prime Spring Issue 2018

ARTs

UCLA students past and present reflect on the Grateful Dead’s undying influence PAGE 6

CULTURE

by the daily bruin

SPRING 2018

First-generation college students recall the obstacles they faced on the path to UCLA

PAGE 20

LIFESTYLE

A Filipina foodie explores her culture’s growing Los Angeles food scene PAGE 42

finding our space prime examines how students build communities on campus

letter from the editors Dear reader, Thanks for picking up this year’s final issue of prime! Inside, you’ll find stories that focus on what it means to feel at home and how we can ensure UCLA is a home for all Bruins.

In this magazine, we tell stories of how Native Americans come together to dance and celebrate their culture at the annual UCLA Pow Wow. First-generation students set new precedents in their families by coming to UCLA. Los Angeles restaurants aim to offer authentic cuisine for the city’s global inhabitants. And third culture kids struggle to identify their home, when they or their parents hail from multiple countries.

More than any one place, home embodies a comfortable space that allows us to mature. Daily Bruin staffers reflect on their self-growth while at UCLA. They’ve found confidence through making travel vlogs for family members and learned the hard way that life doesn’t always go according to plan. But that doesn’t mean campus is perfect – it still needs to become more inclusive for all students, including those with disabilities.

With the final issue of prime, we would like to thank our readers and all the contributors who helped make prime such a beautiful vehicle for telling stories. As all three of us graduate, we’re reflecting on how much we’ve grown while calling the Daily Bruin newsroom home. We hope each student carves out a space at UCLA to find their niche, whether in a newsroom, a cultural group or between the shelves of Powell. prime regards,

William Thorne

Lindsay Weinberg

William Thorne [ prime director ] Lindsay Weinberg [ prime content editor ] Umbreen Ali [ prime art director ] [ writers ] Bilal Ismail Ahmed, Catherine Liberty Feliciano, Remington Lee, Axel Lopez, Angela Song, Madeleine Pauker, William Thorne, John Tudhope, Hedy Wang [ photographers ] Bilal Ismail Ahmed, Amy Dixon, Rachel Hefner, Kristie-Valerie Hoang, Axel Lopez, Keila Mayberry, Madeleine Pauker, Jenna Nicole Smith, Lindsay Weinberg, Chengcheng Zhang, Michael Zschornack [ illustrators & graphic designers ] Grace Hubrig, Juliette Le Saint, Angel Liang, Nicole Anisgard Parra, Angela Song [ designers ] Bilal Ismail Ahmed, Mary Anastasi, Megan Le, Winnie Liu, Angela Song, Callista Wu, Michael Zhang Simran Vatsa [ copy chief ] Sang Ho Lee [ assistant copy chief ] Amy Baumgartner, Rhiannon Davies, Anush Khatri, Jessica Kwan, Amanda Tsai, Rachel Wong, Grace Ye [ slot editors ] Michael Zhang [ online editor ] Nathan Smith, Hongyi Zhang [ assistant online editors ] Christine Sun [ prime website project manager ] Abdulla Albanyan, Belgia Jong, Nicholas Lin, Kevin Qian, Jordan

Umbreen Ali

Yen, Jeffrey Zhu [ prime website developers ] [ daily bruin ] Mackenzie Possee [ editor in chief ] Madeleine Pauker [ managing editor ] Emily McCormick [ digital managing editor ] Jeremy Wildman [ business manager ] [ assistant managers ] Caroline Dillon, Peyton Sherwood [ advertising sales ] Ali Cazel, Elia Doussineau, Jessica Behmanesh, Danielle Renteria, Pau Bremer [ advertising production ] Nina Roman, Tara Afshar, Dylan Skolnik Abigail Goldman [ editorial adviser ] The Daily Bruin (ISSN 1080-5060) is published and copyrighted by the ASUCLA Communications Board. All rights are reserved. Reprinting of any material in this publication without the written permission of the Communications Board is strictly prohibited. The ASUCLA Communications Board fully supports the University of California’s policy on non-discrimination. The student media reserve the right to reject or modify advertising whose content discriminates on the basis of ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, disability, age, sex or sexual orientation. The ASUCLA Communications Board has a media grievance procedure for resolving complaints against any of its publications. For a copy of the complete procedure, contact the publications office at 118 Kerckhoff Hall. All inserts that are printed in the Daily Bruin are independently paid publications and do not reflect the views of the Editorial Board or the staff.

To request a reprint of any photo appearing in the Daily Bruin, contact the photo desk at 310-825-2828 or email photo@dailybruin.com.

COVER PHOTO BY AMY DIXON

arts

6 The Dead are Alive at UCLA A feature on the Grateful Dead’s lasting legacy in the UCLA community

10 A Change of Plan

A cartoon about embracing the unexpected when life doesn’t go according to plan

culture 14 Many Tribes, One People Native Americans celebrate their culture at the annual UCLA Pow Wow

20 First in the Family

First-gen students inspire siblings and high schoolers to pursue higher education

26 A Forgotten Minority

A personal column about improving the experience of students with disabilities

30 Third Culture Kids

A feature about students who struggle to decide which country to call home

lifestyle

34

Pub Peeves A homesick Brit assesses the authenticity of the Los Angeles pub scene

38 Camera Confidence 42

How vlogging helped a shy staffer overcome his self-consciousness

LA’s Filipino Foodscape “People are saying it’s (Filipinos’) time. My response is ‘It’s about time.’”

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5

WRITTEN BY JOHN TUDHOPE PHOTOS BY KEILA MAYBERRY

ILLUSTRATION BY NICOLE ANISGARD PARRA

A

s I stood in the same section of Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre where I’d seen Van Halen, Black Sabbath and Rush, I saw Dead & Company. But this concert was different. The music changed my life.

Since my first Dead show, the band’s music has taken me across the nation on some strange trips and given me incredibly intense and joyful experiences. I have been happy to discover that many Bruins, young and old, have had their lives changed as well.

