me? I was 6 months old when the Korean government stamped the paperwork authorizing the erasure of my Korean citizenship, all 13 pounds of me, too heavy a burden for a government to bear. I soared across the Pacific Ocean, across the land of the free and the home of the brave, 14 hours to Washington, D.C., to a Jewish couple, to my new unnatural habitat. I watched these geese, their brown feathers preened perfectly, their black necks imperial in posture, and as their necks click a few degrees to look around. Then, without warning or apparent reason, the geese begin to paddle faster and their wings lift, an invisible force turning them into marionettes. Their necks stretch, their backs elongate, their beaks point just a bit more towards the sky. And, like magic, an orchestra of noise beats as their wings flap, their feet tuck in, and they fly. Free. Untouchable. I always wanted to be those geese, to escape, to lead a life as different as possible from my parents, with their paper-pushing government jobs. I fantasized about living in New York City, melding seamlessly into the throngs of people walking along First Avenue each morning, hustling to my job as a doctor or a lawyer. Anonymous in the best of ways, the crowd would act as a bulwark from the smothering feeling of being an object of curiosity all the time—an adopted Korean Jew. But then, for no clear reason at all, the geese tilted their wings in succession and circled back down. All of their movements in reverse order was like watching a video as it rewinds. Beaks down. Backs contract. Neck curves. Wings shrink. There is a brief eruption of flapping, a slight splash, and then they are floating again in the same place. They look satisfied, peaceful, and regal. They are the monarchs of their artificial habitat once again. I would always leave after they returned, never understanding why they came back, feeling angry at them. They could leave but did not. Now, in my late 30s with three kids and a garage full of bikes living just a handful of miles from that same artificial pond, I realize that despite a brief stretching of my own wings, I nestled right back where I started. I could have left too, but did not. I made no conscious choice to build my life this way, so close to the landmarks of my childhood. Instead, an unspoken force kept me close, daring me to stay, daring me to make this contrived home my own, daring me to be happy, here. My personal redemption simply could not have happened in New York City, a lovely place to hide but not to be found. As ridiculous as it sounds, my life as a suburban mom is an act of defiance, an act of power, an act of resilience. It is a message to that baby who was placed here, in the most artificial of habitats, that she belongs. Like the goose with his head held high, I am the queen gliding on her fake pond, daring anyone to tell her, especially the voice in her head, that she should go away, that this is not home.

The rise in hate crimes against the AAPI community has left many of us questioning not just our identity as Asian-Americans, but how we can move forward from the cycles of trauma in a society that has conditioned us to minimize our experiences. What does it mean to be Asian-American in the 21st century? If you’re a part of the Asian diaspora, it means simultaneously navigating the trauma of the current climate while also trying to understand and address the intergenerational trauma that is so heavily tied into our identities as children of immigrants and refugees. It means having our identities rooted in the dichotomous nature of collectivistic values and western individuality. It means living in that void between our proximity to whiteness and the perpetual foreigner stereotype. It means having to play catch-up with the transmission of trauma passed down to us by our parents and relatives, understanding our own personal trauma, and coming together in solidarity against the collective trauma caused by senseless attacks on our communities. For those of you who are feeling burnt out, ignored, and misunderstood; you are not alone. Many of us are navigating issues of race, gender, and class in a modern world that seems to repeat the same cycles of oppression and violence. The question we’re all left with now, is how we can simultaneously recognize and break these cycles of trauma when so many of us, including our parents, are still afraid to admit that we are suffering. Some decades ago, our parents and relatives migrated to the states to escape oppressive and violent conditions that plagued their countries during historically tragic events such as the Vietnam War and the Khmer Rouge. Facing war, genocide, and the loss of their home countries; many of our relatives arrived in the States carrying with them the trauma of witnessing large-scale deaths, poverty, and displacement. Alongside PTSD, they also brought over the resilient nature of their determination to survive, socioeconomic struggles, maladaptive coping patterns, acculturation and assimilation stress, and the traditional and collectivistic values of their era. “Why can’t you be more like me when I was your age?” is a common question that many of us have heard growing up through moments of navigating between our collectivistic cultures and our individual identities. Our methods of self-identifying have always included our sense of belonging in the communities and families that we represent, a common characteristic of collectivistic Asian cultures. Because of this, our experiences and perspectives are often so interdependently intertwined with those of our families. Our current generation may not have lived through the severity of war-related events of our parents’ and ancestors’ eras, but we have felt the multitude of trauma transmission through factors such as harsh parenting styles, dysfunctional communication patterns, domestic and family violence, and parental withdrawal growing up. Our parents’ and ancestors’ struggles are a large part of us whether we accept it or not. Over the course of history, millions of our ancestors have suffered from being forcibly displaced from their homes, experiencing gross humans’ rights violations, and witnessing violence and destruction brought on by oppressive systems. Existing literature and research on intergenerational trauma suggest that horrific events such as the Holocaust, the Vietnam War, and the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia have long-term traumatic