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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is something quaint and yet so familiar in sitting at a local bar in a small provincial Italian town where I do not speak nor understand more than a few basic phrases, and yet I can imagine the conversations and sentiments of those sitting around us. A table of four old, weathered men playing cards in a game similar to Hearts brings about a heated conversation between partners that one does not need to speak the language to understand the losing pair is upset by each other’s method of play. All of this brings a smile and a deep sense of joy within. The world may be divided by language, culture, and country, but the fact is that people are people and so much the same—no matter where they grow up or call their ‘country’. It makes me consider my own sense of connection to the world. I was born in Korea and raised in America. Yet, neither make me feel as if I belong. However, when I sit in strange lands where I can barely communicate with words, I find a sense of peace in the gestures, eye contact and facial expressions that can say everything that needs to be said without aural expression. I love to wander back streets and see what the “locals” do and how they live. The truth is that it is simpler for me being a stranger in a truly strange land (to me). There’s no confusion about where I belong or to which culture I identify with. Instead, the human-to-human connection is what gives me a sense of belonging. To make eye contact with a smile lets me know that I am part of this world. I am seen. I am understood. I belong right here, right now—in this or that moment. What else is there, really? Many have questioned my lack of interest in returning to my adoptive country. Some assume that I would want to return to my land of birth. I love being American and all the ideals that are attached to calling myself so. However, I was born in a country that holds my heritage and blood history. Yet, I don’t speak my mother tongue (and probably first language) nor could I easily slip into a world where I could confidently call myself Korean. So, it’s a strange juxtaposition that must constantly be negotiated for definition each time I speak to someone new or settle in a different place. Therefore, being an expat has made the requisite explanations easier to justify or push aside in some ways. This is not to say that I don’t have my frustrations of being asked “Where are you from?” Followed by, “No, where are you really from?” The difference is that I can blame the persistent questions on lack of world exposure or use my "white privilege" to chalk it up to a lack of education. If I were being asked the same questions by my fellow Americans, I would add to my eye-rolling judgment disdain and rage for their ignorance that I am not deceiving them about claiming to be a fellow American. If I were being asked in Korea, I would feel embarrassment or discomfort in the fact that I was born there but not really from there pushing back any underlying disappointment in being a result of a society’s inability to accept unwed mothers so that they can keep their children close. Still, people are people. It’s only me who does not stay put as I wander the world trying to find where I can finally rest and enter the flow of society as one of the crowd. My mother once said to me that there is a selfishness to expats. They leave loved ones behind for their own desires. I am not sure if she meant it as a criticism or a neutral observation, but she wasn’t the only person to tell me this. A childhood best friend also lamented in an email argument some years ago about how I had left her behind without seemingly caring that she had to struggle early adulthood minus a kindred spirit. I do not deny their sentiments as truths nor dismiss their feelings of being ignored or left behind. However, I do argue that there is a selfishness in their perspective as well in that they believe(d) I felt comfortable and content in their kind of world. A world of convention, tradition, and consistency was removed from my future when I was given up for adoption, sent overseas, and thrown unwittingly into a system that would introduce me to abuse, further abandonment, and a struggle for acceptance that I would “belong” to any one family before I had lived eight short years of life. So, while I might have appeared on the outside to fit in. I never did on the inside. Thus, I continue to wander the world. I do not do it alone nor with discontent. In fact, I often feel closer to those with whom I cannot communicate than with those who have known me as an adopted person. In foreign lands, I can be whomever I want to be. My identity does not need to be neatly wrapped up in a box for other’s comfort. Instead, I can be me. I can focus on what is important to me, which is having a human connection to others and finding the commonality of our spirits. When an understood smile is passed in a shared experience that did not require any other form of communication, I renew my faith in individuals, societies, and the world. Indeed, I feel free. I feel I belong as a person, as a global citizen, as a universal Asian.

