Asian Outlook | Spring 2022 Issue #1 by Asian Outlook

ASIAN OUTLOOK

April 2022 Vol. XLII, Issue 1

Little Barker Steamed Eggs Recipe Chinese New Year Traditions

Volume XLI, Issue 1

contents ASIAN OUTLOOK 2 ASIAN OUTLOOK

letter from the editor... Dear Readers, Welcome to the first magazine of the Spring 2022 semester! Thank you to everyone who submitted to the magazine! The pieces we recieve are always filled with passion, and all of us at Asian Outlook are very grateful for everyone sharing their talents with us. Secondly, a huge thank you to the magazine team. You all do so much work for this magazine, and all the editing and creating really pays off! I hope you are able to enjoy this magazine as well as any you have or may come accross. Though this magazine is written by strangers, these are stories that are familiar to all of us. There is no specific theme to this magazine, but there are a lot of stories about the New Year and the Olympics which are both very important events! I wanted to make this issue’s cover simple, yet beautiful so I hope everyone who sees it feels a sense of comfort. I hope everyone finishes this semester strong and have a great rest of your time here or wherever you are. And finally, this is a reminder that you belong, no matter what you look like, who you identify as or how you speak. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the magazine! <3 Celeste Pietrzak Conscience Editor

ASIAN OUTLOOK EXECUTIVE BOARD SPRING 2022 President Vice President Secretary Conscience Editor Financial VP Events Coordinators Layout Editors

Copy Editors

Publicity Media Producers

General Interns

Grace Chen Anita Liu Courtney Fu Celeste Pietrzak Shirley Dong Kaysie Liang Vivian Zhu Megan Pan Anna Liu Nan Lin Suhyeon Kwon Courtney Fu Masatami Cauller Jessica Kwok Kathryn Lee Jina Wu Yaying Zhao Crystal Lin Kathryn Kwon Claire Choi Jasmine Ku Kaitlin Wan Fatima Gonzalez Michelle Chan Tina Oh Adrian Wu

EDITORIAL POLICY

Asian Outlook is the art, literary and news magazine of the Asian Student Union of SUNY’s Binghamton University. Originally conceived and created to challenge, redefine, re-imagine and revolutionize images and perceptions associated with Asians and Asian Americans, Asian Outlook also serves to protect the voice of those in the minority, whether by ethnicity, gender, and/or political orientation. All matter contained within these beautiful pages do not necessarily reflect the views of the editorial board. Asian Outlook reserves the right to edit submissions and publish work as deemed appropriate. Prospective contributors are encouraged to discuss their work with the editors prior to submissions. All submissions may be submitted as e-mail attachments to ao.editor@ gmail.com.

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Uninvited contact with writers and contributors is strictly prohibited. Please direct all questions, comments and complaints to ao.editor@gmail.com. E-mail us at: ao.editor@GMAIL.com For more info check us out on facebook: FACEBOOK.com/asianoutlook/ Look at our past issues on Issuu: ISSUU.com/asianoutlook Inside Outlook Podcasts: SOUNDCLOUD.com/asianoutlook

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little barker By Kathryn Lee

