Never too short and never bangs. I liked having my hair long– and so did the American boys. Long enough for the other girls to braid, long enough for me to curl, and long enough to differentiate me from the foreign exchange students. To accompany my long American hair, I always maintained a tan. Like the other girls over the summer break, I’d drench my already oranged skin in the tanning oil my pale friends brought, for my mom found it too ridiculous to allow me to own my own bottle. For a while, I didn’t even know what a tan was and saw tanning as a pastime that allowed me to fit in. It wasn’t until my white friend wandered into my room, her eyes skimming down my summer bucket list, finding a clean check box next to “get a tan.” She told me I didn’t need to tan and laughed at me. I was baffled. I hadn’t understood that tanning wasn’t just a beautifying activity, but an ideal– let alone one that aimed at achieving the darker skin tone I reluctantly had. So many teens go through the process of understanding why they do things for appearance: why they curl their hair, why they shave, why they over-plucked their eyebrows… And most of the time they land on the conclusion “to be pretty and likable.” It wasn’t until much later that I realized why I too followed all these trends– and it wasn’t just to be pretty. Assimilation was a vocabulary term I’d only read in history books and therefore only used in essays. It was presented as a prehistoric idea. A concept that was long gone– I mean, this is America for goodness sake. I’d been so used to following the latest trends and accepting that that was all I was doing. I hadn’t noticed the limitations I had so quietly placed on myself. I first struck the dilemma in the first grade. Bobs were in. Hair cut to the jawline and styled with a floral, neon headband from Justice was all the rave. Three out of five girls got one for picture day, my math partner got one, and my best friend got one. Deep down inside, I wanted one too, but oppositely, getting a bob would be the last thing I’d ever do. I stuck to these self imposed guidelines, but never truly questioned them. When answering why I’d never cut my hair short I’d answer, “I’ve always had it long and liked it this way.” As girls in my class matured, their styles did too. Each girl was able to differentiate phases of their adolescence by merely looking at their hair style: middle school contained long hair with a side or middle part, freshman year of high school different tints of dye coated their waves in an ombre approach, and by senior year, everyone had some form of bangs accompanied by a maroon red or brown-black streaked colorant. While everyone else’s yearbook portrait shapeshifted, mine remained a reflection of the same girl. A few weeks after moving in with my aunt, I noticed my hair had reached a wild length to where it hurt to adjust my head position at night. I asked her if there was a nearby salon that donated hair and she popped the echoed question. Considering the question, I was confused on how to honestly answer. Digging into what truly lied at the end of my commitment to long locks, I heard the desire to look American leave my lips. Going down the list I recognized why I had avoided changing my hair: short hair looked too Chinese, bangs for the same reason as the latter, and for hair color, there were too few color choices that didn’t resemble kpop or anime. I was avoiding association and instead chose assimilation. I wanted to be seen as the “desirable American girl,” not a reflection of where I came from– but the truth is, America is made up of cultural reflections. Hearing the excuses playing in my head, it seems ridiculous. To merge with a culture, because you are embarrassed of your own. Trying to be an American girl as an Asian-American girl. Editors: Leila W., Rachel C., Joyce P., Cathay L. Photo Credits: Rachel Chen

From the glances and subtle shoves, to the headphones kept on when I’m speaking to the tone of their voice, I knew I wasn’t welcome. It may have been my hair, my height, how I dress, or how I talk, but what I do know for sure is that parts of my grooves and edges do not fit into the aesthetic friendship jigsaw they so diligently craft for their Snapchat stories, their Instagram posts, for their two-minute increments of a daily BeReal. And so I distance myself. As a first-year who recently arrived at Wellesley College, the last time I attempted to make new friends felt like a distant memory, a hazy, ambiguous feeling I could not quite grasp. There is no formula for starting a friendship, of course; some march into one’s life with a good laugh, others through intense bonding experiences, and some are even borne from forgiveness after conflict and fluorescent rage. But as the world shifted ever so slightly four or five years ago, with COVID, political change, graduating high school, and becoming an adult, the opportunities for raw, genuine interactions blossoming into friendship dissipate. I’ve come to realize that I have departed from the innocence and spontaneity of childhood friendships, entering into a world where human connections are, more often than not, goal-oriented, unauthentic, distant, and unreadable. Gen Z has been socialized in the art of