effects not just on the mental health and well-being of the victims, but on the descendants as well. These considerable studies call our attention to the topic of intergenerational transmission of trauma and how the lives, mental health, and experiences of victims and their descendants are interdependent and reciprocally impacted by trauma. On the one hand, our individualistic tendencies are craving to be our own person through the independence and uniqueness that is so common of western cultures. On the other hand, however, we can’t ignore that all our experiences are interconnected with other members of our AAPI communities. That is the dichotomous nature of being Asian in America. It is up to us, now, to find healthy ways of honoring our parents’ and ancestors’ pasts while also addressing and unlearning so many of the maladaptive coping patterns that have been conditioned and ingrained in us. We can simultaneously respect and appreciate the hardships that our parents have gone through, while also rejecting some of the values and perspectives that they have brought with them which no longer resonate with us. If we want to break the cycle of trauma and PTSD, it is important to encourage healthy conversations around topics that have been traditionally considered taboo by Asian cultures such as mental health and sexuality. We need to be able to openly discuss how our elders are being violently targeted while our women are constantly being sexualized and fetishized. Breaking the cycle of trauma means being able to recognize and address the areas where trauma arises. It also means being able to recognize where feelings of shame and embarrassment arise around these topics and giving ourselves permission to change the traditional narratives that surround mental health and trauma. We can advocate for the healing and recovery of our parents’ generations and ours, while also unlearning harmful and outdated worldviews that cause us to minimize ourselves and our experiences. A study done by the Asian American Psychological Association found that due to the COVID-19 pandemic and current climate of anti-Asian racism, the population of Asian-American young adults with depressive and anxiety symptoms have risen to 41%. Those of us who have been discriminated against are more than twice as likely to report with depression and anxiety. Today’s generations of Asian Americans must navigate the collective trauma of the current climate while also dealing with the intergenerational trauma from our parents’ and grandparents’ eras. It is not easy being Asian in America in the 21st century, but we are fortunate to have so many resources and organizations that are committed to elevating our voices and experiences. We can continue this important work by elevating the voices of our parents, our relatives, and ourselves. The first step is recognizing some of the common symptoms of trauma which may include: dissociation feelings of shame and guilt feelings of helplessness and worthlessness isolation and withdrawal difficulty regulating our moods and emotions nightmares feelings of depression feelings of anxiety Secondly, to give ourselves permission to seek help by confiding in our loved ones and reaching out to organizations that are committed to helping AAPI communities such as: Asian Mental Health Collective Asian American Psychological Association Asian American Health Initiative National Asian American Pacific Islander Mental Health Association Cover photo: Jason Leung

Reposted from The Korea Times This article is the 30th in a series about Koreans adopted abroad. Apparently, many Koreans never expected that the children they had sent away through adoption would return as adults with questions about their true identity and origins. However, thousands of adoptees visit Korea each year. Once they rediscover this country, it becomes a turning point in their lives. We should embrace the dialogue with adoptees to discover the path to recovering our collective humanity. — E.D. In early summer of 2021, I sat with The Korea Times' digital content editor. We had met on the terrace of a small cafe in Seoul to discuss starting a new column series. That warm and sunny day stands out because it was the first moment this series’ journey began. Since 2017, a few like-minded individuals and I have been devising different ways to bring greater public attention to the need for fundamental changes in the laws and policies related to child protection and adoptees’ access to origins. Despite our attempts, we fell short of achieving a meaningful impact on Korean society. These memories lingered in my mind as I spoke with the editor. Although a number of adoptees’ accounts had been published over the years, I felt that the missing element was a common thread weaving these individuals’ narratives together. While each adoptee delivered a captivating story, they shared one collective experience—being sent away by a system designed and maintained by Korea for seven decades. I wanted to give space to adoptees to talk about their experiences but to also incorporate broader discussions, a dialogue, on the underpinning laws and policies that affect these experiences. And most importantly, I wanted to frame adoptees’ grievances for what they truly represented—human rights violations. This task was anything but easy, especially considering that in this country, adoption-related issues are dismissed as part of the past. Even some of the most renowned leaders of civil society groups scoffed, “If this is really a human rights issue as you’re insisting, then where are all of these 200,000 rights-holders? Why are they invisible and their voices silent?” I eventually came to realize that I was going in circles, not just by doing the same thing over and over again, but also treading water dealing with social networks so closely knit that they have evolved into their own isolated world. In there is a tightly guarded circle of international law experts and scholars. Then there is the social circle where only the Korean language prevails, and anything spoken in another language is disregarded. There’s also the small circle of those who believe that they know what is best for adoptees and act upon such beliefs. This observation isn’t entirely a criticism because, like anyone, I feel safe and comfortable in these circles. But as long as I remain satisfied in that comfort zone, then I’ll remain there without ever reaching beyond those