Bob Lynn of the Daily Bruin wrote in 1971, "With regards to the live concert, it should be pointed out that on a good night there is no other rock band that can come anywhere near equaling a Dead performance."

"They will reach musical frontiers undreamed of by most rock musicians, and attained by none others," he added.

The Grateful Dead was an American touring act that played more than 2,300 concerts from 1965 to 1995. Its eclectic performances, which lasted many hours, became famous for combining various forms of American music – country, folk, blues, soul – and attracting fans who revelled in psychedelic drugs, sex and, of course, rock ’n’ roll.

I'm a Deadhead. I was shown the light on July 26, 2016, at Irvine Meadows when I saw Dead & Company, the reincarnation of the Grateful Dead that features three original members alongside John Mayer. Dead & Company reached musical frontiers that I had never dreamed of, and certainly never experienced.

A Deadhead's first show is transformative. They call it "getting on the bus,” and I’m still riding it.

For each Dead concert, the loyal locals and traveling cohort of Deadheads arrive in the parking lot before showtime and form "Shakedown Street" – thousands of

people buying wares from tie-dye makers, glass blowers, painters and artists of all crafts. The air is often saturated with smoke and the piercing rhythm of a massive drum circle.

Here, you'll see dozens of people with their fingers pointed to the sky, waiting for “a miracle,” the coveted free ticket. Many Deadheads will bring an extra ticket to the parking lot and give it away to repay the community.

Inside the venue, which becomes “home” for the evening, collective anticipation erupts into a deafening roar when the band takes the stage and blossoms into many hours of dancing, singing and smiling. When the show ends, the soul immediately craves another, especially if it’s your first show. Dead shows are strange, beautiful, artistic experiences.

The Grateful Dead graced our campus with its magical touch at Pauley Pavilion six times. The band took the stage in front of hordes of Bruins in 1971, 1973, 1978, 1979, 1980 and 1982.

I walk by Pauley Pavilion most days – many of us do – but few know how special that venue is to the Deadheads who experienced a show there.

Bill Walton, a former NBA MVP and member of the UCLA men’s basketball team when it won national championships in 1972 and 1973, attended every Grateful Dead show in Pauley Pavilion, and has been to hundreds of Dead shows. It was in Pauley Pavilion that Walton played basketball under coach John Wooden, had his number 32 jersey retired and danced to the Dead.

Walton described Pauley Pavilion as "a sacred temple, shrine, spiritual center and home."

While he was a student-athlete making history at UCLA,

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he was also attending as many Dead shows as he possibly could.

"It was perfect, it was our lives, it's what we did with our time," Walton said. "I was a college student, and a Deadhead, and a basketball player, and a human being, and we just did all of those things all of the time."

Walton said he draws a link between what he appreciates about the Grateful Dead’s music and being a part of Wooden’s basketball dynasty: the attention to and appreciation of quality.

"Every time you spend time with John Wooden, every time you spend time with the Grateful Dead, when you leave, you're a better person,” Walton said. “You feel better about life, you feel better about the future of the world.”

Of all the Grateful Dead shows Walton has seen, the shows at his home court were particularly emotional for him.

"It was in Pauley Pavilion, which is where we lived our lives," he said.

"It was incredibly special when they would come to you."

In the liner notes from the CD of the 1973 Pauley Pavilion show, “Dave's Picks Volume 5,” Walton described the show as "like everything else during those fantastic days at UCLA – better than perfect."

Twenty-three years after the dissolution of the original Grateful Dead, Walton said the music being played today by Dead & Company, and other Dead-universe bands, possesses the same energy as years past.

"It's still going on. The roster changes a little bit, everything keeps changing, but it's still the Grateful Dead," Walton said. "It's still so powerful and so strong. That whole sense of the empowering nature of the music and the fans and the crowd and the swelling sound that just keeps coming up, it's like a giant current coming from deep within the earth, and it just comes to the surface and blossoms in a big celebration of life.”

To this day, if you're at the right show and look close

enough, you'll see his 7-foot figure popping out of the crowd a few feet in front of the stage. When the giant stage screens inevitably show his smiling face, the crowd erupts. Walton calls himself "a fan."

While Walton was training to win two national titles with UCLA and dancing to the Grateful Dead, Jeffrey Solomon, an engineering student at UCLA from 1969 to 1979, was discovering the Grateful Dead in the dorms.

"The reason I was interested in the Grateful Dead at that point was that I had a tape recorder, and I was collecting music from all the people on my floor at Rieber Hall," Solomon said. "There was a kid there ... and he handed me a couple of Grateful Dead albums … and when the Dead came to town in 1971, that was enough for me to go."

In between attending his first show in 1971 and second in 1973, Solomon spent time listening to live Dead recordings and trading critiques with his friend at the University Cooperative Housing Association on Landfair Avenue.

"We kind of were turning each other on to different albums of the Dead that neither one of us was familiar with, and we worked ourselves into a kind of frenzy listening to that stuff at the co-op," he said.

When Solomon walked out of Pauley Pavilion in 1973, he was strongly affected by the music, and he knew he would be a Deadhead for life.

"They became my favorite group at that point," Solomon said. "(My friend) and I, we were both excited, and we were discussing how much we enjoyed it. We both decided, ‘OK, we are going to see the Grateful Dead.

We are going to find out whenever we can and try to see them as often as we can.’"

I know what Solomon felt that night. Pure ecstasy. Transcendence.

Enlightenment.

Solomon still remembers Jerry Garcia's intricate guitar riffs, Phil Lesh's jazz-influenced bass lines and Bob Weir's country folk singing.

He went on to see the Dead two more times at Pauley Pavilion, and almost 40 more times around

California and the Southwest.