n November 3, 1957, Soviet scientists launched the second artificial satellite into space — Sputnik 2. For the first time, a passenger would be on board: a small black-and-white dog named Laika.1 Laika’s origins are undocumented. She was a stray from the streets of Moscow, chosen because scientists believed her experience fending for herself prepared her for harsh space conditions. She was plucked from one hard life to an even harder one — one that few humans, let alone dogs, would imagine possible for themselves. Tetherless, loveless Laika had no name before she encountered the scientists, and they were equally at a loss for what to call her. They experimented: with names like Kudryavka, “little curly”; Limonchik, “little lemon”; Damka, “little lady.” These names stretch only as far as interpreters’ imagination, and died with some of the Sputnik scientists who knew Laika as they brushed their fingers over her downy coat and coaxed her into trusting them. But it is not hard to imagine that a little dog with onyx eyes, like little shining pearls of black, could have encompassed being curly, like a lemon and like a lady all at once. The scientists eventually settled on an intensely practical name: Laika, literally, “barker.” Gone was the timid affection of “little curly,” “little lemon,” “little lady.” This was a dog, an animal, a soon-to-be dead one at that, though Laika hardly knew it herself. After being scooped from the icy streets and placed under the scrutiny of dozens of men and women, what did she think? Was she grateful to be petted — was she petted? Was she confused — or did she luxuriate in the attention? Did her ears perk up at the sound of footsteps — did she whine at people to play with her, did she sleep on her side or on her stomach? Dogs in the flight program were spun in centrifuges and fed food in jelly form2 to prepare them for conditions in outer space. While there were many dogs in the program, scientists decided who would board Sputnik 2 less than two weeks before takeoff. Albina, another dog in the program, was rumored to have outperformed Laika in tests3, but had recently given birth. Her name is not the one that children around the world, slumped in hard plastic chairs in front of blackboards, learn. Albina’s handlers were too attached to let her go. Laika had no such defenders. So she — two years old, black-and-white, stray from Moscow, curly, little lemon, little lady — was chosen for the mission that would immortalize her. Civilians updated on the Sputnik 2 project — Soviet and otherwise — agonized over her survival. The Los Angeles Times reported that Laika would be fed poisoned food after orbiting for a week and die painlessly. It was important that Laika, floating thousands of miles above anyone that had ever known her, pass without suffering.

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/remembering-laika-space-dog-and-soviet-hero https://www.britannica.com/topic/Laika 3 https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/sad-story-laika-space-dog-and-her-one-way-trip-orbit-1-180968728/ 1

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But she would pass. She would die. It was an inevitable conclusion even to the animal rights activists who bemoaned the dangers of the mission and demanded its end. And when all was said and done, few people cared about a singular dog. This was the era of duck-and-cover and proxy wars. If ending either of those things meant launching and forgetting about a single canine, then better one dog than millions of people. Dr. Vladimir Yazdovsky, one of the scientists on the Sputnik 2 project, took Laika home with him the night before she paid for human progress with her own life. She played with his children, and here we have to fill in the gaps ourselves: perhaps she played fetch with them. She yipped at them. She rolled around on carpet or tile or hardwood. She was allowed to be a dog for the first time in her life, in a short, shimmering purgatory between living on the streets and dying in a void. “I wanted to do something nice for her,” said Yazdovsky. “She had so little time left to live.” Laika went from a warm home to the vestibule that would serve as her coffin. A female scientist broke protocol and fed her before launch — a death row meal. At 5:30 a.m., Laika left earth, never to return. Her heart rate tripled. Her breath rate quadrupled. She died a few days after reaching orbit, reported Soviet scientists, insisting also that she had died painlessly. Their 1950s audience breathed a sigh of relief, shook their heads in that’s too bad, but oh well, that’s what it is, and moved on with their lives. The 1960s boasted Armstrong and the end of the Space Race, the 1980s toppled the Berlin Wall and the 1990s ushered in McDonald’s in Moscow. And in 2002, Sputnik scientists admitted that Laika had not died a few days into orbit as had been reported forty-five years earlier. Under immense time pressure, they did not fully test the cooling system aboard the spacecraft. Laika died from overheating, suffering from temperatures upwards of ninety degrees. She burned up—Laika, little barker, trapped in a metal orb where no one could hear her cry. Since Laika’s death, myriad tributes have been made to her, including a stone monument in Moscow. Perched atop a rocketesque pillar, she looks nobly down at admirers. It is a stark contrast from the photos of her at launch, in which she is tucked into a metal seat like a child forced into a high chair. Her tongue lolls out slightly — the single detail in the scene reminding viewers of her existence as a dog rather than a name in a textbook. The stone monument is to honor Laika — to present her as she is known retrospectively, as a pioneer who proved that living beings can exist in space — and yet there is an undeniable aura of head-bowing, of eye-averting. “The more time passes, the more I’m sorry about it,” said one of the scientists on the Sputnik 2 project. “We shouldn’t have done it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog.” Laika, little barker, stray from Moscow, unknowing and unwilling pioneer — the best-known dog in history and the best betrayed.