suppressing real emotions and identities to engage in strategic self-presentation from as far back as we can remember. Although, in recent years, researchers have noted an uptick in social media fatigue, attributed in part to the pandemic. But even the tech-weariest among us find it hard to disregard the mandate to put forward our best selves online. Indeed, growing up in the age of blossoming social media and technology, the concepts of selectivity, status, and popularity became increasingly ingrained in our minds and infused into the ways in which we approach socialization. The purpose behind friendships is no longer for mutual growth and support, but rather to create a perfectly curated group of companions. Some people are not loyal to you. They are devoted to their need of you, of you to be in their frame of the 0.5 camera, of your ability to provide content for those colorful Instagram stories, laughing at an inside joke or fond memory. These stories seem to say: people love me, I am not alone, I have something you do not. Forming these communities that are seemingly inclusive online but exclusive offline is, in my view, the goal of many modern friendships. We want to survive the social scene; we do not want to be excluded, so we exclude. We do not want to be lonely ourselves, so we create loneliness for others. We help people around us, but only when it’s convenient for us and benefits us, so really, we’re just helping ourselves. BeReal—the French photo-sharing app launched in 2020—has been heralded as the antidote to combat such a trend. While BeReal has been lauded for its novel spontaneity, informality, and provision of unvarnished glimpses into everyday life, it represents the latest iteration in the cycle of social media sites that spring from the push-and-pull tension of authenticity and performance. Increasingly, the idea of “authenticity” that media companies are flaunting becomes more and more of a social construct. We don't want authenticity, we want neutral makeup. We are curated enough that we don't hate the way we see ourselves, but not so curated that it looks staged or artificial to everyone else. It's a farce we're all playing with one another for a society that wants to be understood but not seen. This means that pinning down our most “authentic” self is always elusive. How do we combat this climate of social life that our generation must dwell in? Are genuine connections impossible to pursue? Can we go back to making dependable, faithful friends? In the 1950s, social psychologist Rebecca G. Adams discovered in her research findings that there are three components to a long-lasting friendship: physical proximity, repeated, unplanned interactions, and settings that allow people to let their guard down. Circumstances, where these conditions are met, are increasingly rare to encounter as we all refine our myriad social facades. Perhaps, if we all take a deep breath and devote our time to someone else’s well-being rather than the style of our social media profile, whole-heartedly listen, hold a safe space for those around us, put down judgment, and welcome vulnerability, we can replenish the desolate seeds of modern friendships. Editors: Chris F., Leandra S. Photo Credits: Kristina Webb

How Heartbreak High Helps Heal My Relationship with My Gender Identity The reboot of the 1994 Australian teen drama under the same name, “Heartbreak High” seems to be the hot new Netflix series zillenials have been gushing about. Featuring bold outfits and an even more eclectic range of characters, the show features a multifaceted, almost-satirical narrative navigating through the winding road of love, drugs, sex education, and friendship. Despite having initial doubts about the show, I was surprised to find it seamlessly gripping my attention and even adjusting the way I thought about representation in mainstream media, particularly in modern Australia. My initial hesitation about the show (I mean…it was called Heartbreak High…) quickly dissipated after watching the first episode - the immediately upheld tension between the main character and her best friend. The gender, racial, and neurotypical diversity among the cast was endearing in a way I never thought about before. Although the show felt ‘Americanised’ due to the high school characters wearing free dress (Where are the uniform protocols? Being told off for wearing the wrong socks to school? Teachers making sure your summer uniform was past your knees?), the show immediately snapped me out of the usual hypnosis of American teen dramas at the sight of the red P-plate, a Clothing the Gaps sticker on Missy’s Ford Falcon S, and the deliciously familiar accents of the community I grew up in. Image Credit: Netflix Although they might not seem significant, Missy’s car embellishments signalled to me a disillusionment of my American-centric predispositions to any type of media I choose to consume–the red P-plate, a symbol of growing up into adulthood for a lot of 18-year-old Aussies, marked my immediate fascination with the show and how seeing diverse Australian youth broadcasted to mainstream media made me feel. The way I thought I understood the importance of diversity as a queer, non-binary Asian Australian gained a new layer