Mike Talplacido is a Filipino freelance writer and a podcast host based in North Carolina. He enjoys cooking, gardening, hanging out with his two basset hounds, raising backyard chickens, and of course, pop culture! His writing has been published by Moments Between and Queer Southeast Asia. He recently published a book called “Kiss My Mike.” Talplacido decided to publish his book because he felt like there’s not a lot of Filipino-American LGBTQ stories out there, and believes it’s about time we hear about the often unheard Filipino voices and stories. More About Mike Talplacido Born and raised in the Philippines, Mike Talplacido grew up fantasizing about the United States. From famous landmarks to historical events, to pop culture—Mike was obsessed with it all. Aside from belting out hits from divas like Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, binge-watching "Beverly Hills 90210" on TV, and idolizing Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts, Mike’s obsession with watching the Miss Universe pageant year after year caused him to be teased bakla or gay, mostly by his male cousins. As he went through puberty and adolescence, he started questioning his sexual identity. He had a girl crush named Andie in high school, but also found Luke Perry and Keanu Reeves both attractive. As Mike transitioned into adulthood, he discovered a lot more about his sexuality. Additionally, his dreams of moving to America became a reality when he turned 23. Two years later, Talplacido came out of the closet and accepted his gay identity. He then spent the next few years of his life navigating the complex world of being gay in America. Along with that, he went through a series of ups and downs related to his career, his dream of getting an MBA, his family drama and a whole whirlwind of gay sex and pursuit of love, romance, and long-lasting relationships. About “Kiss My Mike” ​"Kiss My Mike" is a memoir about Mike Talplacido’s life as a gay Filipino immigrant in America. It’s a story about navigating sexuality and racial identity, interwoven with the pursuit of the American dream, the pressures of a religious Catholic family, and the ultimate quest for love and acceptance. The book shares about the fabulous but sometimes ordinary adventures of a gay Asian in America. "Kiss My Mike" is like "Sex and the City" but with a Gaysian flavor! And, in a typical Carrie Bradshaw fashion, the question is, will the story end with a happy ending or will it end up with Mike becoming a male version of a cat-lady? You can find out more info about Mike by checking out his website or following him on Instagram.

When I first sat down with Tom Ko, he was already somewhat of a hero to me. We have stood side by side through many rallies. Fighting to bring awareness to the rise in anti-Asian hate crimes happening across the world since the pandemic hit. I had been introduced to him during the first Asians With Attitudes rally in Oakland, California, by Will Lex Ham. He’d been standing right beside me, and we didn’t know it; two strangers in a crowd who’d only known each other through Instagram. We started chatting and I discovered that he traveled to attend rallies just like me. What I didn’t know is that he was doing it while healing from his fourth brain surgery. ​Tom’s very first rally was in Los Angeles, California for They Can’t Burn Us All. He showed up on September 5th, 2020, in McArthur Park, to stand against hate and march the two-mile route, in 108°F heat. A mere six months after undergoing brain surgery to repair a cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) leak. This surgery was the fourth, the first took place in 2000, when he’d been diagnosed with a pituitary adenoma (a tumor located at the base of his skull). ​Let’s rewind to six months earlier: Tom is recovering at home in March 2020. He has ample amounts of time to check out COVID-related information on the news. But, all he ends up seeing are cases starting to be reported of violent attacks against a community of people that look like him. That’s when he made the decision to get active online. Combing through social media he was desperate to find anybody speaking up about this increasing issue. Then, like the universe was answering, a video was posted of a group of people marching through the streets of New York City, holding up signs reading, “Stop Asian Hate,” and yelling chants lead by Will Lex Ham (one of the founders of They Can’t Burn Us All) holding a megaphone. That’s when he felt the call to action. And, he responded. “I thought, I have to do it before I die, before this life is done, there’s no choice, I must,” Tom explains. ​So, he got active. Now, when attending rallies, he can be identified by the two flags he flies, side by side on the same pole: one Vietnamese, one South Korean. The two cultures in him were brought together during a time of war. It seems fitting, then, that it would be coded in his DNA to stand and fight when a battle’s happening all around us. ​Tom was born the last year of the Vietnam War, in Saigon. His biological father was a South Korean soldier stationed there fighting for the allied forces. That’s when he met Tom’s Vietnamese mother. They were only together for a short time before the chaos of war separated them. Believed to have been relocated to a different station, Tom’s mother had no other choice but to flee from Vietnam with her two children. Tom’s brother who was three, and Tom, who was three months old at the time. They arrived in Seoul, South Korea, as refugees—his mother not knowing the language, with two small children to feed and no money. "I consider her the strongest, bravest woman ever. By the simple fact [of] what she did in my childhood years. She survived war. Taking these two children under her arms and getting the fuck out of war-stricken Vietnam. And going into a foreign country and surviving. So, I give her kudos for all of her strength." The family struggled for years, but were fated to end up living a life