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The Chained Women of The story fo a Xuzhou mother of eight Found with a chain around her neck To the wal of a dorles shack heS goes by the name Xiao HuaMei oldS 3 times for hundreds of dolars Many going through the same hors R ting the backward hi eprsn C na Journalist silenced and others en c sored Instead, stars of the Winter Olympics centerd Let Xiao HuaMei’s story be heard For they are also human Jina Wu

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To Chinatown, My home away from home. The heart of my childhood. When I’m away from you I miss all the little things I’ve taken for granted. I miss your vibrance: the way the lanterns strung above the street light the path between your restaurants that stand juxtaposed with your bakeries. The smell of the freshly cooked meat hung by the windows made to entice passersby escaping through the cracks of the vents. The chefs cook rhythmically with unchanging precision while the steam fogs up the glass. Meanwhile, the bakery at the corner of your block displays rows of breads and cakes for all to marvel at. Take your pick between sweet and savory: breads filled to the brim with egg custard, coconut cream, or maybe even red bean paste, while half are filled with curry or char siu (Chinese BBQ pork). I miss the sound of Cantonese that filled your air; the way conversations would leave no corner feeling empty. The way it had the capacity to fill open areas like the park where all the elderly Chinese people would go to gossip over their games of mahjong and Chinese poker. I miss the refreshing taste of bubble tea that was able to satisfy my addiction: fruity or milky tea with different jellies, pudding, or tapioca toppings to choose from. I loved how easily I could plan meetups with friends by simply mentioning bubble tea and just walk around with them for hours. I love it when the summer is in full swing and they block off the alley on Doyer St. so that the brightly painted street doubles as outdoor seating. I love that the shade of your buildings blocking out the afternoon sun provides great relief from the sweltering heat. But what’s most memorable is the way your street mural illuminates and emanates the warmth and comfort of this hidden corner at the peak of noon. I miss celebrating Lunar New Year on your streets during the chilly days of the early months of the year. Confetti covers every corner and crevice it can find its way into to the point where I can no longer see the dark asphalt and concrete of the path below my feet. Streamers that were popped into the air find themselves dangling from light posts, fire escapes, and electrical wires, making everywhere I look an explosion of colors. All the while, drums can be heard in every direction I go; all following their own beat, yet matching the one of my heart. Cymbals clash within the sounds of the crowd, complementing the deep resonating sounds of the drums. Different lion dance groups wander through the crowds and weave their way through each other as they go in and out of your stores. Various performances take place a few feet apart from one another and yet they don’t clash, each maintaining their individual presences as their perfected choreography is presented to the anticipating onlookers. Large ornate lion puppets adorn at least four colors patterned with fluffy trims that catch the eyes of many. For many, witnessing all these stimuli at once may be overwhelming, but I thrive in it. The elation that bubbles up within me can only be likened to pure childish excitement. All these things—small or big, individual or combined—are a source of genuine happiness for me and though it is difficult to verbalize, I’ve tried and will continue to try my best. The warmth and giddiness I feel when I think about all the experiences I’ve had and the many more I will have are indescribable yet within reach. The sadness I’ve felt about the way COVID-19 has ripped into you is excruciating. But I know that the strength and resilience of your people can withstand the harsh adversities and restore you full of life once again. So until then, I will continue to think fondly of and share with others the beauty that I see and feel about you.