of deeper understanding that could only be achieved through empathy and experience. The first character I recognised as immediately relatable was Darren, the non-binary child of divorced parents, the best friend of Quinni, and the kindhearted adoptive parent of the unpopular protagonist. Darren’s family narrative surrounding their gender is something so painfully relatable for me. Gender, for me, is something that has been incredibly difficult to discuss with those I love. The human experience of gender is so unique and undefinable that, at times, I have often found myself stretching my boundaries around other people's ignorance and saying “It’s okay, I know it’s confusing” to those who continue to misgender and stubbornly mislabel me. When discussing sexuality, it is often something (most) people can understand - love is a universal experience, and when applying this experience to people of different gender identities, different sexual orientations are simpler to understand for the heteronormative society. However, gender is less of a universal experience and many of us grew up in a society that perpetuates gender binaries on a deep, subconscious level from the moment we are born. Being assigned a gender based on your sex, parents picking a “girl’s name” or a “boy’s name”, colouring the walls of a nursery blue or pink depending on what genitals you have, getting a girl toy or a boy toy in your Maccas Happy Meal, being separated into a boy and girl class in P.E (what’s the deal with knee push-ups being called girl push ups??), the silly jokes about boys reproductive parts and the malicious remarks about girls reproductive parts in sex ed, women’s grooming products being more expensive than mens, the gender pay gap, being expected to take your husbands surname in marriage, everything about how Western Australian society is built on the binary concept of Man and Woman. Image credit: Netflix So when there is a “third thing”, as my parents put it, like being gender non-conforming, the experience of gender is even more difficult to explain. These gender binaries are so fundamental to how our society functions politically, socially, philosophically and economically that any kind of nuance outside of these set rules set by ourselves is immediately discarded as a Gen Z thing, something our generation made up to feel special. Instead of educating themselves and listening to those within these communities, it is often easier to disregard gender non-conformity as “too confusing” and oftentimes, in my experience, it’s easier to accept that you won’t be listened to. Your gender dysphoria will be your problem and your problem alone, everyone else will continue dead-naming you, misgendering you, assuming things about your sexuality and values because it’s easier to let them remain ignorant and suffer the consequences than to try to explain something that they themselves don’t experience and don’t have the empathy to listen to. Image Credit: Netflix But that is precisely why Darren’s character is so important in a show like Heartbreak High. Darren’s gender identity is a fundamental part of who they are, but their entire narrative doesn’t surround it because it just is a part of them, it’s not their entire story. A huge part of diversity in media is depicting what makes the character diverse as normal. Media seems to love stories of intergenerational trauma, adversity, and overcoming the tribulations of a white man’s society, and these stories are obviously incredibly important to tell. But I want to see more, I want to see people like me who are living their own life alongside these adversities, something Darren’s character does so beautifully. Their parents, with a very similar “ugh this is so confusing” attitude towards their gender identity, is something so relatable not just to me, but I’m sure to other parents who may have gender-queer children as well. Darren’s ability to stand up for themself and reinforce the validity of their gender identity inspires me to do the same, and I hope that it similarly inspires others to open their hearts and ears, and listen to those who are genderqueer around them in order to understand a fundamental part of their identity. ***

The prestigious New York City Ballet (NYCB) has been active since 1948, and only four Asian people in the establishment’s history have been promoted to the highest position of principal dancer. Chun Wai Chan is the first company dancer of Chinese ancestry to have been chosen for this rank. He recently debuted in this distinction with the NYCB’s Fall 2022 season; his impeccable technique and alluring charisma are both receiving much acclaim. Chan, raised in Guangdong, China, discovered his passion for dance early on. He began ballet at the age of 6 after being inspired by his sister, who was also a dancer. The journey to becoming a principal was by no means an easy task. However, even in a notoriously competitive industry, Chan stood out and was able to flourish in his career. Prior to joining the NYCB, Chan was a principal for the Houston Ballet; his performance at one of their shows garnered the attention of NYCB’s resident choreographer, Justin Peck. Peck reached out to him and offered an audition for the ballet company - a rare