far from Korea. Stationed in Seoul at the time, Tom’s adoptive father was a career military man from Logansport, Indiana. He had been fighting in wars since he first stormed the beaches of Normandy at the age of 17. He’d then gone on to fight in the Korean and Vietnam Wars, as well as conflicts in the Middle East and Saudi Arabia. "I have that sort of influence of my dad and his stories that he told me about World War II. And just how much pride I had in my white dad and how much I respected him for what he’s gone through." When Tom was 7 or 8, he moved with his new father, mother, and brother across the sea to America, where they settled in Seattle, Washington. "I think it was because of all of his experience in war and everything that he’d seen in war, and the atrocities and death. I think he scooped us up because it was sort of later on in his life, and he wanted to save some innocence from war. And, he just happened to meet my mom and these two kids that really needed help." When speaking to Tom, you can hear the admiration he has for his dad. The two remained close even after his parents divorced during his high school years. Sadly, Tom’s father passed away in 2010 after a battle with cancer. He recalls the exact moment after his father’s death, that he felt the very profound separation from that side of his life. "I was in Indiana for his funeral, and I remember this thought, or I kind of felt like my connection to the white world has ended. I just noticed it, not just because I wasn’t hanging out with my friends that were white. I think that was the beginning of me reconciling things about my Asian heritage and feeling like, I guess I need to connect back with MY heritage now. He’ll always be my father and I’ll never forget that, but the connection was severed." ​Tom explains that he felt a sort of freedom within this realization. He’s began peeling away some of the psychological layers of his white-worshiping conditioning. He explains to me that the more layers he peels away, the more he’s being attracted to his cultures. Also, the more he’s growing in his identity, he’s having trouble not feeling the division between himself and the white relationships he has in his life, especially since the rise in hate crimes toward the Asian community began. Tom isn’t the only one who’s felt the silence of his white family, friends, and co-workers, placing an invisible divide in our relationships. "For those Asians that were raised by white parents, it’s our conditioning our whole lives, and the whole stereotype of being a banana, it’s kind of true. We’re kind of white people inside, because we were raised by white people, and that’s why. That’s the definition. But we’re adults now, and we’re confronting that reality. So, yes, we do have that conflict inside. But we don’t need to feel guilty about their discomfort. Their discomfort has been put on a pedestal forever and ours has been minimized, not even addressed, forever. It’s time for us to actually amplify our discomfort. Sorry for your discomfort, we’re amplifying ours right now." ​Amplifying our discomfort isn’t something Tom’s a stranger to. He’s been fighting hard to raise awareness at his place of work, relentlessly pushing important issues on education about how cases of racism should be handled in the workplace while accomplishing the task of having Anti-Asian Hate awareness banners hung up. For anyone who works for a large company, you’ll know the huge accomplishment this is. Tom plans to keep working toward progress. He’s found his true calling during one of the darkest time’s he’s lived through. ​“Awareness ripples out from one person’s actions. I believe.” ​During my time chatting with Tom, I often felt overwhelmed by the all the struggles, trials, and obstacles he’s had to overcome to get to where he is today. He’s survived a life that is something out of a movie or a novel. The only thing that could possibly be left is a twist ending. ​Tom received a phone call one day. The voice on the other end of the line was a South Korean investigator who specialized in reuniting families. He disclosed that Tom’s biological father had hired him, and that he’d been searching for him his entire life. Since then, Tom has opened communication with him. This has ultimately bravely opened himself up to finally connect with all of who he is. ​He’s a warrior, he’s an artist, he’s a survivor, he’s an activist. He’s Tom Ko the Hybrid.

This piece originally appeared in the now-defunct Gazillion Voices in August 2014 when the writer was in her fifth year of living in Seoul. It has been updated seven years later in August 2021, four and a half years after leaving Seoul, to reflect the passage of time etc. The image above is from Holt Heritage Camp at Camp Lane in Oregon 1986. Stacey, Kim, and Tara are seated fourth row up; second, third, fourth in from the left. I carry with me a bundle of letters. A bundle of letters that I have carried with me every place I have lived in this world—from Lake Worth to London to Mittersill to Vilnius to Minneapolis to Seoul to Portland and to every city/country in between. In this bundle, which I always keep in a place so that if there is a fire I can save them, are letters from Tara Bilyeu Footner. Tara and I met when we were 9 and attending Holt Heritage Camp in Oregon for the first time in the summer of '86. We became lifelong pen pals, and I would dare to say, some 36 years later, we are lifelong friends. When I am asked about my experiences at Holt camps, I cannot speak about them without first mentioning my friendship with Tara, and when I think of Tara I think of Stacey. The three of us all met that summer at camp, and though sometimes months, or even years, can elapse in between, we are still in contact. I value this, and I always will. The first thing that comes to mind when I recall Holt Heritage camp is the friendships. My friendship and correspondence with Tara as we were growing up kept me from feeling so isolated. To know as I wrote her in Oregon