With overwhelming love, Kaysie Liang

Vol. XLII, Issue I 7 Photo from Ludwig Favre

By Vivian Zhu

ith the 2022 Winter Olympics coming to a close, we can’t deny that this year’s Olympics felt different from years previous. Even considering the trials and tribulations brought on by COVID-19 during the Tokyo Summer Olympics, something about the Beijing Winter Olympics felt off as it became an extremely politicized event. Many countries have resolved to diplomatically boycott this year’s Olympics because of the human rights issues that China has failed to address. These issues mainly concern China’s determination in oppressing the Uyghur population in China, while denying their actions on all fronts. The consequence of holding the Olympics in Beijing this year meant that instead of the spotlight being focused on the hard-working athletes who have waited four years for this opportunity, it turns the attention to the Chinese government and international relations.

Along with this distraction, an increasing amount of sinophobia can be seen through the criticism of specific ChineseAmerican athletes. The unfortunate amount of anti-Asian/ Chinese sentiment that surged since the beginning of the pandemic has led Americans (and other nationalities) fail to distinguish the difference between the Chinese government and its people or culture. Eileen Gu, the 18 year-old Asian American skier who earned two gold medals for China has been criticized for choosing to represent a country that she was not born and raised in. This drew a lot of criticism because many could not wrap their heads around why Gu chose to represent an authoritarian government that infringes on human rights. What manypeople do not realize is that Gu is ethnically Chinese, so Image from USA Today

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Image from USA Today Sports

Figure skating was also the highlight of the 2022 Winter Olympics. Nathan Chen had finally earned the gold medal for the men’s single event and Kamila Valieva was thrown into the spotlight after a positive drug test. Regarding 15 year old Valieva, the IOC and her coaches failed her as they let her continue performing despite her positive drug test, and with the whole world watching her next move, she crumbled under the pressure during her free skate and placed fourth in the women’s singles. The emotional trauma that the Olympics have caused her is immeasurable, and the responsibility falls completely on the Russian team and their coaches, as well as the IOC that continued to let her perform. Kamila Valieva is still a minor and her chance to showcase her talent during her Olympic debut was overshadowed by the poor decisions that her guardians made.

Image from Team USA

While it is very much deserved, it’s interesting to see the amount of praise Nathan Chen received after winning the gold medal for the United States, even though he is an Asian-American in the same way Eileen Gu is. There seems to be criticism for Gu only as she didn’t help the United States “win” this competition, but it becomes extremely hypocritical when you consider the realities Asian-Americans face in their everyday lives. Why should she be labeled as a traitor when this country has done nothing to stop the violence against Asians/AsianAmericans since COVID-19? In the end, the 2022 Winter Olympics were a demonstration of toxic nationalism and pride that came at the expense of the young athletes that only hoped to achieve their dreams. With the Winter Olympics coming to an end on February 20th, there is hope for a more refreshing, obstacle-free event in France.

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Olympics 2022: The Ice Prince Yuzuru Hanyu By Shirley Dong

idely regarded as one of the greatest figure skaters of all time, Japan’s Ice Prince, Yuzuru Hanyu is the first Asian men’s single skater to win gold during the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics. He defended his title again at the 2018 Olympics in Pyeongchang. All eyes were on this year’s Olympics to determine whether the two-time reigning champion would be the first figure skater in 94 years to win three consecutive men’s single figure skating titles since 1928. However, Hanyu himself suggested he was more focused on being able to land a quadruple axel than obtaining his third gold medal. The risky quadruple axel is referred to as “Holy Grail of ice skating” or “the king of jumps’’ due to the difficulty of completing 4.5 rotations. This move has maintained its reputation as the only quad jump that has never been successfully executed in competition. He told the Japan Times, “the main reason I chose to compete in Beijing is because I want to land the quad.” To everyone’s surprise, he had missed an opening jump of his short program - the quad salchow - due to getting caught in a “hole on the rink.” It turned the planned quadruple Salchow to a single Salchow, which left him with a surprisingly low score of 95.15 in the short program and in eighth place. But many fans rushed to social media to voice their support and sympathy. Taiwanese fan Deng Yi-Hsein said in an Insider interview, “A single error does not take anything away from what a legend he is. He will always be a two-time Olympic gold medalist and a prince in our hearts.” Another fan said, “Every performance is his best.”