feat since almost all of the NYCB dancers were selected as apprentices from the School of American Ballet, and auditions were seldom arranged. Chan joined the NYCB as a soloist in August 2021. Combining elements of the Chinese-Vaganova style with the NYCB’s signature Balanchine repertoire has made Chun a captivating ballet dancer. Since then, Chan has gone on to create his own ballet studio, Chunner Studio, to uplift a growing community of young Asian American dancers. “I now happen [to be] in a place that inspires a lot of male dancers, that inspires dancers who are Asian. I would love to inspire more and more people in that way.” He commented in an interview with the South China Morning Post. While Chan’s career with the NYCB has just begun, his impact is undeniable. Asian American prominence in Western performing arts is few and far between, but the future is bright for those who wish to pursue these professions with people like Chun Wai Chan leading the way. Editor: Leila W. Photo Credits:

Every time after a good cry, after being scolded for being 2% away from 100%, for being one away from a five, I hold that gutting pain in my chest. It is at first blunt and piercing but it slowly fades, and I let out a laugh. Every pore of our bodies, clogged by generational trauma, suffocates. But laughter, the boldness and unavoidance of its accompanying breaths, time and time again becomes another breath, becomes another step into clarity. But this time I laugh, because I find that as “laughter” is trapped in “slaughter,” “numb” is trapped in “numbers.” Numbers, symbols with miniature right angles and smooth curves that would have no meaning otherwise, reflect only what we decide to impose. We pressure performance, value production, and expect perfection. We’re only worthy if we have this number of likes, this percentage of viewer engagement, this amount of reposts; we’re smart if we get a seven, a 1500, a first place; we’re only beautiful if we’re a 10… We fall into place, fall into quantities, fall into capitalism’s ways and wishes. It’s so cruel, what we decide to do for no reason. I catch myself falling, too. I refuse to read books rated below four out of five stars on Goodreads. It’s crazy to me, how I say that I am my own person, I make my own decisions. And then there are the ratings, the keyboards clattering, the thumbs ups and thumbs downs, the Yelps, the Goodreads. Books nourish our minds, and food nourishes our body, yet we choose our nourishments based on how others fed themselves. Is there autonomy at all when we assign a number, a critique to everything we know? No, perhaps not. In a society that is defined by the internet, the media and sensory overload, is there true original thought? Garnering unprecedented amounts of information is no longer to satisfy an innate curiosity, but instead to feed the urge of monetization, of competition that leads to inequality, to suffering. If physics has a study of thought and language, it would tell us that thought and language are the most miraculous translation from matter to matter, medium to medium. Language literally turns the little sparkles made by your neurons, the complex, intangible, abstract, invisible beauty produced by your brain into something tangible—writing, word, hand motions. And this is passed onto another, becoming the little sparkles in another’s brain. The trend of our contemporary world therefore morphs from reality into the numerical values in our language. So perhaps to undo it, we start by speaking differently. Don’t work your score on the SATs, how much salary you earn, the ranking number of your school into every conversation. Imperfection is okay, unrated matters are equally worth exploring, and don’t let the “numb” in “numbers” paralyze our expansive potential for change. Editors: Joyce S., Chris Fong Chew, Leandra S.

[My lips can move, But cannot speak] Wide eyes and yellowed skin Masking the fraud they do not seek Her elusive past lies within [My lips can move, But cannot speak] A mother of China glides near Brown eyes so tender and so meek She thinks there is nothing to fear [My lips can move, But cannot speak] The kind curiosity begins Admiring her hair that flows so sleek She gains her trust, and grins [My lips can move, But cannot speak] Query of where her origins lie Could she be a legacy of the clique? She feeds a promising reply [My lips can move, But cannot speak] The weightful qualifier proceeds Do tongues reflect the patois she squeaks? She scrapes her knee and bleeds [My lips can move, But cannot speak] Noting her fault, she abandons ground Disappointed with the bleak For a daughter of China was falsely found A note from the writer: As a Chinese adoptee, the inability to speak Chinese spreads a demeaning mark that mainland Chinese point out. Interactions begin with a harmless ethnicity guessing game and when they guess right, we watch their face light up as a reward. But this reward is temporary, for their hopes fall right back down as we answer the following question regarding our ability to match their tongue. We are either left in silence or completely dropped out of conversation and the world falls back to how it was, as if we had never met at all. Editors: Nikki J, Zoe L., Joyce S.