from my home in Florida about things such as what it would be like to meet my “birth mother” or what she felt when she thought of her “birth mother” or being adopted…to know that I was not alone in my thoughts/feelings helped me to not only keep sane, but to be honest, it probably at times helped to keep me alive. And so, yes, I do have Holt Heritage Camp to thank for this. My memories of attending camp are nothing but happy and pleasant ones. I first attended at the age of 9 when Holt Heritage Camp was held at Camp Lane in Oregon, and then was a camper when it was at Camp Harlow in Eugene when I was 12. I returned as a counselor in ’94, just days after graduating from high school. I loved my camp counselors—Monica and Julie Mayberry—I loved being a counselor to my cabin of the “8-Non-Blondes,” I loved the friendships, and I loved being around faces that looked like my own. I am amongst the few 200,000 Korean adoptees who can say that not only have I seen Susan Cox dressed up as a giant crawdad, but I have been “anointed” by Susan Cox dressed up as said crawdad for being one of that summer’s good or best campers. I am of the generation of Holt campers in Oregon who crushed out on Chris Linn and John Bae. I was like so many campers who go away from their first experience at a Holt camp saying things like: “I never knew that Korean boys were so cute”; “I feel prouder of being Korean/Cambodian/Indian/etc. than before camp”; “I’ve never had any friends who were adoptees before. I’m going to miss everyone”; and…“I realize how lucky I was to be adopted.” And this is where the genuine sweetness of memory pauses for me as an adult. This is when the other reality of my life kicks in…when the me that is here now, who until my late 20s still identified as “white on the inside, yellow on the outside”; who spent eight years living in Seoul; who has dealt with Holt Korea and other adoption agencies in Seoul and Daegu and seen and experienced first-hand how corrupt their practices are; who was directly lied to by the adoptee search case worker at Holt Korea and was called “a bitter and ungrateful adoptee” by her when I asked for my umma’s name and address… It is then that I view my experiences at camp in a different light. Not in a “bitter” light, but in the light of one who can both appreciate the goodness of an experience and still analyze and critique exactly what it was I was experiencing. I have my bundle of letters, my very sweet memories, and my very dear friendships—all of which I will always be grateful for, all of which I will always cherish. But now, I also have my realizations and experiences as an adult who is engaged in her identity as a queer Korean-American-adoptee. These realizations and experiences do not taint what I cherish. Instead, they help me understand the importance of loving a moment for what it was whilst still being able to critique that moment for what it was. I am now able to tell my story of my experiences at Holt Heritage camps in a more complete manner. When I made kimchi with my 할머니 in the way that she learned from her mother and her mother learned from hers in the hanok that three generations of my family lived and grew up in, I was reminded of how Holt told us in “Korean Cooking Class” at camp that kimchi is made by digging a hole and burying the head of cabbage in the hole for months. No one spoke of the kimchi 온기 (clay pots). No one spoke of the fact that these days you’re more likely to just make it in your kitchen or that you’ll just go to Hanaro or Hyundai department store and buy it, store it in plastic kimchi containers, and stick it in a kimchi fridge. It would be when I was out in Seoul with friends, and on the very rare occasion would order bulgogi and grill it, or had it served on a hot stone platter, that I would be reminded of how we were told in cooking class that “all” Koreans eat bulgogi almost every day and that they eat it cold. I asked my good Korean national friend about this when we were hanging out one night in Seoul, if eating bulgogi like this was some kind of “old-fashioned practice,” to which she responded, with a rather horrified look on her face: “NO! Who told you that? That’s disgusting. Is that what people do in America?” It was when I would find myself in Insadong with someone who was visiting and I would see the hanji (traditional Korean paper made from mulberry bark), that I was reminded that in “Korean Arts and Crafts Class” at camp we were told that basically mulching shreds of newspaper and other scraps of paper in a blender was akin to hanji. It was when I NEVER once saw a circle of children dancing in hanboks to the traditional Korean song of "Arirang" in all my years in Seoul and exploring the nooks and crannies of Korea that I would be reminded of how we were taught this song and dance at camp and were told that this is what children did in Korea—with the implication that this was a pretty regular occurrence. All of which had created an image in my mind as a child, of a country filled with boys and girls in traditional garb dancing about in circles to "Arirang," pretending to fill their imaginary baskets with flowers pretty much non-stop. Instead, what I would see as I walked to my local GS25 편의점 were children running, screaming, and kicking soccer balls or riding their bikes up and down the side streets, whilst the latest song by YG Entertainment’s latest sensation blasted from the 편의점. To be fair, all of these bits of misinformation could be written off as minor cultural mistakes that anyone could make from having read poorly researched tourist books written by authoritative white men one too many times. (Nonetheless, it is worth noting that to this day my friend, who told me about bulgogi not being eaten cold, remains horrified at the thought of heads of kimchi just being plonked in the ground to ferment in the dirt and feels that it’s really too bad that we were told such things. She would tell me that it was good that I lived in Korea so that I could “find