This unconditional love for the Grateful Dead is alive today at UCLA, as Bruin Deadheads keep listening to the band’s recordings, sharing their thoughts and making pilgrimages to shows.

Sophie Taylor, a third-year astrophysics student and co-founder of the Bruin Deadhead Facebook page, said she was introduced to the Grateful Dead by a friend and quickly started exploring the band’s live catalogue. Seeing Dead & Company on its 2017 Summer Tour in Mountain View, California, exposed her to the kindness and accepting nature of the fan community.

"I was being very genuine and authentically myself," she said.

"You're in a community where everyone accepts you for who you

are, and it's the most beautiful thing. It was such a freeing experience. ... When you're at a Dead concert, you don't care, because you know no one cares."

Taylor said Deadheads around campus meet by noticing each other's tie-dye shirts, and have a connection through the music and their shared experience of being at Dead shows.

"It's that instant connection where you don't have to be best friends, but you have that deeper connection,” she said. “People don't connect like that often.”

Jack Lyons, a third-year political science student, started the Deadhead page along with Taylor so that students could listen to live recordings together.

Lyons said Grateful Dead tunes possess a quality that make them timeless.

"It's a very interested extended moment," he said. "There is beauty to that, just listening to jamming, listening to good instrumentation.

Above all else, I'm listening for the instrumentation. ... I never feel like I've heard the same song twice."

Nathan Lopez met his Deadhead friends on campus by noticing someone who had a similar T-shirt and asking them about it. His first first Dead & Company show was on New Year's Eve of 2015 at The Forum.

Lopez, a third-year environmental science student, believes what originally made the Grateful Dead attractive to fans makes them

attractive to new fans today.

"The whole thing with the Dead is that they kind of didn't fit in and didn't make sense, so they made their own thing out of it," he said. "I feel like that's kind of how it is now.

It doesn't really make sense to like this band. (Garcia) has been dead for more than 20 years, but I feel like that's a part of it."

The band’s influence on live performance, the massive size of their live catalogue and their collaboration with Mayer are all factors in perpetuating the group's popularity among younger audiences, Lopez said.

“I never feel like I’ve heard the same song twice.” "(Mayer) is ushering in a new wave,” he added.

As Dead & Company keeps playing these tunes and the band keeps on “Truckin’,” all we can do is be appreciative. All we can do is listen to the music play.

It’s as simple as showing up, putting your finger in the air, and waiting for a miracle – though having a ticket beforehand never hurts. I hope to see you all out on tour this summer. It’ll be a real good time.

WRITTEN BY MADELeINE PAUKER

PHOTOS BY AMY DIXON & RACHEL HEFNER

many tribes

ONE PEOPLE

D

ozens of tents lined the edge of a dance arena drawn onto a UCLA athletic field in chalk. Under their cooling shade, grass dancers adjusted their roach headdresses, mothers braided their children’s hair before wrapping it in ribbons and the master of ceremonies enjoyed frybread and frozen lemonade.

For the next several hours, dancers and groups of drummers performed under the hot sun for the assembled audience – and the pow wow’s judges – on May 5 and 6.

Each spring, UCLA’s American Indian Student Association hosts a two-day pow wow, drawing hundreds of Native Americans from Southern California and beyond to UCLA’s North Athletic Field to celebrate their cultures and compete in different dance events.

For many Native Americans who live in urban areas, pow wows play a key role in preserving cultural practices and building community. At UCLA, organizers use the pow wow to introduce Native youth to campus and the cultural support available to Native students.

Valerie Cabral, a jingle dancer from Whittier, California, from the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara Nation, has been going to pow wows since she could walk and attended the annual UCLA Pow Wow for the

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CULTURE

first time this year. Her grandfather moved from a reservation in North Dakota to the Los Angeles area following the Indian Relocation Act of 1956, a federal law that drove many Native Americans out of reservations and into urban areas with the intent of making them assimilate into the non-Native population.

Cabral learned to dance by watching other attendees, both in person and, she said with a laugh, on YouTube. While she visits North Dakota with her family each summer, dancing helps her feel connected to her culture when she’s at home in Whittier.

“It filled the hole in my heart,” she said.

Jingle dress, which originated with the Ojibwe in the early 1900s, is meant to heal those who cannot heal themselves, she said. The dance is characterized by crossed footwork close to the ground, with the jingles – small metal cones – on the dancer’s regalia providing a rhythmic tinkling. Cabral wore a sequined blue dress adorned with silver jingles as she danced in the teenage girl’s jingle dress competition at this year’s pow wow.

Now in its 33rd year at UCLA, the pow wow draws regulars, dancers trying out the smooth grass of the athletic field for the first time and people who drop in while walking around campus. Some have been going for

as long as they can remember.

Tina Charley, a fourth-year American Indian studies student who was raised on the Navajo Nation reservation and in West Los Angeles, found a sense of belonging by attending and dancing in pow wows in the city. She started attending the UCLA Pow Wow when it was first held in 1985.

Charley said her parents worked to instill her Dine, or Navajo, identity in her from a young age. Other students in the Los Angeles schools she attended, however, would incorrectly categorize her as Hispanic or Filipino. It was only at pow wows that she found a community that truly understood her.

“In Southern California at that time, finding another person who understood my culture was rare,” she said.

“Going to pow wows helped me find other people like me.”

The UCLA Pow Wow has another layer of significance for Charley. Native Americans have historically been shut out of opportunities to pursue higher education, she said, and still face institutional barriers on the path to college.

Today, only 10 percent of Native Americans across the country have earned bachelor’s degrees, compared to 43 percent of whites. At UCLA, only 0.5 percent of the student body is Native American, even though Native Americans make up 1.7 percent of California’s population. California is also the state with the largest population of Native Americans.

Growing up, the pow wow gave Charley the chance to meet UCLA students and find out what college was really like. It put her on a path to UCLA; Charley worked on campus as an administrative analyst for years. After

“Going to pow wows helped me find other people like me.”

her youngest child turned 16, she decided to start her undergraduate degree in American Indian studies.