Yuzuru Hanyu at the Beijing Olympics

Image from Insider

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Many looked toward his free skating performance where he would attempt the quad axel. His first attempt to land a quad axel was during the Japanese Figure Skating Championships 2021-2022. While the International Skating Union acknowledged he was the first skater to attempt a quad axel in an ISU-sanctioned competition, it was not deemed a quad axel because he did not complete the required rotations, and he landed on both feet. His attempt was credited with a triple axel, lowering the total point value. At last year’s Olympics, he made history while performing “Ten to Chi to (Heaven and Earth)” by Isao Tomita. However he was still less than a half-rotation from completing the axel and took a fall while landing. He was still proud of this accomplishment despite this setback, and said, “This axel was the quad axel I had done so far.” He attempted this jump after spraining his ankle during practice and taking six doses of painkillers. Therefore, he will take a break after the games in order for his ankle to heal property and to reflect on this experience.

Fans cheer on Yuzuru Hanyu outside of the figure skating venue for the Beijing Olympics after the men’s free skate on Thursday in Beijing. Image from Japan Times

Overall, he finished fourth place in the competition, and all the comments from netizens were positive. With his popularity transcending political tensions between Japan and China, Hanyu has always been a crowd favorite in China. His nickname #Yuzu and #4A (quadruple axel) were the most-searched words on Weibo, China’s Twitter, and his arrival in Beijing generated headlines. To prevent the spread of coronavirus, tickets for the Beijing Olympics were not sold to the public and gifts, such as flowers and stuffed animals, were not permitted. However, fans, armed with banners and his signature Winnie the Pooh dolls, waited outside the skating stadium in order to show their outpouring of support for him. It was a relief the showering of Winnie the Pooh dolls did not occur this Olympics because Winnie the Pooh is banned in China for the striking resemblance to Chinese President Xi Jinping. Although he did not win a medal, he definitely secured a place in ice skating fans’ hearts this Olympics for his valiant efforts.

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The Legend of the Underground Dragon By Serena Gao

n Chinese folk religion, the concept of immortal spirits or gods coexisting with humanity is a prominent theme. One such being is the Tudigong (土地公, earth god), a spirit who lives underground and is in charge of a particular area where humans also live.

When building a new house to live in, or moving into an existing house that would be remodelled, it was customary to perform a literal ground breaking ritual. The ritual involves a feng shui master picking an auspicious date to officially start constructions and the homeowner praying to Tudigong to ask for permission and blessings to build there. Otherwise, they risk taking on the negative energy inherited from the previous house, or worse, angering the gods underground who may bring misfortune as retribution. Even though many people in modern day China don’t believe in the importance of these feng shui rituals anymore, there are famous stories about the consequences of not following them. One in particular involves the Yan’an Gaojia expressway that connects Hongqiao airport to The Bund (a waterfront historical and business district) in Shanghai, where one pillar stands larger than the rest, adorned with nine bronze dragons wrapping around it. The story differs depending on the Shanghai local but it always goes something along the lines of this: In 1995, when the construction workers were building this expressway, they ran into difficulties drilling holes in the ground for the foundation. No matter what tools or equipment they used, they were unable to drill deep enough. Some began to immediately suspect interference from spirits underground, but because modern day China was officially atheist, the government rejected plans to redirect the road around the area. So the construction company then secretly invited feng shui masters to take a look. They found that the dragon guardinged Shanghai was residing directly underground in that spot—its body blocking them from drilling further. A monk from Longhua Temple agreed to perform a religious ceremony to invite the dragon out on a particular day, during which they could drill without obstacles. The day comes and, lo and behold, they are able to finish drilling all the necessary holes. In the days following, the monk died of unknown causes before he could return to his temple. One of the government officials involved with the project developed cancer and died several months later, and other individuals of importance suffered varying degrees of misfortune. Consequently, the workers carved dragons onto the pillar as an apology to appease the gods. The story of the dragon of Shanghai is a reflection of a time when fengshui was an important part of Chinese culture, as indicated by the people’s respect for the power of the immortal gods. Whether or not this specific story and others are necessarily true, they stand as a testament to the culture and the values of Chinese people.