out the truth.”) However, there were bigger truths about our Korean identity that were not just merely misconstrued, but omitted. Things like: the existence of yellow fever; the exotification of Asian women in the West; the demasculinization of Asian men in the West; the sexual, emotional, verbal, spiritual, and physical abuse that can happen in adoptive families; how addiction, depression, and suicide are very real issues in the adoptee community; LGBTQ+ identities; how our very bodies will develop and what we can expect; how attachment issues impact romantic and platonic relationships; how internalized racism is a very real thing; etc. Whatever the argument might be for these topics being too heavy for a week of fun at camp, if they were able to find the way to talk to us about our mothers giving us up and show us videos on how physical abuse occurred in privately-run Korean orphanages, thereby “making us even more fortunate to have been saved by Holt,” they could have found a way to give us the tools we would need to thrive in the predominantly white settings that most of us were growing up in. Witnessing the aging of my umma and my 할머니 reminded me how as a child I had never actually seen what my very body might begin to look like. I think back to when Stacey, Tara, and myself were 9 and mortified, as only 9-year-old girls in the States can be, at the thought of using the communal showers at Camp Lane. As we lay in our bunks, which spiraled up the walls of our cabin, we talked about this “shocking” revelation that our bodies were not going to develop like our adoptive moms. We spoke in serious, giggling whispers, about seeing one of the older female campers come out of the shower. “Can you believe she was ok showering without wearing a bathing suit?” we gasped. And then confiding in one another the even “scarier” realization, which was that our areolas were going to look a lot different than we’d ever seen before. “They’re sooooo big…and…brown,” we giggled before falling silent…and then one of us saying: “That’s not what my mom’s look like… are we going to look like that?” There are two ways to view this realization. One is that it was in some way sort of endearing and oddly beautiful, and that because of Holt camp we finally came into this all-important awareness. The other is this: what kind of way is it to grow up, where in 1986, when computers took up entire rooms and 24/7 access to information that the Internet provides did not exist, where by the age of 9 we had absolutely no clue as to what it looks like to be a 15 or 22 or 47 or 63 or 80-year-old Korean person? I have multiple ways of viewing my experiences at Holt Heritage camps. One is that I still carry all of Tara’s letters, and when Tara came to Seoul, we drank soju, and ate forms of gogi (meat) that far surpass the boring tourist cliché of bulgogi. We had a lot of great laughs talking about camp. We reminisced over how when we were 12 we got in trouble for excluding Stacey; how she was really sweet and funny, and we were probably little shits to her sometimes. How when we were 9 we salted the slug outside of the girls bathrooms; how we remembered the A-frame building at Camp Lane; the names of the “boyfriends” we had at camp; how we were so appalled at the thought of communal showers at the age of 9; how we loved Chris Linn; how so-and-so was such a little snob but we couldn’t remember why; how we have photos of Susan Cox dressed up like a crawdad; how we had so much fun doing this or that; how it would be great if one day Stacey, Tara, and myself could all meet up…how being a counselor was a very positive experience for me, and that the things we talked about as campers at 9 and 12 I heard my campers say to me when I was 18. And there is the other way, in which I remember being at camp and watching a video on orphanages in Korea and being told that if you aren’t adopted by 18, you are turned out of the orphanage; that most girls end up as prostitutes, usually in the seedy red light districts of Seoul, and then as prostitutes they would often end up pregnant and would abandon their children on Holt’s doorstep. I remember going home after camp and asking my adoptive mom with a sense of horror: “Is it possible that my ‘birth mother’ was a prostitute?” to which she replied: “Oh no…I’ve dreaded the day you would ask this.” I remember it being made very clear that we were VERY LUCKY to have been adopted, because well, we all know what happens after 18 to Korean orphan girls. I remember being told how lucky we were to not have grown up in Korea, how our lives were so much better. I remember understanding the importance of my being grateful for not having grown up in Korea. I remember that we were told our ummas gave us up because they loved us. I remember being told the “beautiful story” of how Harry and Bertha Holt saved all the “poor war babies,” and then over time, the rest of us…how Bertha Holt, aka “Grandma Holt,” would come to our last day of camp, usually dressed in hanbok, and she would hug us, and I just knew I owed my life to her. I do not recall anyone ever mentioning that “the war babies” were mainly mixed-race children who had been abandoned, along with their ummas, by their American GI fathers and by Korean society; that starting in 1945 when the U.S. military took over “comfort stations” in Korea all the way into the 1990s, the U.S. military and Korean government regulated prostitution in areas surrounding U.S. army bases to specifically service American soldiers. Not a word was mentioned about the known and proven fact that adoptions in the '60s, '70s, and early '80s often involved child brokers hired by Holt Korea and the other agencies, who would coerce women into giving up their children or would work with another member of the family to “kidnap” the child. No one ever said anything about how Korea, left desolate by the war, went through an economic recovery known as “The Miracle on the Han” during the early '50s and was far from a “bad place” to grow