“That’s when we discovered UCLA,” she said. “Higher education really wasn’t stressed to a lot of us Native kids. ... There wasn’t advocacy like there is now.”

Despite the lack of Native American students in higher education, many universities besides UCLA host pow wows. Until 2016, the largest pow wow in the country was held at the University of New Mexico. Stanford University, Arizona State University and Oklahoma State University also host prominent pow wows.

“It’s universities that are holding big pow wows, but it’s kind of sad ... because we’re not represented in higher education,” said Donald Salcedo, a third-year American Indian studies student and member of the Quechan Nation. “It’s the only time Natives are on campus and recognized by the universities.”

Like Charley, Salcedo grew up going to the UCLA Pow Wow. Salcedo’s family, which descends from the Laguna Pueblo tribe of New Mexico, moved to Los Angeles under a relocation program in the 1960s.

“UCLA was it,” he said. “They had the best drummers come out, the best MCs. ... The UCLA Pow Wow is really inspiring and special to a lot of LA Indians because of the status of the university, and just the majesty (and) ... the beauty of it.”

Growing up, Salcedo helped put on the youth pow wow at the Southern California Indian Center and served as its MC, a role he continued to perform at various pow wows as he got older. He said an MC has to be entertaining enough to keep the pow wow going between contests and dances, and knowledgeable enough

“It’s the only time Natives are on campus and recognized by the universities.”

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“I was always immersed in my culture and never felt that lack of representation.”

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CULTURE

to introduce community members and explain dances and songs from many different tribes.

In 2011 and 2012, Salcedo MC’d the UCLA Pow Wow. Five years later, he transferred from Fullerton College to UCLA. After decades of attending and contributing to the pow wow, he now acts as its vendor coordinator.

“Coming to MC at (UCLA’s) pow wow before I was a student was such a drive to be a Bruin, because I was already a Bruin during the pow wow, and it just really made me want to be a student,” he said. “The one thing I wanted to do when I came to UCLA was to be on the (pow wow) committee and say I was a part of putting this on.”

For Salcedo and Charley, pow wows are a lifelong tradition, but they are not a part of every Native American culture. They evolved from drumming and dance ceremonies that began in the Great Plains area in the 19th century, spreading through the reservation system and into urban areas during the relocation programs of the mid-20th century.

LittleDove Rey, a fourth-year psychology student, is a member of the Miwok, Nisenan and Maidu tribes of Northern California, which hold Big Time ceremonies, not pow wows. The style of dance that Rey grew up with is completely different from the styles of dance performed at pow wows. For example, in Big Time ceremonies, women dance in a circle around an inner circle of men, whereas at pow wows, women and men usually dance separately.

Rey had danced her traditional style in pow wows twice before coming to UCLA. She said she learned a lot about the tradition when she first arrived and joined the American Indian Students Association, which organizes the pow wow each year.

The association also helped her adjust to attending a school with a small Native American population, she said. Rey grew up on the Auburn Rancheria in Northern California and attended a tribal school until eighth grade, and first experienced the culture shock she felt at UCLA when she started going to public high school.

“I was always immersed in my culture and never felt that lack of representation,” she said.

On her reservation, Rey was used to gathering materials for jewelry and basket making, or making dolls and canoes out of tulle. However, in Los Angeles, it became almost impossible to practice her culture because of the lack of available natural resources. Native Americans who live in urban environments often struggle with that problem, she said.

“I don’t know where I would be without AISA,” she said. “I don’t know what my retention as a student would be. I would feel extremely isolated and would struggle a lot.”

This year, Rey became the association’s president and helped coordinate the pow wow. The event is entirely organized by a student pow wow committee of between three and a dozen members, even though the pow wow is the second-largest student-organized event on the UCLA campus each year.

Rey said she wishes UCLA would provide more

institutional support for the pow wow and simplify the funding process. Although the pow wow is in its 33rd year, AISA still has to go through an extensive funding application process each year, and even asks American Indian studies faculty to cover the shortfall in the amount it receives from UCLA, as well as other donations and gifts, Rey said.

“At this point, it doesn’t feel UCLA-supported,” she said. “The Stanford Powwow receives a lot of institutional support, and it just doesn’t feel like we’re there yet with UCLA.” AISA ensures the pow wow itself emphasizes community members’ connection to UCLA and the importance of higher education for the Native community. The MC honors attendees who will be graduating from UCLA that year, wrapping each one in a fringed shawl.

“We make up 0.8 percent of college enrollment, but we have the highest need in all categories on the socioeconomic ladder,” said MC Tom Phillips during this year’s pow wow. “College graduates can take their education back to their tribal communities and work in the hospital or on the tribal council.”

Perhaps the highest honor of the pow wow, the Ms. UCLA Pow Wow Pageant, is also an important tool to promote higher education. To enter the pageant, contestants must be enrolled at a university and hold at least a 2.5 GPA. For the chance to wear the crown, contestants make speeches, dance at the pow wow, perform a traditional skill from their culture, such as singing or food preparation, speak about their tribal traditions and dress, write an essay and answer questions from a panel of judges. This year, former Ms. UCLA Pow Wow and alumna Nora Pulskamp spent more than 40 hours beading the image of a grinning Joe Bruin onto the

TAYLOR taylor BROOKS brooks

crown.

During the year in which the winner holds the title, she travels to pow wows and other gatherings around the country to encourage Native students to go to UCLA. Monica Jacome, the 2017-2018 Ms. UCLA Pow Wow, has been sharing her story with children around the country for the past year. In high school, a counselor discouraged her from applying to college, telling her she did not have the grades needed to get in. Her mother encouraged her to apply anyway, and she ended up graduating with honors from the University of San Diego.