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Koreaboohoo See Me As I Am

By Kathryn Kwon

The rise of K-Pop, as I and many other Korean people can agree, has no doubt been beneficial to South Korea. Because of names like BTS and Blackpink, our economy has soared and people world-wide now recognize our culture. However, there is also something entirely frustrating about K-Pop’s booming popularity; there is such a willingness to allow fetishization and overlook microaggressions in the name of so-called admiration. But I think it’s safe to say that fanatics have gone too far and idolization is a poor excuse for racism. When I was in high school, K-Pop was starting to reach unprecedented levels of popularity. My peers were listening to Korean music on a daily basis, and there was love for a culture I used to shy away from. My food was no longer “smelly.” It was delicious. The syllables of my culture were not looked down upon. It was “in” and “cool.” To see Korea blooming before me was beautiful, and I was swelling with pride for my identity as a Korean-American. But the other shoe always drops. 17-year old me came face-to-face with the drawback of Korea’s rise when one of my classmates audibly gasped upon finding out my heritage and pestered me with a friendship of which the sole basis was because I was Korean. I was a spectacle, an animal on display, reduced to her obsession with idols that didn’t know she existed. In her eyes, I was a connection to the groups she watched on the screen and not a human being standing before her. She couldn’t look past her fanatics and see my personhood. It was dehumanizing, and it stuck with me. Now, I stay wary of the friends that I make because who knows if they’re actually interested in me, the human being. I will always be a fan of K-Pop. BTS was a group I’ve supported from their beginning, and Stray Kids is a group in nearly every music rotation of mine. I will always love what K-Pop has done for a small country in southeast Asia long overshadowed by others; but I resent how “fans” have manipulated the rich history of my culture to fit their fanatics.

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Chinese New Year Traditions By Jasmine Ku

Image from Unsplash

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he delicious aromas of Szechuan spice and peppercorns, pork, and red bean filled my nose as a waiter brought heavenly plates of mapo tofu, fried sesame balls, soup dumplings and other dishes to the big table. While digging into the familiar taste of chicken and broccoli, my friend asked the table, “How do you guys normally celebrate Chinese New Year?” Memories of firecrackers, and lions dancing at the Chinese New Year parade in Chinatotwn; red envelopes; and Ferrero Rocher flowed to the surface, arousing a warm feeling of nostalgia within me. As I listened to my friends talk about their New Year traditions, I stared in confusion. They reminisce about eating black sesame rice ball soup (tang yuan), dumplings, and rice cakes—all of which I didn’t remember doing with my family. When the discussion of taboos and superstitions arose, I decided to look some up. Reading through taboos such as hair washing, sweeping, and porridge, I laughed to myself—realizing that I had done all those things on that very New Year’s day. An intimate, disheartening feeling began to creep into the back of my mind, one I had not felt since middle school. The voice in my head whispered, “You’re not Asian enough. You are Americanized.” Throughout middle school and high school, I was surrounded by a population that, more or less, shared my facial features and culture. As a result, thankfully, I experienced very little of the racial prejudice that others are subjected to when with people that do not understand a culture or identity. Despite being with people of the same culture, I never felt “Asian” enough— I was often told of how “Americanized” I am. I felt ashamed of myself because I didn’t know any Mandarin, and very little Cantonese. I never learned to play mahjong, because my family didn’t play it. And when friends come over to my house, they would say, “Wow, your house doesn’t feel Asian at all” or “Your house is very Americanized.” To prove how Asian I was to them, and myself, I would joke about Asian stereotypes: “I’m eating a dog for lunch,” “You’re Asian if you got an A in math”, or “Look at how my eyes squint.” Looking back, I’m disappointed in myself. Now I’m in college and more secure in my identity. When I think about how my family plays Chinese Poker, eats handmade sticky rice (zongzi), and watches shows I don’t understand on Chinese cable, I feel a sense of pride and happiness for my family’s traditions—even if we don’t partake in the same ones as other Chinese families. I’m not any less “Asian” than anyone else just because I don’t eat dumplings on Chinese New Year.