up. We were not told the truth that to this day 90% of ummas, who are pressured by agencies like Holt, Korean society, and their families into giving their children up for adoption, are single unwed mothers. Nothing was spoken about how Holt Korea, which is currently housed in a large shiny blue-tinted glass building paid for in part by the profits from the exporting of Korean children to the West, “just so happens” to be, and has for decades been, located at the top of a street that has long been known as one of the red light districts in Seoul. Susan Cox never warned us as campers or counselors that if you one day question Holt and its version of events you WILL be labeled as “bitter” and “ungrateful.” …And for me…for me…more importantly... What they didn’t tell me was that actually my umma had been housed in 1975 at one of Holt Korea’s “secret” single mother homes called “Capok”—a place that they still deny any real knowledge of in terms of what it functioned as, but that I can say for certainty what it was because SHE told me. What they didn’t tell me was that they told her this was her only option—that if she loved me she would give me up. What they didn’t tell me is that they unabashedly lied and said that my date of birth was unknown, when in reality the birthday they “assigned” to me was always my real birthday, and they always knew that because they were housing her at THEIR shelter for unwed pregnant mothers and at least one of them was with my umma the day that I was born, making sure she signed the paperwork to relinquish me. What they didn’t tell me is that she knowingly, with fully informed consent and intent, wrote her name and address so that if I ever wanted to find her I could. What they didn’t tell me was that she returned to Holt looking for me and all they would say was that I was gone. What they didn’t tell her is that Holt Korea and Holt International blatantly lied and told my family I was found abandoned on the doorstep of a hospital, and that they had no records of my umma’s name or address. What they didn’t tell her was that the name she very specifically and thoughtfully chose and gave to me as a sort of “blessing/protection,” they would claim to be some random name that they, Holt Korea, made up for me. What they didn’t tell her was that when I was growing up—during my late teens and 20s—I would regularly write Holt International asking for information, who would then in turn write Holt Korea on my behalf (or so they said), and they would always tell me that there wasn’t any. What they didn’t tell her was that I was always looking for her when she thought I had moved on. What they didn’t tell her is that her child would never forget her, that her daughter would always love her, that her daughter would one day turn heaven and earth upside down to find her, that post-reunion would just be a real bitch…that she would regret the decision that Holt Korea guided her into making as a young 21-year-old girl and that Holt International helped facilitate by brokering her daughter to a family in the States. What they didn’t tell us at camp is that chances were our mothers never wanted to give us up. They didn’t tell us that true love does not equate abandonment; that growing up in the rich white West isn’t better than growing up with your blood. They didn’t emphasize to us that there is NOTHING wrong with referring to your umma as your “real mom” or your “first mother” instead of as your “birth mother.” They didn’t mention that Holt Korea and Holt International work as separate entities, and Holt International, which for their 2020 Annual Report alone publicly declared 23,841,393 USD in total assets, will constantly try to wipe its hands clean of whatever run-around Holt Korea puts you through when you are searching. They did not explain that Holt International refuses to take responsibility for any unethical practices that Holt Korea may or may not have been involved in, and that neither corporation does any real work to promote family preservation in our motherland(s). In fact, they just never talked about the concept of family preservation at camp. They never assured us that questioning the practices of your agency doesn’t make you “bitter” or “ungrateful.” They never affirmed to us that you can truly LOVE your life and the people in it, but still question and call out practices that are corrupt, unethical, and for-profit. However, what they did tell us at camp was that the friendships we would make there would be important. I have a bundle of letters and 36 years of friendship to testify to just how right they were about that.

Play, search the stars, chase the clouds. It has taken millions of years to create that “reality suit” you are wearing. There is nothing on the earth like it. Respect it, explore it, use it. Yes, there is work. There is suffering. There is justice that needs pursuing, but rest, play and wonder. Lay on a hill, feel the synchronicity of all the world in motion and give yourself the gift of play. The things that mushroom will do. The things that mushroom will do to take the spotlight. Venture into the surreal with clouds so full and clear with a pink and gold confection. Flower Mountain with her head in the clouds Living among the Blue Ridge Mountains in Southwest Virginia, I am surrounded by overwhelming beauty every day. I have taken to cloud chasing. Welcome to the Fair Photos of the Salem Fair in Salem, Virginia. The clouds were everything. Cotton Candy Sky A little pink, a little perspective. Hot Round up When I was a teenager this was my favorite ride. Feeling the centrifugal force press me against the wall was the most comforting feeling. The Pink Tent We have so little time at the carnival. Give yourself time to play. All images and text by A.D. Herzel Image inquiries welcome! mailto: notyourkitty18@gmail.com / subject = Photo purchase https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/ad-herzel/shop