Jacome, who is Kumeyaay, also tells the children she meets about the UCLA Pow Wow because she said it helps them believe they belong at UCLA. “If a college has a pow wow, you know it has a Native backing,” she said. “You know it’s not going to be just you among thousands of students; you’ll have others just like you.”

The night before the 2018 pow wow began, the judges evaluated the two contestants on their speeches, responses to questions and presentation of traditional skills in the James West Alumni Center.

Taylor Brooks, a first-year pre-psychology student at UCLA, stepped onto the low stage to sing a song from the Lakota Sun Dance tradition. As her high, clear voice faded from the room, she explained that Sun Dance songs are a way to give back to the Creator.

Brooks grew up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota, which she described as “a bubble.”

Since coming to UCLA, she has started visiting reservations in Southern California with AISA’s American Indian Recruitment program to encourage Native students to pursue higher education.

“Being here exposed me to so many different cultures and tribes,” she said. “It reminds me that we’re all one people, living on Turtle Island, and we all come from the

monica jacome

valerie cabral

same Creator.”

For her skill presentation, Autumn Brown, a thirdyear student at California State University, San Marcos, demonstrated how her people, the Kumeyaay, use different baskets and stones to make acorn mush. She began by sorting the acorns – “You don’t want to use the black ones; those are disgusting,” she laughed – and showed how to sift the mush through different baskets before plating the final product, which she said is best enjoyed as a side dish alongside meat or berries.

Brown, a psychological science and American Indian studies student, helped secure American Indian studies as a department at CSUSM, in part to build connections between Native and non-Native communities and educate the latter about the culture of the original inhabitants of San Diego County, where the university is located.

“I always try to share my culture and let people know we’re still here,” she said. “All the efforts to wipe us out didn’t work.”

The next day, Brooks waited at the edge of the arena to begin a Sun Dance, clad in a hot pink dress representing the traditional buckskin dresses Lakota women wore when buffalo were still accessible as a source of clothing. At the MC’s signal, she launched into the arena, crossing and uncrossing her feet in high steps and waving the yellow shawl draped around her back between her outstretched arms.

Brown performed a Kumeyaay Bird Dance, which recreates stories from the tribe’s history and cosmology.

Her full, patterned skirt waved over her feet as she jumped from side to side with her arms held out in front of her waist.

As the sun began to set over the field, 2018 MC Tom Phillips called the Ms. UCLA Pow Wow judges and the two contestants to stand at the edge of the arena. They addressed the crowd in Kumeyaay and Lakota before repeating their speeches in English.

After a short drumroll, the judges announced Brown as Ms. UCLA Pow Wow 2018-2019. One of the judges awarded her the glittering, beaded crown, which she will wear for the next year to represent UCLA at pow wows around the country.

As Brown and Brooks walked around the arena, shaking hands with attendees, Phillips recalled how Jacome, the previous Ms. UCLA, had relearned how to speak Kumeyaay by taking classes at Kumeyaay Community College in San Diego County.

“A lot of people all over the country are relearning their cultures, relearning their languages,” he said. “And this is where the learning happens – elders can speak their languages to the kids here.”

Phillips paused, watching the two young women make their way around the field.

“The pow wow is like our university,” he said.

AUTUMN BROWN SPRING 2018

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first in the family WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY AXEL LOPEZ

M

any UCLA students grew up listening to their parents recount the rewarding experiences they had in college. Before they even enroll in their first classes, most have heard about the fun and academically fulfilling college culture. They not only know about the college lifestyle, but also how to get there. The importance of SAT prep classes, Advanced Placement programs, International Baccalaureate courses and extracurriculars in high school are all emphasized by parents who have already been through the American education system.

But what if your parents never had the opportunity to go to college? If you’re a firstgeneration student, you likely had to explain the college application process to your parents while trying to figure it out for yourself.

In fall 2016, almost half of new in-state students at the University of California were first-gen college students. Research in Higher Education found differences between “traditional” and first-gen college students’ experiences, which has been attributed to their cultural capital. This implies that parents’ education levels can affect how well their children master “the student role.”

Being a first-gen college student means more than being the first in your family to attend and complete a degree at a four-year university. For students like me, it means accomplishing the impossible, inspiring younger generations to do the same and opening up the possibilities for your family’s progress in the U.S. First-gen undergraduates at UCLA share an incredibly difficult, yet rewarding experience.

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“

Sometimes you question if you’re meant for UCLA.” –LINDA MOUA

linda moua Linda Moua hopes her first-gen status inspires future generations of Hmong students.

Moua’s parents sought refuge in Thailand after the Laotian Civil War and entered the U.S. through the lottery system in 1995. Growing up in Fresno, California, Moua was never aware of the tutoring and after-school programs offered in her high school, and didn’t realize attending college would be a possibility for her until her sophomore year.

Her parents didn’t speak English and had immigrated to the country with zero knowledge of how to help their daughter get accepted to university. Her stay-at-home mom, Kai Yang, took care of her and her seven other siblings, while her dad packaged boxes for countless hours at a clothing factory.

“My parents sometimes felt bad because they couldn’t academically or financially support me, but they always believed in my goals and gave me the motivation I needed to succeed,” said Moua, now a fourth-year biology student.

During her first year at UCLA, Moua struggled to find the resources she needed to eventually become a pediatrician and knew her parents didn’t have the

knowledge to guide her. She said it was challenging to adapt to a completely new environment, given that she came from a city with one of the largest urban Hmong-American populations. She contemplated whether she was meant to attend a four-year school, but through the Association of Hmong Students, Moua found her place at UCLA. “Once you meet other students who are first-gen, you’re able to support one another,” she said.

Moua’s Hmong identity motivates her to inspire others.

Now, as the president of the Association of Hmong Students, she has helped host 21 local Hmong high school students for the Seventh Annual Higher Education Movement: Our Next Generation in April, teaching students about financial aid and fostering a community in college.