borders. Korean society never thought that adoptees, whom it sent away decades ago, would ever return and start posing serious questions about their true identity and origins. This society never imagined that they’d want more than just a “homeland tour” or “cultural experiences.” It’s for these reasons that Korea remains ill-equipped and ill-prepared to engage adoptees in a dialogue. Consequently, I’m confronted with a sense of urgency to build solidarity and alliances with adoptees, those stakeholders with a direct interest, to collaborate on initiating changes in this country, but the speed and impact in which we may undertake this effort is tempered by our geographical distances. Most adoptees live outside of Korea and do not hold citizenship, so they remain an invisible group unable to partake in meaningful change for themselves. Therefore, I started this series by trying to reach that audience by delivering the facts and conveying the matter in a language that they can understand. We need to dismantle the status quo in which so much information critical to informing adoptees about their rights remains in a language inaccessible for most of them. For far too long, those laws that have directly impacted adoptees have been passed without their knowledge or input due to a lack of translation into languages other than Korean. Therefore, publishing articles in The Korea Times presented the most appropriate means to facilitate participation with the inclusion of guest adoptee writers and to disseminate rights-related information to adoptees overseas. I initially recruited some guest writers, but as the series progressed, adoptees from around the world volunteered their own stories. The only criterion I had was that the right to origins underpins the content. As I read the submissions, I noticed that despite the different perspectives and arguments, the right to origins as a universal human right resonated throughout the articles. To date, this series consists of 30 articles: half were written by me and the other half by guest writers, 12 of them being adoptees and one, Seo-vin, being the child of an adoptee couple. Seo-vin’s article was particularly compelling and ranked as the top story of the site. Some adoptees had mentioned that they hadn’t given much thought to any identity crisis that their own children may endure. Ultimately, the aim of “Dialogues With Adoptees” is to illustrate the relevancy of adoption-related issues and remind society that these matters extend beyond just adoptees. The historical causes that sent thousands of children away rippled across society and reverberated through time. Today, as the country prioritizes raising the fertility rate to cope with the lowest birthrate in the world, one must ask whether this problem is solely a fertility factor or a human rights issue. For more than half a century, this country has regarded the lives of certain children as numbers that it could objectify and commodify. Because the ghosts of the past continue to haunt us today, we should not cease our journey for reform for this generation and the next one to come. I welcome everyone to share their support and solidarity by revisiting this series on the Dialogues With Adoptees, a separate section that The Korea Times developed. This move represents the first time that a Korean media outlet, whether in English or Korean, has dedicated space to this issue, and I look forward to expanding it with the next series in the near future. This is the final reposted article of Dr. Kyung-eun Lee’s first season of articles from The Korea Times series “Dialogues With Adoptees.” While we were not able to repost all of the articles written by professionals and adoptees that were part of this series, we hope that you will go back and read them yourselves. Having an ally like Dr. Lee in the adoptee sphere within Korea is not only important, but validating for the thousands of Korean adoptees sent overseas since the Korean War. It has been an honor and privilege to repost these articles and we hope to share more of Dr. Lee’s work in the future. Cover photo: gettyimagesbank)

They are referring to the current situation in Denmark as war. They say, that "war" is a metaphor for the "debate" that takes place between non-white artists, researchers and debaters on one side, and white Danes of every class and employment on the other. It has been going on for years, but has of course been expanded and sharpened after the recent parliament election. The war on racism. The war on structural racism, institutional racism and interpersonal racism. The war on unconscious racism performed without racist intentions or even in the desire of the opposite. The war is seen as a metaphor for the majority, but is a real term for the minority. The one, whose freedom is limited. The one, whose life is threatened. Did I say that racism is a real cause of death for non-white people in white communities? If in doubt, look at the descriptions of non- white Danes in Denmark. Are you assertive, then look at the US; New York, Ferguson, Charleston – South Carolina. We are—now again—living—in a time when people are being killed because of—and only because of—their non-white complexion. Killing is killing, and when the murders are systematic, there is war. It is not a metaphor. It is the reality that bleeds. Virginia writes: “Three years is a long time to not respond to a letter, and your letter has been missed even longer. I had hoped it would answer itself or that others would answer it for me. But it is still here with the question that remains unanswered: How, in your opinion, can we prevent war? […] A letter that is perhaps unique in the history of human correspondence, for when was the last time a well-educated man asked a woman how, in her opinion, to prevent war?” Virginia asks this question in 1938, but it seems strikingly current 77 years later. The war on whiteness and the post-colonial power relationship, the current political situation, the oppression of the minorities, the economic collapse of Southern Europe and the more than burgeoning nationalism are rarely, or rather never, publicly interpreted or analyzed by women. Especially not brown women. Is it needless to say that different people experience situations and problems differently, and that it can be argued with some right that in order to understand a conflict, all parties must be heard? Or, as Virginia says: “The result is, that even if we look at the