While researching this article, I came across countless headlines with a very similar ring to the one above.  Post after post were filled with other writers’ thoughts and viciously opposing opinions. Some spout that anti-Asian hate is being reported by Asian Olympic athletes’ such as karate champion Sakura Kakumai and gymnast Yul Moldauer. While others believe that holding the games in Tokyo as well as the amount of Asian representation in so many categories will surely lower the heightened level of discrimination still being experienced by the Asian community. Meanwhile, another article pointed out the harmful ways the media has often poorly represented the Asian athletes in the past, and therefore, dehumanizes an entire race. Words like “tiny, pint-sized, fragile, and delicate,” have been used to describe both males and females alike. A coach was quoted talking about Asian women’s “very little boobs, and tight hips.” A 16-year-old Olympic skater was nicknamed “China doll,” by journalists. Author of "Transnational Sport: Gender, Media, and Global Korea" Rachel Joo was quoted saying, “If we’re going to talk about bodies, let’s not generalize by race or nation.” I came across another piece from earlier Olympic reporting with a sub-headline that read, "American Outshines Kwan." Unsure how that connected with the Olympics, I clicked the link. This was my first time reading about the time the media previously made a huge oops after figure skater, Michelle Kwan, from California, lost the gold medal to a New Yorker named Sarah Hughes. As you can see, the headlines like this are problematic given both competitors were, in fact, American and continues even today. And, while the Internet can squabble among themselves, trying to speak over each other on how the Olympics will or won’t stop Asian hate, I simply want to say—none of it matters. Sure, there’s validity that the recent attacks will be affecting these athletes’ mentally. But, at the end of the day, this event isn’t going to erase racism. These athletes aren’t here as crusaders for this cause. They’re here to do what they’ve trained their whole lives for: kick some serious butt! I’m not someone who normally watches the Olympics. But, in the spirit of writing this, I decided to tune in for a while. I was fortunate enough to start watching just as the Team USA's gymnasts were beginning. My focus was immediately drawn to Sunisa Lee, a Hmong American from St. Paul, Minnesota, not because she was Asian, but because her performances in all her subdivisions were powerfully dynamic yet gave an illusion of effortlessness. Her body vaulted up into the air, flipped and twisted as her limbs remained tensed before her feet planted squarely on the blue mat, arms reflexively jetted upwards in a proud "V." As I watched her, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Maybe it was simply because I didn’t realize how powerful or beautiful gymnastics are. Or, maybe it was because, for one of the first times in my life, I was seeing this girl lighting up the screen in front of me, and I resembled her. And, although I’d never heard her name or laid eyes on her before this moment, I was overwhelmed with pride in her. Watching her, my face mirrored the faces of her family members, who would flash onto the screen, broadcasted from their home as the scores were waiting to be announced. All of Lee’s loved ones squashed together on every piece of furniture, smiling, and cheering, and crying, letting the world know that they were behind her all the way, supporting her with their whole hearts, a warmth that you could actually feel radiating through the screen. Every time Lee would twist into the air, and then nail the landing, my chest swelled with pride. Every time she’d walk off the mat smiling ear to ear, I beamed with joy and cried, as though her triumphs were saying to the entire planet, “Do I look weak to you?” Then, I watched Yul Moldauer, from Denver, Colorado. His gymnastics performance exhilarated me. His speed and proficiency executing strenuous maneuvers had me watching with my mouth gaping open as he spun his legs over and around the pommel horse with his arms straight and firm as they suspended his body while walking forward and back on his hands across the apparatus. Every subdivision he performed in had me straining at the edge of my seat as he would hold himself horizontally, his body in a perfectly straight line, as he gripped a gymnastic ring in each hand. The silver metal rings hanging from their own individual chains that attached to a high overhead bar. The feat seemed impossible. A magic trick. Then, he would flip his body a couple times before flinging himself up toward the ceiling and landing perfectly in one spot. His arms shot up above his head, hands clenched in prideful fists before he yelled out through a huge, satisfied smile. Every time they won, I felt like I was also winning. And, every moment you could see them feeling pride in themselves, it made me feel pride in myself. I felt proud to see their representation of all the strength, perseverance, and resilience the entire Asian American community has inside them. I felt proud I looked like them. I felt proud that finally, after Asians have been made to appear so weak over the last year and a half, we were able to show our strength—our fighting spirits and the power we have to move mountains. I felt proud to be Asian AND American, for the first time in a very long time. So, when I say, none of it matters—whether the Olympics will aid in stopping anti-Asian hate—what you should take away is, maybe it’s okay to not put our agendas on these athletes and Tokyo. Maybe it’s okay to simply let them do what they do, and in showing up, they’ve already won a huge battle. Our children will have people who look like them to look up to. Asian names will become more familiar to hear and see. People will gain more awareness to all the different range of ethnicities among the Asian population. Maybe, there is good that can be found, if everyone would just stop for one minute…and watch the Olympics.