Thinking back to the hours her dad spent in a factory, packaging uniforms to support his family, and her mom’s dedication to raising her and her siblings, Moua feels excited and grateful to become the first person in her family to earn a university degree. She is one step closer to her goal of becoming a pediatrician, and knows her parents are proud of her accomplishments and her younger siblings are looking up to her.

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“

We don’t get the same opportunities.

And given the background we’re from, we can still do good.”

–SHARLY RAHMAN

sharly rahman Admission to UCLA seemed impossible to Sharly Rahman.

She moved to her parents’ home village in Bangladesh right after completing middle school in the U.S. There was no running water, so Rahman and her family used wells to transport it from underground. The electricity sporadically shut down, leaving them in the dry heat and turning off the little fans attached to the roof they used to cool down.

After a year, she returned to Van Nuys High School as a sophomore to complete her last three years of high school.

“Having to maneuver, having to learn the ropes, and still be at the same level as my peers, I didn’t think it was possible,” said the now second-year pre-psychobiology student.

Rahman’s parents initially entered the U.S. through the lottery system in the early 1990s. Growing up in Van Nuys, California, she was aware she didn’t have the same resources that were available to her peers. Her mom worked more than 40 hours a week as a retail employee to support her and her older brother, who assumed the role of a male guardian while her dad wasn’t present.

Rahman learned to maneuver through the college admission process with the heavy weight of being the first in her family to do so.

“My mom can sympathize, but she can’t relate,” Rahman said.

For Rahman, being a first-gen student means rewriting the precedent set by her family while also changing gender norms associated with women. She said she wants to help define what it means to be a strong and independent woman through a career in pharmacy. Her family expects her to marry right after college, but as the first woman in her family pursuing a career, Rahman said she wants to show them that women are capable of more than marriage. She would like her value to be defined by what she accomplishes and by her work as a pre-pharmaceutical student.

Her motivations come from not wanting her mother and brother’s efforts to be in vain.

“My mom cried, ‘Alhamdulillah,’ when I got accepted.

College seemed like me going to the moon,” she said. “I was given an opportunity that my mom wasn’t given. I can’t waste that.”

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andrea jazmin gamino Paving the path toward college for her younger sister humbles Andrea Jazmin Gamino, a fourth-year psychology student.

Gamino remembers walking out of a midterm for Chemistry 14A: “Atomic and Molecular Structure, Equilibria, Acids, and Bases,” certain that she had failed. She heard a peer from her discussion say, “That was so easy.”

After talking with him some days later, he explained how he had learned the midterm material in high school; his high school also offered SAT prep courses to its students. Gamino then realized that those same opportunities were never available to her.

Gamino’s school in South Gate, California, was 98 percent Hispanic – and it wasn’t until she began her first quarter at UCLA that she noticed the bubble she had lived in.

“I didn’t know how to interact with people who weren’t Latino,” Gamino said.

During her first year, Gamino only left her dorm to eat and attend classes, and went back home every weekend. The transition from the comforting and familiar community of high school to the intimidating size of UCLA made Gamino wonder who could relate to her struggles as a first-gen student.

During her third year, Gamino became a Peer Learning facilitator with the Academic Advancement Program at UCLA. After tutoring hours, one of Gamino’s tutees, also a first-gen student, shared that she felt incapable of succeeding at UCLA. “Oh my gosh, you actually went through this, too, but you’re so successful now,” Gamino’s tutee would say. Gamino then opened up about the obstacles she faced during her first year.

Gamino also tutors for UCLA Project SPELL and is co-president of the Gates Millennium Scholars Association at UCLA. Her accomplishments bring tears to her mother’s eyes, who immigrated to the U.S. from Guatemala and cleans houses for a living. She brings joy to her dad, who immigrated from Mexico and makes engines for fridges. And she brings hope to her younger sister, who wears her UCLA sweater every day and aspires to be just like her.

“I can’t believe I did it. This achievement makes me want more,” Gamino said. “I have no boundaries. I feel like I can do anything. I can make my own story and inspire my little sister.”

“

A lot of firstgen students feel they’re the only ones.”

–ANDREA JAZMIN GAMINO

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“

You have to go through it to understand it.”

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–DICKSON CHEN

dickson chen Third-year neuroscience student Dickson Chen finds the motivation to pursue medical school by remembering his parents’ sacrifices.

Chen’s mom immigrated from Hong Kong, and his dad from a village in Guangzhou, China. They arrived with $50, a Toyota Corolla and no knowledge of how to speak English.

“It’s crazy to realize how far they’ve come,” Chen said.

Chen grew up in Seattle and struggled to fit in. He remembers wanting to play golf with his friends in middle school and not understanding why his parents couldn’t afford to let him go. His father worked as a jeweler, while his stay-at-home mom took care of him and his younger brother.

Chen said his parents could never understand the struggles he faced during high school and college because they were never given the opportunity to pursue higher education.

As a low-income student, it’s not easy for Chen to pay $1,000 for MCAT prep classes and $100 for each medical school application. Chen was lucky enough to have a friend who loaned him his MCAT prep books, and he plans on doing paid photoshoots for students to raise enough money for his applications.

Despite the hardships Chen has faced, he said he wouldn’t change his identity as a first-gen student for anything.

“It’s given me the motivation I need,” he said. “It’s very empowering to know that you can inspire others through this experience.”

He wants to use that motivation to inspire others to pursue medicine.

Next year, through his role as vice president of the Gates Millennium Scholars Association at UCLA, Chen said he intends to start a mentorship program where UCLA GMS scholars advise local high school students on personal statements and financial aid. He remembers the hard times in high school when his parents couldn’t support him academically, and wants to be a mentor for those in similar circumstances.

“I have this privilege now, and privilege is something meant to be shared,” he said. “Being a first-gen student doesn’t mean you can’t achieve your dreams.”