C C C C C C C CCC O O O O OOO OO N N N NNNNN SSSSSSS CC C CCC I I I I I EEEE NNN CC E conscience Vol. XLII, Issue I 15

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I miss my cat

By Sherry Weng

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BLISTER B Y : A NNA B E L L E C H E N G

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Steamed Eggs by Anna Liu

Growing up, I remember my mood brightening up every time my mother brought out this delicious dish. When I learned how to make it with her, it blew my mind how simple the recipe was. Steamed eggs are a staple in many eastern countries and made differently in each family. This is how my family makes it. Photo from Australian Eggs

Ingredients

Cooking Utensils • • • •

4 eggs

A can of chicken broth (about 2 cups)

Chopped green onion for garnish (optional)

Fork or chopsticks A bowl A steaming rack A wok/pot that can fit your bowl and steaming rack • Mittens/kitchen towel

Instructions 1. Crack all the eggs into a bowl and pour in the can of chicken broth. If a can of broth is too salty for your tastes, you can use ¾ of the can and replace the remaining ¼ with water. 2. With the fork/chopsticks, stir in one direction vigorously until every piece of egg is fully incorporated and emulsified. This will take a few minutes but it will be worth it for the velvety texture of the finished product. 3. Place the steamer rack in the wok/pot and pour in enough water so that the bowl will be submerged most of the way when it is added in. 4. Turn your stove on high heat. Once the water boils, place the bowl of egg mixture on the steaming rack and place the lid on. 5. After waiting 10 minutes, turn off the stove. The bowl can then be removed from the wok using mittens. If desired, add your garnish before serving. Vol. XLII, Issue I 19

Meet the President Grace Chen

Vice President Anita Liu

Financial Vice President Shirley Dong

Layout Editor Anna Liu

Secretary/Layout Editor Courtney Fu

Conscience Editor Celeste Pietrzak

Layout Editor Megan Pan

Layout Editor Nan Lin

Events Coordinator Vivian Zhu

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Layout Editor Suhyeon Kwon

Events Coordinator Kaysie Liang

Publicity Crystal Lin

Publicity Kathryn Kwon

Eboard Copy Editor Kathryn Lee

Copy Editor Jessica Kwok

Copy Editor Masatami Cauller

Media Producer Claire Choi

Copy Editor Yaying Zhao

Media Producer Jasmine Ku

Media Producer Michelle Chan

General Intern Adrian Wu

Copy Editor Jina Wu

Media Producer Kaitlin Wan

Media Producer Fatima Gonzalez

General Intern Tina Oh

Vol. XLII, Issue I 21

Meet the Eboard Crossword By: Grace Chen 1 2 3

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DOWN 1. AO Grandma 2. Shawty 4. Comp-sci queen 6. Fried egg emoji 8. Kash Money 9. “I Quit” 11. Totoro 13. Neuroscience 16. Has a twin sis 17. Camera woman 19. “Oogi” 21. On a hunt for Ronnie the cow ACROSS 3. Friends with a boba addict 5. Has ode friends 7. Paparazzi 9. Unemployed 10. Bb grill 12. Loves to read 13. MIA 14. Always has the cutest earrings 15. Could run a marathon 18. Luscious hair 20. Baby Intern 22. Aliu #2 23. Trevor Vol. XLII, Issue I 23

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Asian Outlook | Spring 2022 Issue #1

Articles inside

Love Letter to Chinatown Kaysie Liang

Legend of the Underground Dragon Serena Gao

Steamed Eggs Recipe Anna Liu

Little Barker Kathryn Lee

Winter Olympics Vivian Zhu

Olympics 2022: The Ice Prince Yuzuru Hanyu Shirley Dong