We are pleased to introduce Dominic, Geoff, and Andrew in their own words on who they are and how the "4Bananas" Podcast came to be. Can you tell us a bit about who you all are? Dom: I’m Dominic, and I was born in Malaysia and grew up in Sydney, Australia. I’m a single child and an extrovert. You will often find me browsing OzBargain for a good deal or diving into one of my hobbies. Geoff: My name is Geoff. I’m a mechanical engineer graduate, started working in the tech consulting field, but eventually quit my job to pursue art full time. Why? Because I’m a weeb and just want to draw 2D waifus all day. Andrew: I’m Andrew and I’m an Asian-Australian that started the "4Bananas" Podcast as a hobby to express our views of living as an Asian within Australia. In my spare time, you can find me playing Genshin Impact and watching Netflix. How did you start the podcast? Andrew: So, the podcast came about as a spur of the moment idea one morning when trying to think of other hobbies to undertake that could be done even during lockdown. Having enjoyed some podcasts from Asian-Americans primarily during the COVID lockdown period, I thought it would be great to create a podcast focused on Asian-Australians. It would be a different view on Asian traditions and culture, and would allow people around the world to see what it was like growing up as an Asian-Australian. What is the aim behind this podcast? Dom: The aim of this podcast is to share our experiences of being Asian in a predominantly Western country whilst having a laugh along the way. Our episodes generally cover all aspects of life, but we try to focus on topics that Asian-Australians encounter throughout life, such as expectations from parents, celebration of the Lunar New Year, and the effects of technology. With the three of us being born overseas in Asia and brought up in Australia, we know many of our listeners have varying levels of connection with their heritage, and so we seek to empathise via our personal experiences. Combining these experiences with a healthy dash of interesting facts, we have learnt a lot, and we hope this podcast will broaden the perspectives of our listeners. What advice would you give to those who want to start their own podcast? Geoff: We had no idea what we were doing during Season 1 recording. We looked at other Asian podcast channels for research and inspiration. However, the process of putting the episode together was something we still had to work out. Throughout Season 1, it was mostly trial and error. However, there were a few things that definitely helped us reach a point where the process became super comfortable for the three of us. Shared vision: We all agreed on a vision for this podcast, which is to be light-hearted and fun. Therefore, when making an episode, we were all on the same page when creating content. Consistent schedule: All three of us are working full-time. A consistent schedule allowed us to commit to this podcast. Not to mention the unspoken accountability a consistent schedule brings. Right tools for the right job: I know I said the process was very trial and error, but even our trial and error had a process. We used Metro Retro and Trello (free online tools) to make incremental improvements to our process week by week. Correct equipment: This is obvious advice and a no-brainer. But, for our first episode we recorded the session with a laptop mic, thinking it was no big deal. It was a big deal and editing was a nightmare, the episode didn’t even sound nice post-edit. What are your general feelings towards the podcast right now after doing two seasons? Geoff: I joined this podcast because it seemed fun, but it has become an extremely interesting self-discovery experience for me. In the early stages of our podcast, we had a really hard time brainstorming ideas for episodes because we asked ourselves: “What is something Asians would do? What is something only Asians would understand?” But the truth is that we’re already Asian; whatever we did would 100% be relatable to others with upbringings similar to us. From that point on, I started discovering more about myself and how both Western and Asian cultures have influenced me. Living life day by day, my habits and superstitions were things I took for granted. But, each episode had me reflect on myself, how my past influenced who I am today, what I value in the present, and what I want to do in the future. Dom: Like many of the hobbies i dive into #seekdiscomfort, I enjoy the struggles of learning and the challenges that come with a new project. With the podcast, I’ve had consistent opportunities to play around with editing softwares and techniques, which compliment my other hobbies of videography and photography. Having social accounts for the podcast has also allowed me to have a creative outlet that otherwise would be almost non-existent. For me, the podcast is a voice to young Asian-Australians who might be going through or [are] yet to face challenges that I’ve already passed through. It is a voice and mentor that I wish I had when I was younger. Andrew: Creating this podcast was primarily a hobby for me, and it has been super fun throughout the past two seasons. Creating something from scratch has always brought excitement for me, and through this podcast I was able to have control over every aspect of the process. From recording and editing to social media creation and scriptwriting, each task has brought on its challenges, but has also exposed me to a new way of problem solving and communicating. The podcast has also allowed me to be more in touch with my Asian heritage, and it has been a great way to share my perspective with the world. I hope that listeners are able to learn something unique from this podcast and are able to embrace their Asian heritage as we live in a more globalised community. You can listen to "4Bananas" here. Follow on Instagram @4BananasPodcast.

First generation Chinese-American Henry Zhang shares his story in "Dragons on the Spectrum." After nearly being institutionalized for his rage—caused by people close to him claiming he had no future due to him being autistic with ADHD along with ableism prevalent in the AAPI community—Henry (Hen) Zhang got his life together with the help of an MMA gym that gave him a place to train in exchange for tech support, somebody he fell in love with—a classmate who taught him social skills—and a fellow martial artist who connected with him due to shared activities. Zhang moved up the professional ladder (initially masking as a neurotypical), as a school psychologist, a doctoral student, and by running his own tech start-up when he encountered a new problem in 2020: a violent form of anti-Asian racism that the country pretends does not exist. From this, Zhang was forced to use what he learned in leading a double life, with the help of people he formed relationships with, by kicking off an initiative that helps keep those around him out of the hospital or morgue, all while being a psychology doctoral student in a school that is oblivious to what his community has to face. To read more of Henry Zhang’s story, you can get his book "Dragons on the Spectrum" on Amazon. Zhang also offers self-defense classes through Dragon Combat Club (@dragoncombatclub) in NYC and remotely. Sign up here to get more information. You can connect with Hen on Instagram or his website.