“

This means an opportunity for my family to finally have a place in society.”

–NICOLE NUKPESE

nicole nukpese Attending UCLA is a dream come true for Nicole Nukpese, considering no member of her family had the opportunity to study beyond high school.

Nukpese was surrounded by her Ghanaian culture as a child. Her grandma frequently made okra soup, wanche shitoh and peanut butter soup and fufu for her and her friends. Large-scale reunions with aunts, uncles and cousins helped Nukpese remain close with her Ghanaian identity while experiencing a different culture in Hawthorne, California.

“There’s a difference between being African in America and being a black American,” Nukpese said, recalling her challenge to balance the two cultures. Nukpese grew up listening to Ghanaian music and had difficulty relating to American hip-hop lyrics. She found differences in the flavors of the food, the traditional clothing and the English dialect spoken by black Americans in her hometown. Nukpese said her friends were surprised when she’d invite them over to enjoy Ghanaian food, and they would say, “This is so different! We thought you were black, but you’re African.”

Nukpese said her dad believed there were only three prestigious careers – doctor, pilot and engineer – and only one good university in the world: UCLA. But through her work as president for the Marine Science Academy at her high school, Nicole showed her dad there were many more career paths available to her in the U.S. Now a first-gen college student, Gates Millenium Scholar and secondyear microbiology, immunology and molecular genetics student, Nukpese has fulfilled her goal of attending a four-year university. Her little cousins, as well as her younger siblings, now regularly ask her for guidance, hoping to accomplish the same feat.

“They’re 10 years younger than me, and they’re already eagerly asking me questions about extracurriculars, the SAT and classes they can take in high school to prepare them for college,” Nukpese added.

Her mom repeatedly tells her younger siblings to follow in their sister’s footsteps. As an aspiring genetic counselor, Nukpese intends to do something she loves, while also giving back to her community and family that have always supported her.

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a forgotten WRITTEN BY REMINGTON LEE

PHOTOS BY BILAL ISMAIL AHMED

I

have dealt with my disability my entire life, but I didn’t know I was a minority until I stepped onto the UCLA campus. In 2018, students with disabilities are still an afterthought or – more often than not – aren’t even thought of at all.

When I was born, I was diagnosed with caudal regression syndrome, a congenital disorder that causes abnormal fetal development of the lower spine. The chance of being born with it is 1 in 25,000. Its effects vary from person to person, but in my case, it affects my nerves from the waist down. I don’t have calf muscles, and doctors told my parents I would never walk. Thankfully, I can walk, but it’s very painful. My ankles are fused, so I had to develop my own way of walking, turning my right foot out with every step, which creates a fairly obvious limp. As part of my caudal regression syndrome, I also have scoliosis and kyphosis, meaning my spine is shaped like an S and a C. I was born with one kidney, and when I was young it functioned perfectly, but now it is the main focus of my surgeries and hospitalizations. My kidney is currently so swollen that doctors are shocked when they see it in scans.

I’ve had more than 40 surgeries, 10 of which have been during my two years at UCLA. I take 20 medications every day, live in constant pain and work to have the best attitude in some of the worst situations. When I have a big assignment due, I start work immediately because I never know if I will end the day in the emergency room.

I often end up in tears when I stop to think about what I have to face, day after day, on top of the rigorous academics of UCLA. But instead, I try to focus on how this experience will make me a stronger and better person.

Last quarter, I had four surgeries and missed five weeks of class. It seems impossible to succeed in a situation like that, especially with UCLA’s 10-week quarter system. It’s hard to stay afloat in a university system that wasn’t built for me, and I’m going to try my best to show the perspective of a student with disabilities at UCLA.

Daily College Life It’s the first day of classes. At the end of each class, I walk up to my professors and teaching assistants to introduce myself.

“Hi, my name is Remington Lee and I just want to let you know that I’m often hospitalized and have to go in for emergency surgery. I will do everything I can to succeed in this class, and I hope that you will work with me.”

When I approach them, I get knots in my stomach because I don’t know how they will respond. If a professor seems annoyed or looks like they don’t care, I know that communication is going to be difficult, and they most likely won’t be willing to work with me.

If they react negatively, I go to the Center for Accessible Education. CAE’s staff sends them a note verifying medical issues and trys to work out a system between the professor and the student, but that can only accomplish so much if the professor isn’t willing to accommodate me.

I feel professors paint me as a slacker for missing classes, which is tough to accept since I want nothing more than to be able to leave my bed. They might think I’m trying to trick the system when I’m just trying to stay afloat.

Sometimes professors can’t comprehend that someone can be in such poor medical condition and still be at

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college. They suggest I take a year off, rest more and focus on my health. But it doesn’t matter if I take a year off; I will still have the same issues next year.

I try my hardest to attend lectures, but oftentimes it doesn’t work out that way. During winter quarter, I was trapped in my dorm for four weeks because my kidney issues made me incredibly weak and caused constant, excruciating pain. I couldn’t get food or go to class. All I could do was work from my dorm and hope the next day would be better.

While many students have to talk themselves into getting out of bed every day, all I want is to be able to make it to class and interact with people.

As a student at UCLA, my studies often overshadow the state of my health. If I focused on my health, I would have to be at home instead, taking time off.

Students with disabilities have to overcome hurdles just to get an assignment in on time, but we do it because we care about our futures and don’t want people assuming our disabilities prohibit us from accomplishing things in life.

Fortunately, I have found support in my friends and family, and an emotional support cat named Wally who helps me get through tough medical periods and daily life at UCLA. My mom often drives three hours from Fresno, California, to help me out at school. She wants to make sure I’m staying on top of things, not falling behind or

While many “ students have to

talk themselves into getting out of bed every day, all I want is to be able to make it to class and interact with people.�

using the elevator to avoid rude comments and glares.

Why I Hate Using My Assistive Devices

giving up, which sometimes seems like the easiest answer. I love going to Disneyland and getting out of my dorm when I have the energy.