same things, we see them differently.” The projection of myself into this story is thus not a selfish or self-centered project, but based on an analysis of the characters that will fit into the collective narrative: a man, a servant, a king, a warrior, a husband, a son avenging his father in the killing of his war desiring and power-hungry uncle, is normal. A non-white, adopted woman post WWII, socialized in the working class, raised in the country side, political in her art as well as in life, is not a character usually included in Danish literature or in a North Zealand scenery. And not at all for the purpose of waging war on history. I will be standing in the blood. It is not a metaphor. Wherever I go, the ground turns red. Whenever there is a war, someone dies. Written by Joan Rang Christensen, and Korean-Danish adoptee and award-winning playwright. Joan is educated at The Danish National School of Playwriting in 2004, and has had around 40 radio and stage plays produced in Denmark, England, Germany, Sweden, and the USA. Most recently, “Tonight the war comes home” (Copenhagen, 2019)—about the shootings at the Charlie Hebdo magazine in Paris. WAR DEATH THE SEA was performed by the author at museum Munkeruphus in Denmark, on August 2, 2015, in connection with Jette Hye Jin Mortensen’s exhibition "A Landscape Theater" and as a part of the exhibition “The Voyage Out” about Virginia Woolf. Photo credit: Timme Hovind

I like to say that I live my life, slipping from one dream to another. Like the sudden shifts from one scene to the next while in REM sleep, so too have my waking life's circumstances changed in drastic ways. I was born in Korea in the early '80s as Sung Sook Shim. After three days, my mother left abruptly and my fate hung in limbo. Confused nurses believed she would return, but she did not. I spent the next six months with a foster mother, name unknown, until some Catholic nuns whisked me onto a plane to America, where all traces of Sung Sook were erased, and I became Erika Young. Erika Young was a white girl who grew up in white, rural Pennsylvania—a girl who abruptly woke from a dream every time she looked in the mirror. Perhaps it was this jarring discrepancy between who I felt I was and what my reflection conveyed that started my obsession with dreams, which were often more enjoyable than real life. Throughout my childhood, my nighttime dreams were more purposeful than the simple assimilation of information and commitment of experience to memory. They enriched my identity and understanding of self; they gave me confidence when it was sorely needed, a sense of safety within an unpredictable social environment, and warmth amid cool isolation. In slumber, I was free to do as I wished, without worry, without the looming threat of taunts and sneers and mocking rhymes, and thereby, I was simply free to be. Many of the recurring dreams I remember from childhood were fun, curious adventures in which I was the heroine, or at least in control. As I walked through grandma’s farm house, new rooms and passages would reveal themselves, ready for exploration. A dip in a lake would morph into a day-long swim as I realized I could breathe underwater. A stumble on the edge of a cliff or at the top of stairs would be no more dangerous than a thrill ride, as I'd plummet downward but land softly on my feet. Other dreams were not as enjoyable, particularly as I got older. There were final exams that I hadn’t prepared for; dark, gigantic ocean waves about to crash and swallow me up; legs that simply wouldn’t move fast enough as an unknown specter chased me from behind. And teeth! Loose teeth, teeth falling out, teeth so large that I couldn’t close my mouth. These kinds of dreams, I wanted to understand—where did they come from? What did they mean? Not in any sort of divine sense, but simply: What about my everyday life—my everyday experiences, thoughts, or emotions—does my mind continually process into images of teeth? I quickly learned that my dreams were not unique and, in fact, researchers have identified common themes that remain consistent across both time and cultures, for example: being chased, sexual experiences, falling, and being late. An article on Psychology Today cites a study that lists these themes and many more. It says, “It is thought that these dreams are common because they contextualize certain universal aspects of human experience.” That is, our dreams are often the result of our fears and anxieties, wishes and aspirations, and these are actually quite universal. At the height of my armchair research of the brain, sleep, and dreaming, I entered a photography challenge in which I had to create a series of images based on a single theme. Naturally, I decided to make surreal images inspired by my nighttime dreams, and I loved the project so much that I never stopped! I mostly abandoned traditional photography to continue creating surreal digital composites—single images composed of several photographed elements. In a way, using dreams as inspiration for tangible art blurs the line between something imagined and something real; likewise, the things I depict in my images exist in that same surreal space. Real people, real objects, real places come together to form something completely impossible, yet the story the image tells is completely relatable. I find it fascinating, the universal nature of people’s dreams and what that says about us as a species—that no matter what our wakeful lives consist of, no matter where we live or where we come from, no matter what specific things we see while we sleep, our dreams do often result from the same raw, underlying emotions. In the coming months, I’ll share my images here, as well as the dreams, thoughts, and experiences that inspired them. Follow along and let me know if you can relate, or get in touch and let me know what poignant dreams you’ve had recently! The Universal Asian has readers from all over the world; we share a lot of real-life experiences—might we share the same dreams too?

Studio ATAO is raising funds for their first food education program “Food Systems 101: An Introduction to the Politics of Food & Beverage.” It was created specifically for food systems workers, and examines the evolution of the U.S. food system through a political lens—with a focus on social justice and BIPOC contributions. To donate to the campaign, click here. For more information about the program: Read more about Studio ATAO here.