September 8th, 2022 marked the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, the UK’s longest serving monarch. A nation mourns this end of an era, this sentiment captured in her son’s words: "I know her loss will be deeply felt throughout the country, the realms and the Commonwealth, and by countless people around the world." This is a death that shakes not only the country, but the world. There are, however, critics– those who question, perhaps not the direct actions of the late Queen Elizabeth, but at least the values that she and the monarchy represent. This, most of all, is brought up in discussions on British colonialism and imperialism, a brutal cornerstone of British history and power. Today’s discussions declare that it is difficult to disentangle the Queen from colonialism and imperialism. The monarch serves as a symbol for the British empire, and this is exactly what Queen Elizabeth was. She was a symbol for an empire that was built off of genocide and violence, which is why many of those belonging to colonies or former colonies subjugated by Britain have mixed feelings towards her. Mou Banerjee, a professor of South Asian history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, told NPR, “We essentially have to respect her for her very long service, but as the monarch, she cannot be disentangled from colonization of South Asia.” Though many colonies gained independence during or before the queen’s rule, there is still a feeling of animosity from some. Specifically, there is a lingering anger towards the nation, as many desire that the monarchy regard and apologize for their wrongdoings. Banerjee particularly cites the nonchalance with which the 1919 massacre in Jallianwala Bagh was handled, where hundreds of Indian individuals were shot and killed by British troops. In attendance at a memorial for the victims, Queen Elizabeth II had simply stated “history cannot be rewritten,” sparking considerable anger among the people. Additionally, Banerjee mentions a lack of reparations from Britain despite their deep history of looting and coercing the nations under its power. For example, there was never a formal apology from Britain on the African diaspora when over 2.2 million enslaved people were taken to British colonies in the Caribbean. By remaining silent and complacent about the actions of the empire, the horrendous things it has done are never truly defined or acknowledged, making it difficult for others to learn about and be aware of. In addition to their complacency, many artifacts have been plundered from these nations who were victims of their colonization for display in their public British museums. Only in the past year has Britain agreed to return 72 Nigerian artifacts to the Nigerian government that were forcibly taken centuries ago. The country gained its independence about ten years after Queen Elizabeth II rose to power. She visited parts of Africa and curated an image of herself there that was associated with elegance. So, to many, the queen is a nostalgic figure. For others, there is still a distinct anger towards what she represents. This type of image can often feel like an outright denial of the egregious actions taken by the empire. However, it is necessary to mention the duality Queen Elizabeth II has concerning her image. Colonization was abolished in some countries under her rule, but it simultaneously occurred in others. Britain’s current occupation of India has caused the nation to react to Queen Elizabth’s death in a somewhat negative manner. Her visits to the country were sometimes marked by riots and the queen, to many, is a figure of slavery and exploitation. It is no surprise that responses to her death were mostly indifferent. Many citizens of India did not hold a large degree of respect for the monarchy. In contrast, the queen is an inescapable figure in Britain. After her death, her face was put up in many public places, from billboards to bus stops, andher death was even made into a holiday. This demonstrative, and somewhat pompous, mourning is in stark contrast to the very personal, grave conversations on her legacy. Britons themselves are divided with many young people being muted in their reaction, some citing the monarchy as irrelevant. This further establishes the traditionalistic element of the throne, and begs the question: is the British monarchy really necessary? The British monarchy is a polarizing concept. Most voices, in this discussion, criticize it for its lack of transparency on British history. British curriculum is often criticized for its lack of minority representation and unwillingness to discuss the more horrendous aspects of the nation’s rise to power. Colonial history has had its impact in the contemporary world too, further contributing to the society’s values and injustices.One prominent example was the Windrush scandal, where hundreds of Black Britons were wrongfully deported or threatened with deportation to the Caribbean. Many are more hopeful for a new monarchy with a potentially stronger, moral leadership. However, some view it as a waste of resources. Social and economic inequality is present in Britain, especially amidst a cost of living crisis, and therefore it seems unnecessary and wasteful to devote time and money to an opulent display of power like the monarchy. For many, there is an intrinsic desire for the nation to come to terms with and acknowledge the atrocities it has committed. This is what a monarch should do - manage and resolve issues of public image and diplomacy. However, during Queen Elizabeth II’s rule, we saw no such action to apologize for past events, acknowledge atrocities of history, or ensure reparations to those irreversibly harmed by the empire. There is an utter lack of knowledge on the brutality that transpired in British colonies - the true danger of complacency. I think it is necessary to be hopeful for the future. Change is possible and straightforward, and perhaps it is time for the sun to set on the British Empire. It is time for it to rise anew, and usher in a new age where history is unfiltered and honest. Editors: Joyce P., Rachel C., Cathay L., Lang D. Photo Credits:

I thought I’d be the only one for years. Vancouver was so far from rural New Hampshire, who else from home would end up at the same boarding school as me? At the end of the summer, I joined a beginning-of-school banquet to welcome new students into my prep school community. Parents and their perfectly contrived children dressed in soft-colored polos. They sported their best small-talk smiles by a lakeside barbeque. I spotted you because you stuck out just like I used to. Nowhere near a mirror, I saw myself so clearly. We do our best to imitate the small-talk around us. We are so much more similar than I’d feared. To see someone who doesn’t belong I know they don’t because neither do I Compare our black hair, our short stance, our deep-set eyes It’s how I imagine a telescope feels when it finally spots a planet The image is so clear in front of me but one step backwards leaves light years of distance It’s something recognizable to ground me It instills a smallness much different from that familiar othering I’ve befriended I want to tell you everything that’s to come How you may as well toss your compass into the Sea of Polo and Prep How every step over cobblestone will feel like walking with mismatched shoes Take your time to build your shelter in the storm Leave the roof open, the stars shine brighter where your thoughts are clear Lend some time and soon you’ll see __________________________________________________________________________ I attend a small prep boarding school in New England, far from where I grew up in Vancouver, Canada. Four years ago, I remember experiencing a great culture shock to the whiteness and preppiness around me. It was difficult to navigate and realize, in reflection during my senior year, that I lost some of myself in that navigation to conformity. For the first time, a new freshman arrived who was also Asian, queer, from Vancouver, and very obviously struggling with the differences between wealthy prep school culture and the diverse, lively culture of Vancouver. Meeting this new person prompted me to feel emotional about the connection to home I lost by attending boarding school. I wrote this poem as a theoretical letter to her. It is advice for her next years at the school I am now preparing to graduate from. Editors: Zoe L., Anoushka K.