Warning: possible spoilers ahead! Available in cinemas on March 25th On behalf of The Universal Asian, I had the privilege of attending an early screening of A24’s latest offering: "Everything, Everywhere All at Once," written and directed by the dynamic duo known as Daniels (Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert). Starring Michelle Yeoh, Ke Huy Quan, James Hong, Stephanie Hsu, and Jamie Lee Curtis, this frenetic film is nothing short of brilliant insanity. Previously known for "Swiss Army Man," Daniels have crafted a film that truly manages to be everything, everywhere all at once. It encompasses every genre, every tone imaginable all while offering a kaleidoscopic commentary on family, intergenerational trauma, and existential ennui. Michelle Yeoh is inimitable as Evelyn Wang, an exhaustedly numb Chinese immigrant everywoman, as she tries to juggle a tax audit, her emotional distance from her daughter (Joy [Stephanie Hsu]), her father’s perpetual disapproval of her life choices, and a mission to save the multiverse—unceremoniously dropped into her lap by an alternate version of her mild-mannered husband, Waymond (Ke Huy Quan). As she pinballs between versions of herself, she slowly pieces together a realization that family, simultaneously enduring and dysfunctional, is the answer to everything and nothing at all. “She is just absolutely incredible in this role,” says Ke Huy Quan. “Michelle Yeoh, the person, the actress, is very glamorous and beautiful, and for her to so willingly shed all of that and get into this humble, middle-aged woman who is struggling to keep a family together and to finish her taxes at the same time, to see her deliver that performance is amazing to watch, and I’m just in total awe of her talent.” “[This movie] shows the depth of her talent,” James Hong, esteemed veteran actor, adds. He plays Evelyn’s austere father with surgical precision, able to cut into Evelyn’s most vulnerable parts with a single word, in a way only family is capable of. “She’s not just a kung fu artist, as they cast her in a lot of other movies. She is truly a brilliant actress. I think people will see the different dimensions of her.” In my conversation with Ke Huy Quan, it is surprising to learn that this is his first major role in decades. The resurgent actor delivers his performance with a sweet sincerity, completely natural and believable. “I don’t think I could have done this character had it been given to me 10-15 years ago,” Ke admits. “I was really nervous when the role was offered to me because I hadn’t done it for so long. So, I hired myself an acting coach, a dialogue coach, [and] a voice coach so the [versions] of Waymond could sound slightly different, and most importantly—and more interestingly too—a body movement coach. I wanted the audience to be able to tell which Waymond you’re looking at just by the way he stands and the way he walks and the way he moves.” His hard work most assuredly paid off, giving us three solid facets of Waymond Wang. In a glittering world of entertainment industry success for Evelyn—which takes inspiration from Michelle Yeoh’s own phenomenal career—and corporate success for Waymond, Ke Huy Quan channels the slick vulnerability of a heartbroken ex-lover against a backdrop awash with a sumptuously saturated color palette straight out of Wong Kar-wai’s "In the Mood for Love." In another universe, Alpha-Waymond is a fighting force to be reckoned with in a jaw-dropping fanny pack sequence. But, my favorite version of Waymond is the one in “our” universe, an unfailingly kind, empathetic, nurturing soul with an endearingly meek physicality. He is the backbone of the film, a steady reminder that sometimes strength is not found in battle, but in surrender. It is Waymond who breaks the cycle of trauma in his family with a desperate plea for peace. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to go there emotionally when we did that scene,” Ke Huy Quan reflects. “It was in front of so many people. [But] once I stepped in front of the camera and I started speaking—the first word out of my mouth—it began to hit me. What this character means and what it represents. I’m glad I was able to go there, to give the performance the Daniels wanted. I’ll let the audience decide, and hopefully I don’t disappoint them.” “I wanted it more than anything on the planet when this was presented to me,” he continues, recalling the audition process. “And I’m so grateful to [Daniels] for offering me the opportunity to play this kind human being that believes in empathy and love and respect for each other. And to do this with Michelle and James Hong and Stephanie, and of course the great Jamie Lee Curtis, was just a dream come true.” “The two Daniel guys, they’re crazy,” James Hong says with a chuckle. “In [writing] this movie and directing it. Of course, the producers did a very good job and A24 took a chance in distributing it. I hope it’s a success. I sit here and I wonder, will the people like it? Will they understand what this movie is about?” Amidst the chaos that is "Everything, Everywhere," it’s difficult to hold onto the idea of a single narrative, theme, or message. To me, that is exactly the point. This film is a massively ambitious attempt at a theory of everything, and not in the sense of theoretical or quantum physics. The film swings wildly between existentialism and nihilism. It proposes a meaningless universe in conjunction with a directive to find meaning as a mode of survival. In other words, the world is what you make of it, nothing or everything. Perforated throughout the film is a recurring discussion of the complexity of family and the movement of trauma down and alongside the generations. “There’s a great valley of difference between the two generations,” James Hong acknowledges. The Minneapolis-born actor is a son of immigrants himself. “The old generation from a foreign land, between that group and the one that is born here into rock and roll and jazz and all that modern stuff.” It is this valley that’s slowly and steadily crossed in "Everything, Everywhere." There is a tangible divide between Evelyn and her father, which leads to a jagged edge between Evelyn and her daughter. The friction between the three characters sends sparks flying in a particularly tense scene when Evelyn balks at her father’s seemingly cruel order to kill her daughter to keep them all safe. And, in the background of the multiversal madness, Evelyn struggles to balance her support of her daughter’s sexuality and her fear of her father’s reaction to it. There is something precious in the imperfection of Evelyn’s character, a monument to the somewhat hypocritical nuance of humanity. Cover photo: Courtesy of A24

Superheroes. We admire their extraordinary strengths, victories, failures, and struggles. When it comes time to doing battle there’s no holding back, and they will unleash their powers with brutal force! As an Asian woman, I’ve looked up to superheroes over the years: Wonder Woman, She-ra, Supergirl. I loved Wonder Woman’s invisible jet and her magic lasso, She-ra had that magical sword, and Supergirl could fly! But even with these fond memories of grandeur, it didn’t occur to me until later in life when I’d had a few more struggles, that none of those superheroes looked like me. Sure, they were cool, battling evil with their magical weapons and powers, but where were the female Asian superheroes to look up to? (besides Hello Kitty, obviously! LOL) As I’ve grown older, I’ve noticed that girls (and women), will hide how smart they are because they don’t want to stand out. If you were too determined or aggressive, you were labeled “difficult.” It’s long been a joke among friends about being a “determinasian,” but more recently I’ve been thinking on this more; why was this such a bad thing? Why can’t we be free to reach for the stars without criticism? More importantly, why do we not have any superheroes to model ourselves after. I thought about this some more and came up with a list of personality traits I admired in my successful Asian female friends: determination, concentration, motivation, and education. From there, I started formulating what I wanted these characters to look like. I had recently gotten some colored streaks in my hair and really liked the extra boldness it gave me (one less fear of doing something out of the “norm!”), so I decided the characters would all have a color streak in their hair! I wanted them to be a “regular” size, not too thin, not too busty. And, of course, they had to have awesome outfits! I started asking my graphic design friends who they would recommend to illustrate the characters. I only wanted someone who was female or Asian (or both). One of my friends in NYC suggested someone she worked with at Sesame Street—Evan Cheng. I reached out to him, and after a few conversations, I knew he was the real deal. He came up with some initial sketches, and as we went back and forth, the characters for The Cre8sian Project (Determin8sian, Concentr8sian, Motiv8sian, and Educ8sian) were born! The next step in the process was to find a way to have these newly created superheroes make a difference in the world. As a big believer in arts education and community service, I started reaching out to Asian-focused arts organizations. I decided to have a portion of the sales from The Cre8sian Project go towards the P.E.A.C. Program at East West Players (EWP) in Los Angeles and set up a scholarship for a student of Asian heritage with Positively Arts in Las Vegas! P.E.A.C. (Partners in Education and Arts Collaboration) is a residency program that brings EWP programming to local schools, especially those without other arts education funding. Positively Arts uses the arts to empower, inspire, educate and heal and offers a variety of programs like Broadway Dreamers, Arts in Action, and Get Launched to give students instruction, performance, positive leadership, and mentorship opportunities throughout the year, no matter their financial status. Supporting Asians in the arts starts at the local level, and that was exactly what I intended to do! My next and final step was to set up my blog, Amazing Asians in the Arts, which features Asian women in all aspects of the arts industry: performers, writers, directors, artists, tech designers, musicians, and more! Each Saturday, I publish a new post featuring a new Asian female in the arts! Past features have included Satomi Hofmann (actress—Phantom of the Opera Broadway), Jennifer Betit-Yen (Asian American Film Lab), Marina Kondo (actress—Frozen National Tour), and Maxine Gutierrez (Audio Engineer—Dear Evan Hansen Broadway)! With the shutdown happening just as I was ready to launch my website, this blog was a much needed lifeline for me to not only stay connected to the outside world, but to also meet other Asians in the theater industry and be able to share their careers, accomplishments, and volunteer work with the world! The Cre8sian Project is also a proud sponsor of the Outstanding Female Content Creator Award for The 72 Hour Film Shootout, put on by the Asian American Film Lab! I hope these newest superheroes resonate with you, and you wear your “superpowers” proudly! Because, after all, WE are the artists, the dreamers, the cre8tors! Angela Chan is a musician, composer, and lyricist living in Las Vegas. She has performed on national tours all over North America (“Cats,” “Phantom of the Opera,” “Sound of Music”), as well as Broadway shows on the Las Vegas Strip (“Phantom: The Las Vegas Spectacular,” Disney’s “The Lion King,” “Jersey Boys,” “Mamma Mia”), Cirque du Soleil’s “KA,” The Las Vegas Philharmonic, and is currently the Asst. Bandleader/Keyboard 1 at “Le Reve the Dream” at Wynn Las Vegas! Angela is also an active volunteer for Positively Arts, a local performing arts non profit, a notary public, wedding officiant, and T-rex enthusiast! www.AngelaChanMusic.com

In a time when racism is at the center of many conversations and there is a rise in Asian awareness, this film addresses the human struggle of how one’s identity is questioned and challenged in response to the subtle discriminatory words or actions of others that we now know as microaggressions. Synopsis: In Paris, a difficult choice has to be made when a Chinese tourist who desperately needs the toilet barges into a vintage book store, with a French-born Chinese book shop assistant stuck between doing the right thing, or getting into trouble with her boss. This short nine-minute drama film is expected to be released at the end of 2020, in French, with English and Mandarin subtitles. You can keep up with the latest by following @welookthesamefilm on Instagram

May 31, DTLA (Downtown Los Angeles): Black Lives Matter protestors make their voices heard on the steps of City Hall in L.A. June 5, DTLA: 13th day of protesting in L.A., on the steps of City Hall. June 5, DTLA: protesters made their way from City Hall to Police Headquarters in L.A., carrying a hand painted mural of Breonna Taylor. June 5, Boyle Heights: protesters against ICE meet in Boyle Heights to march to City Hall, led by traditional dancers and drummers of Mexico. May 31, DTLA: protesters marching from Pershing Square to City Hall were met with military and law enforcement. Sharon is a Korean adoptee who currently resides in L.A. Sharon has been shooting professionally since 2010. Most of her work is shot on film and focuses on the female form. You can read more about her and listen to interviews on her website and Instagram. Photo credit: Sharon Jung