When I first came across Gossip Girl, I was mesmerized with the idea of New York — the fashion, the buildings, the subways, the coffee, the penthouses, and everything else you could possibly love about the city. What , nine-year-old me didn’t realize was that to live that lifestyle, one must be rich. Still, I wanted to live amongst the busy city life. One day, I shared my dream of living in New York with my parents, living a pretty dream like Serena Van der Woodsen and Nate Archibald. My mom told me, “No. You have to live with us until you marry someone. Stay close by too, you need to make enough money to take care of us.” My idea of the Manhattan Dream officially went out the window. While this was happening , my older sister was just moving out of the house for college. Prior to that, my mom burst into my sister’s friend’s house that she was at and yelled at her there for wanting to leave the house and move into the dorms, despite it being required freshman year. Years later, she would repeat the same phrase, “You have to live with us until you marry someone. Stay close by too, you need to make enough money to take care of us.” Eleven-year-old me responded, “When I’m older, I have to get out of this place — it’s not like I can be with you for the rest of my life.” She snapped at me after that, and even after five long years, she still brings up what I said. My mom, after being petitioned by my dad for ten years, finally immigrated to the US in 2002. Leaving her parents and seven siblings behind in Vietnam for the opportunity for her children to have a better future. Her dad died in 2006, nine months after I was born, and her mom, four years later. My mom has always been wary about the health of her loved ones, especially being thousands of miles apart. Essentially, my mom is often overly possessive of us and demands that we stay home to return the favors that they provide us. It’s Vietnamese tradition that the children stay home until marriage, and then the couple would move to the husband’s father’s home until they are financially stable for a new house. This is mainly in Vietnam, but my parents are here now. Understanding American lifestyles has been a challenge for my parents every time it’s mentioned — that we grew up in America, watched American family shows, spent time in American households, experiencing the amount of culture shock when we hear the phrase “you’re on your own by 18, kid.” — it’s back to “but we’re Vietnamese, and we’re different.” No matter what, I will always be grateful for what my parents have gone through to provide me the life I have right now, and I want to embrace my culture in America as much as possible — the food, the fashion, the language — but there came a point where this is the part of my culture that I didn’t want to embrace. The part where I had to be constantly sheltered away from the world. I want a chance to grow up and learn more about the world, independently, I want to understand the hassles of being an adult, and I want the epiphany of appreciating where I came from once I leave my hometown. Gradually adapting to the anomaly of “senior year,” developing my college list, most of the schools on my list have been in the Bay Area or SoCal, two places where I would really like to spend a significant portion of my life — just away from suburban Sacramento. Although I’ve given up on my Manhattan Dream, this is in consideration of my mother’s wishes. Avoiding the Ivy Leagues, avoiding MIT, all I have left is California. One night, I was telling her about the schools I was applying to. I shared my interest in UC San Diego since I heard that they have one of the top Cognitive Science programs; yet it is a three hour flight from home. I was fascinated from just looking at their website alone, and I wanted the chance to one day indulge myself in all of their facilities. I wanted to tell her about all the things I could do or be one day. Rather than receiving her excitement, like the average child expects, I received nothing else but sadness from her. “Con, one of my children already left me,” she told me, with tears in her eyes. “There’s nothing that would hurt me more than you leaving me. We’re getting old. Who’s going to take care of us when you’re gone? You can stay close by — go to Sac State.” I froze. What was I supposed to say? “Sorry mom, I’m leaving you for Southern California and living my dreams while I ditch you?” While this is a joke, at the same time, I was never going to leave her to pursue something that will never compare to the relationship I have with her. My mom used a lot of the language that alluded to the fear of being abandoned, which I found a strong connection to her leaving her parents before they passed away. My mom didn’t have a chance to spend much time with her parents either, and I know that she just doesn’t want us to feel the same regret she did as she left her parents, nor be in the same position as her parents when they were sick. The honest truth is this: we’d spend sufficient time with them and make sure that they are healthy, rather than abandoning our parents. And while I’m still in the process of mustering the strength to confront them with the problem of moving out and developing a job experience in a brand new city, I still am a child, both mentally and literally. I have about a year until I make up my mind, and have a clear palette of my options as well. Maybe in a year or two from now, I hope to grow out of my naivety and turn into a person that knows what she knows, and learns from her surroundings. Editors: Leandra S., Chris F.