Asians in Britain (AIB) is a platform that I created back in March 2018. Having lived in the U.K. for the past 10+ years, I have observed how Asians in the U.K. are seen as a homogenised group of people despite our diverse cultural backgrounds, religions, languages, and food, etc. People also tend to look down on Asians or make assumptions about us based on how we look. When I was in Bristol for high school, I remember people, especially teachers, used to make passing comments like: “No offence, but English is not your first language, so you might find English literature a very challenging subject” or “No offence, this is too well-written, are you sure you wrote this?” On top of that, I’ve also realised there’s not only a lack of Asian representation on screen or in the media, but also a lack of platforms for Asians to share ideas. This was why I felt the need to create some sort of space for Asians to share their stories and experiences in hopes to amplify Asian voices while also empowering and inspiring younger generations. Interviewing so many different talented, inspiring, and hardworking Asians, who are not only successful in the financial or science fields, but also in the creative industry, was eye-opening to me. I also have to thank my amazing team whom I met along the way that has made AIB what it is today. To make this a little more interactive, below is what my team has to say! I promise I didn’t bribe them! Teresa Fan: “Asians in Britain is a place that is very close to my heart. First of all, it’s about aspirations and breaking out of the mould. It’s a place to have your own story laid out, and told how it is. Asian people are often seen as quiet and less vocal; I wanted to be part of something which breaks those stereotypes. When I first met Steph, I was being interviewed and we had a mutual friend who suggested we hit each other up. Next thing you know, fast forward a year later, I was growing with my photography and I wanted to give back to something which gave me a lot of warmth and encouragement. My aspirations for 2020 is to keep doing what we’re doing, develop quality content, and see the fruits of our labour. I’d love to organise a fundraiser or an event involving Asians in Britain! That would be the dream. One word to describe AIB is community.” Sanil Patel: “Asians in Britain provides a platform for people to share their stories of success and struggles. It’s a community for people to be open and positively engage with others. For me, it’s important to have diversity and create a strong community for people to find inspiration, courage, and comfort. I joined Asians in Britain because I think I am able to help this community grow and give people a chance to share their stories. It’s important for people to have a place where they can share their experiences and thrive in a community with similar backgrounds.” Krishna Balasubramanian: “I joined AIB because the mission of creating a network to support Asians and enable their smooth transition into the cultural and social constructs of the new place they immigrate to, resonates with me. To me, Asians in Britain celebrates a sense of belonging to the Asian community and a platform where inspiring stories, culture, and positive assimilation are shared. My aspirations in 2020 for Asians in Britain is to push for more diverse stories. To help grow a safe community that touches on different types of success and struggles which in-turn will help people to engage with each other.” Stephanie Lam: “I joined AIB because I love the idea of being able to share stories of people from different backgrounds in the British-Asian community. There’s often the misconception that Asian culture is very rigid and it’s time for that to change. The careers that are considered respectable shouldn’t be confined to only: doctors, lawyers, and bankers. We want to showcase how diverse the British-Asian community really is and how future generations could make use of their talents in many different types of careers. Asians in Britain means so much to me. I’ve been able to network with so many types of people with different passions and have this platform showcase and share what they have to say. A lot of people out there can relate to the hardships that we go through as Asians in Britain. I hope to invite even more people to be a part of this community!” Since starting Asians in Britain, quite a few people have asked me how I envision AIB in the future. Other than wanting to create a platform to uplift Asian voices, I have always wanted to create a mentorship programme where I would be able to use the network we have built to help youths in building their careers and inspiring them to pursue their dreams. We have now also launched our very own podcast called High Expectations (sorry! shameless plug) where we explore certain topics on a deeper level. Especially in light of COVID-19 racism and the Black Lives Matter movement, we believe that now more than ever is the time to speak up and ensure that our voices are not silenced. You can read wonderful stories here: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/asiansinbritain Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/asiansinbritain If you would like to listen to our podcast, you can check out: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/highexpectasianspodcast Anchor: https://anchor.fm/asiansinbritain

The Korean American Adoptee Adoptive Family Network (KAAN), is a non-profit organization founded in 1998 to build a national Korean adoption community with adoptees at its center. Through the work of its volunteers, KAAN aims to improve the lives of Korean-born adoptees by connecting the community and providing opportunities for dialogue, education, and support. Mission Statement: To  enrich the lives of Korean-born adoptees and transracial adoptees, and their families, by connecting the community through dialogue, education, and support. Vision Statement: We envision an adoption community that is empowered, connected, vibrant, inclusive, and equitable. Community Values: We create a welcoming environment that brings people together from across the adoption community, valuing diverse perspectives while cultivating respect and healthy boundaries. This includes, but is not limited to people from the Korean-American community, adoptees, adoptive family members, biological family members, and those who work within the adoption industry. We believe this synergy deepens our insights and builds mutually transformative, dignifying relationships, many that last long after the conference. Current Activities: Community Conversations: October 14, 2020 @8pm ET: Parenting as an Adoptee (adoptees only) November 11, 2020 @ 8pm ET: Adoptive Families, Holidays, and Big Emotions (adoptive parents) December 9, 2020 @ 8pm ET: Taking Care of Ourselves During the Holidays (adoptess only) Virtual Happy Hours: Oct 8, 2020 @ 8pm ET November 12, 2020 @ 9pm ET December 10, 2020 @ 5pm ET Current call for proposals for KAAN 2021 Conference: From Dialogue to Action: Identity and Intersections in Our Community Connect with KAAN: For more information, visit their website. Or check their social media: Facebook, Linktree, Instagram