In 1993, Amy Tan’s award-winning novel “The Joy Luck Club” was brought to the screen. It was the first major motion picture to feature an all Asian-American cast to tell an all-Asian-American story. While the original film revealed what it meant to be a mother, the anticipated sequel will follow the four daughters into their journeys of motherhood. To help tell this next chapter of mothers and daughters (and now grandmothers), original screenwriter Ronald Bass will be reuniting with Tan to bring to life the next generation of these four families. Tan’s narrative bridges the generational gap between four Chinese women who immigrated to the US and produced four American daughters. What struck Asian audiences was its reflection of their own family and even more so, recognizing a face they’d never seen on screen before. The film follows Wu Jingmei’s first Joy Luck Club gathering since the death of her mother, where she is expected to take her mother’s seat at the mahjong table. The Joy Luck Club was her mom’s, Suyan Woo, creation– an evening full of playing mahjong, sharing stories, and hoping for luck. Surrounded by her aunties, Ying-Ying, An-Mei, and Lindo, they reveal the stories that compose her mother’s past. As they unveil the secrets of their deceased friend, they also disclose the hidden stories of their own past life in China. These vignettes of both the mothers’ and daughters’ lives display a common anxiety of never understanding the other— a universal fear that mothers and daughters are forced to confront. For the film industry, The Joy Luck Club broke the standard roles that at the time were available to Asian actors. The actresses who had played the daughters, Ming-Na Wen as Jingmei, Rosalind Chao as Rose, Tamlyn Tomita as Waverley, and Lauren Tom as Lena, were previously typecasted to small, side character roles that fit the Asian stereotype. “Asian American women were objectified,” said Chao. “Pretty was really all they cared about.” Their involvement in the “Joy Luck Club” opened new possibilities for these actresses, leading them later to roles in the hit show “Friends” and to voice Disney’s first Asian Princess Mulan. Additionally, the young actresses were each paired with an on-screen mother who was played by a pioneer of Asian American cinema: Kieu Chinh as Suyuan, France Nuyen as Ying-Ying, Lisa Lu as An-Mei, and Tsai Chin as Lindo. As the sequel’s script is being written, the original leading cast is in talks to return to their roles, as mothers and grandmothers of their families. The sequel will hopefully provide young, aspiring Asian actors with the opportunity to introduce the next generation of Joy Luck Club members and to continue the legacy the original film had established. Editors: Cathay L., Leila W. Photo Credits: Everett Collection

On February 24, after years of threats and escalating tensions, Russian forces advanced into Ukraine, plunging millions of Ukrainians into the middle of conflict and tragedy; in this digital age, we were able to watch day by day as the tragedy unfolds and see how lives of Ukrainian people had been irrevocably changed. An estimated 8-12 million people were displaced, with a reported 6.5 million fleeing the country as refugees. Through this digital verse, we watched what followed: nations in the western world flinging open the gates for Ukrainian refugees, implementing unprecedented measures to accommodate them, with their actions heralded and passionately pleaded for by news anchors and journalists as they reported on the war. The online world gave me the platform to watch all of this unfold and as I did, I realized the blatant bias and prejudice prevalent in the media coverage, the political response, and the treatment of refugee communities. It showed me that the western world had decided that there was a “right” kind of refugee, and it was one that looked like them. It hadn’t been hard to notice, having spent my teenage years as a young Muslim POC watching news coverage of the Syrian refugee crisis in 2014, hearing Western/European politicians use dehumanizing, minimizing phrases like ‘aliens’, ‘foreigner’, ‘illegals’, and ‘migrants’ [which they have since the 2014 crisis rapidly took a negative tilt], callously replacing the word refugee, villainizing the entire Syrian population, adopting hostile policies and attitudes toward refugees, proudly showing images of barbed wire and fenced borders in construction guarded by armed soldiers. The headlines took an incredibly cruel turn during the 2014 refugee crisis, writing headers like: ‘The Swarm on our Streets’, ‘Halt the Asylum Tide Now’, and ‘Calais Crisis: Send in the Dogs’ in thick, black font. It was during this period that I experienced an incredible amount of racial prejudice and Islamophobia. Yet, when the same tragedy occurred in Europe and the Ukrainian people fled to the western world and beyond, it was a completely different situation. Unprecedented measures were taken to handle the influx of Ukrainian refugees, with the European Union enacting a completely new programme that gave all Ukrainian nationals the right to live in, work, and receive access to public services in any European country for the next three years. In the