It goes without saying that 2020 was a challenging year for many as we coped with isolation, forced social distancing from family and friends, loss of employment, and more. Although social media images might have suggested that we should do and be more, it is important that we learn how to give ourselves permission to focus on self care. Adjusting to the “new norm” further requires that we learn how to grieve for the life that we used to have. Through it all, in the end, we may find a craving for authenticity in ourselves and a redefinition of who we want to be in this new world. Mental health challenges have nothing to do with being lazy or weak. Many people need help in this area, but it is often not talked about openly. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. It accounted for the loss of more than 41,000 American lives in 2020—more than double the number of lives lost to homicide. The @theuniversalasian will be hosting a 5-part series on "#MentalHealthTalk With TUA" to help our Universal Asian community start the new year with a great mental spirit to make 2021 a year of healing and growth as we come out of the pandemic bubble. Meet the three coaches:

In starting the online platform/magazine, The Universal Asian, I was determined to create a safe space for others like me to turn to when wanting to know more about what was possible in our community. The main story I tell others is the story of growing up as an adoptee in a predominantly white farming community. Despite my family’s best attempts at using love and humor to make me feel like them, I struggled. Multiple issues aside, the common desire as a teen was just to fit in. This left me flipping through magazines like Sassy trying to find an example of someone who looked like me with everyday make-up, hair styles, fashion, and jobs. In the '80s and early '90s, it was rare to see even a Black teen in a non-target publication let alone an Asian face. With the onslaught of social media, it has definitely become easier these days as my 40-plus-year-old self watches 20-somethings show me how to do my eye make-up in a classy, subtle way rather than a wild, exotic, “different” way. Still, from what I have found, these influencers are scattered lacking a larger presence in the community that their shares would likely benefit. When I considered our target audience, I knew I wanted to address adoptees from Asian countries, but felt it important to expand out to those who may identify as Asian, yet grew up outside of a typical Asian culture. These people are more easily labeled (not boxed in!) as #hyphenatedAsians in being Asian-American or British-Asian, etc. While this is not meant to limit how they identify themselves, it is one that can be more easily understood in the mainstream when using the hashtag #hyphenatedAsians. In developing that tag for those who related to it in our Universal Asian community, it was a smooth acceptance to include those from around the world. As more stories are shared, the overlap in the experiences of growing up in a world that does not fully represent the one of our heritage or traditions of our lineages becomes abundantly clear. So, targeting this part of the Asian universe posed little challenge as long as we can tap into their willingness to share experiences with our readers to potentially connect with those who also relate. On the other hand, due to the very nature of adoption, targeting adoptees from Asian countries and describing them in the most apt way became more complicated. “Transracial” didn’t work for me, as it suggests one is of different races, but we are still “Asian” racially. “Intercultural” didn’t suit because many adoptees have no connection to their native culture. So, as someone who treats words neutrally until clarification can be had through conversations, I started to consider literal wording to apply to international adoptees. By choosing a term that can have strong interpretations, the opportunity for a dialog can be created. By choosing a literal term, a conversation to balance out understanding can be had, which reflects the mission laid out for the platform I wanted to create. So, #importedAsians came to represent the adoptee population. Neutrally speaking, a child from another country is paid for, whether it’s for the services surrounding the crossing of international borders, or paperwork completed for the child to enter a new country. When that child then remains in the new country, the “transaction” is complete. If you did not know that this process refers to a person, you would understand that it is a product of some sort that is being imported to another country. If we remove the emotional or human element, the adoption of a child from one country to another is similar to the importation of a product. In the true spirit of journalism, I remain neutral in how I use this hashtag to refer to our adoptee population. While I understand that not all within our community, nor those outside of it, might be able to maintain an emotionally neutral perspective, it is my hope that we can have a conversation around it, at the very least. So far, not many have taken issue. However, for those who have, the unfortunate thing is that they have been unwilling to present their perspective or participate in a dialog. Instead, they perpetuate an unnecessary and unintended interpretation of a term that they are unwittingly accepting as a negative label of who they/we are despite their protests as otherwise. Words only have the power that we allow them to have when we use them and when we fail to converse on their mutual understandings. Our application and interpretation are always open to negotiation—that is the beauty of language and words—but it requires discussion to come to a common understanding. Even if we agree to disagree, at least we took the time to respectfully hear each other out and challenge our differing stances. This platform/magazine is meant to be an open and safe space for everyone to strip off the labels, and to have the freedom to explain why some labels might not fit who they are. Rather than continue to limit our Universal Asian community, which is done on a regular basis outside of the community, it is my hope that this be a space where we can respectfully share, uplift, and inspire each other and those around us to hear us, see us, and know us.