UK, programmes like ‘Homes for Ukraine’ were adopted–a volunteer hosting policy— which gave UK residents the opportunity to host refugees in their homes for six months. What a thing it was to witness and the complex feelings it brought– elation at the rapid action taken to protect and provide for refugees and horror at the complete policy change the western world had taken. In watching this, there was this sense of justified preferential treatment, something which seems to pervade the western media and political narrative on the Ukraine War. A constant othering of refugee communities accompanied by racist language or implications that Ukraine refugees are morally, civilly, and/or intellectually advanced. Louis Bourlanges, the chairman of the foreign affairs committee of the French National Assembly, was quoted numerous times stating, ‘the Ukrainian refugees will be “an immigration of great quality, intellectuals, one that we will be able to take advantage of”.’ The Bulgarian Prime Minister echoed similar sentiments when he was recorded, stating that “these are not the refugees we are used to… these people are intelligent, they are educated people”. The arrogance of these leaders to completely devalue the abilities, talents, and strengths of millions of refugees as though they are just a commodity. Justifying their blatant prejudice to bring in more ‘valuable stock’ [while also dehumanizing Ukrainian refugees] simply on the shallow presumption that European heritage equals intellectual superiority. In the UK, an ITV journalist reported from Poland, “Now the unthinkable has happened to them. And this is not a developing third-world nation. This is Europe!’ From America, Charlie D’Agata, a foreign correspondent for CBS News reported: “This isn’t a place, with all due respect, like Iraq or Afghanistan, that has seen conflict raging for decades. This is a relatively civilized, relatively European — I have to choose those words carefully, too — a city where you wouldn’t expect that or hope that it’s going to happen.” These quotes, especially western media coverage, imply that this is the first war or conflict to come to Europe since WWI and WWII, that since then such violence and destruction have only existed in developing nations when that is simply not the case– there are many examples– 1990 Balkan/Yugoslav War, the Troubles in Ireland 1968-98 and Bosnian War 1992-1995. Yet these messages continue to imply that western or European nations have elevated above such acts. Professor Moustafa Bayoumi, effectively said: ‘the implication [made by western media platforms] is clear: war is a natural state for people of color while white people naturally gravitate towards peace.’ The right kind of refugee-a phrase perfectly summing up this arrogant western act of distinguishing the profoundness of a community’s agony, civility, and displacement based on nationality and ethnicity. Editors: Blenda Y. Chris F. C., Rachel C.

Humanity has been known to experience a distinctly universal longing for navigating outer space evidenced by countless manned and unmanned space missions taking flight in the last several years. The Artemis I launch under NASA is set to be only the first in a series of missions designed to form a long-term human presence on the moon. The decades-long plan, according to NASA, is to “lead humanity forward to the Moon and prepare us for the next giant leap, human exploration of Mars.” The Artemis mission will also land the first woman and person of color on the moon. Jessica Meir, the astronaut in question is the daughter of Israeli and Swedish immigrants and holds a Ph.D. in Marine Biology. Artemis I is an uncrewed mission that would allow NASA to exhibit the capabilities of their Space Launch Systems (SLS) and the Orion crew capsule. However, technical issues had resulted in the initial launch on August 29, 2022, to be rescheduled to September 3 because of a faulty reading on a sensor. These missions have very specific launch windows largely due to two primary reasons: 1) the movement of the earth and the moon, and 2) maximizing fuel efficiency. On September 3, a two-hour window to launch the mission was set at 2:17 PM EST. However, this was also aborted because of a hydrogen leak that NASA was unable to repair in time. There are two other launch windows available on September 5 and 6, however, NASA has decided to call off the launch as of now. In a webcast interview, NASA Chief Bill Nelson said that the mission managers would convene later to discuss a future launch opportunity and potentially move the rocket back to the assembly building for further troubleshooting, meaning that the launch may be postponed to October. The Artemis mission is a landmark in the history of human space exploration with the program's goal to increase female representation in the program being a key point. Another part of the Artemis mission is to study how radiation affects the human body and what NASA can do to protect their astronauts better on future long-term missions. For now, all we can do is wait and watch how the mission unfolds in the coming months and the anticipated Artemis III in 2025, which will be the first manned moon mission since Apollo 17 in 1972.