I also have a minor – actually, a major – obsession with makeup; I’m a campus ambassador for Beauty Bakerie, one of my favorite brands.

All of this is a part of who I am as a student at UCLA who is disabled.

I know I’m not alone in these struggles, and that compels me to use my voice to speak for students with similar experiences and to educate anyone who is willing to listen. This is a story for everyone.

Dating and Disabled

For me, dating doesn’t happen.

I’ve asked guys out, and have been turned down. I’m 20 years old and have never been hit on, never had my first kiss and never been on a date.

Last year, there was a guy in my dorm I developed a crush on. We always left for class at the same time, and I got to know him during our short walks. He was kind to me and made eye contact as he asked me how my day was. He told me I looked nice and we would make small talk before we went our separate ways on campus.

One day, he looked at my legs and his tone changed. He asked me why I had a limp. I tried to play it cool and not make it a big deal.

“Oh, it’s just something I have. I’m okay, though,” I said.

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From that moment on, he never talked to me again. I saw him just as much as I did before, but the eye contact and cute small talk stopped.

My limp seemed to make me unattractive to him, and this is the story of my life when it comes to dating. I assume all guys write me off because of physical differences.

While I would love to have a boyfriend, it’s really hard for people to appreciate someone for who they are as a person and not focus on how they look.

The Elevator Stigma

Taking the elevator up or down one floor might seem like an act of laziness to able-bodied people, but to me, it’s a necessity. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the rude whispers or off-handed remarks. I’ve heard the occasional, “One floor, really?” or, “Ugh.” Once, a woman looked at me with a facial expression that implied, “How could you be so selfish?” before she reminded me the stairs were right there.

Because I don’t always use an assistive device, like a walker, it’s not completely obvious that I have a disability. I’ve even gone so far as to apologize to people because I do not want to be seen as a bad or lazy person. I can’t put into words how horrible it is to feel like you are an inconvenience to those around you.

The height of ableism at UCLA is making people with disabilities feel like they need to apologize when

Students have a weird habit of avoiding eye contact when they see someone with an assistive device, whether it’s a walker, wheelchair, scooter or crutches.

People with disabilities use assistive devices to achieve as normal a life as possible. Most days, I don’t need my wheelchair or walker because I have my car to get to class. But more recently, as my health has deteriorated, I need it just to leave my dorm to get food.

The same people who say “hello” to me without my walker won’t even make eye contact when I’m using it. I know it’s because they feel uncomfortable and they don’t want to seem rude for staring, but it’s actually worse for someone to deliberately avoid eye contact. It makes me feel like I’m not human and at times it makes me feel invisible. I know no one intends to be hurtful, but a smile or nod would feel less isolating.

When I’m in a lot of pain or feeling incredibly weak, I need to use a walker. My walker allows me to function on the hard days, but I feel like I’m a different person when I use it. People who don’t react to my limp seem to see me differently when I use my walker.

I went to UCLA New Student Orientation a few weeks after a two-month stay in the hospital, and refused to take my walker because of the attached stigma. I’ve used the device on and off all my life, and I’ve seen the stigma that comes with it and how people treat me differently.

So I let the possible judgement of people I have never met mess with my orientation experience.

One day during orientation, students were invited to go to a club karaoke night at Jamba Juice on campus. But I was tired, so told them I was just going to head back. I stared at the Hill, knowing I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way up. I called the Community Service Officer van, the service that

helps students get around, only to be told that the van didn’t run during the summer.

I started crying, just begging over the phone for someone to help me and take me up. I didn’t know what to do. I was alone on a giant campus, feeling more disabled than I had ever felt in my life. A police officer ended up giving me a ride back to my dorm. I got back and cried and wondered if I belonged, or if I would actually be able to make it in a place like this.

“

listening. One line on a syllabus advising we go to CAE is not enough.

CAE is amazing, but it’s even more amazing when a professor will sit down with me, listen and try their best to understand.

Speak up.

When someone is talking about student issues without even mentioning students with disabilities, add us to the conversation. We deserve to be recognized and included in campus choices that are supposed to help students. People with disabilities want to be a part of the conversation, so let us help in the effort to make UCLA a more accessible place.

Don’t judge. Just because someone appears to be physically fine does not mean they are able-bodied. If someone takes the elevator for one floor, do not lecture them, roll your eyes or make a snide remark under your breath. You don’t know what other people are going through and

We deserve to be recognized and included in campus choices that are supposed to help students.”

How to Help

There’s a part of me that knows that the general population wants to learn how to help, but doesn’t know how. Here’s how you can make a difference.

Work with us. Understand that CAE cannot solve every problem.

Professors can help find an answer to the issue by talking to us and

you shouldn’t pretend to.

Listen. Listen to our issues and talk to us. Make eye contact and be kind.

Don’t talk down to us and don’t treat us differently. We are human, we are students and we just want to be included – and very rarely are.

Many of us want to tell our stories and hear about yours. I’m very open about my issues and want people to ask me questions. People with disabilities don’t all have the same issues. We are unique individuals with a perspective on life that will impact your outlook on life.

I know the world isn’t working against me or other students with disabilities, and the majority of people care and want to help.

However, I’m writing this because I feel that students with disabilities are often an afterthought. I’m writing this because I want to give people the tools they need to help make sure that students with disabilities are included in the conversation about how we can make college campuses a better place for everyone.

Know we are capable of anything we set our minds to. Take time to think about us and our issues – and make sure we are included.

third culture kids WRITTEN BY Hedy wang

PHOTOS BY Jenna nicole smith GRAPHICS BY ANGEL Liang

“W

here are you from?” is the question I have the hardest time answering when I introduce myself.

I usually respond with “San Jose,” but that’s never a complete answer.

I am a United States citizen born to Taiwanese immigrants, but I spent the majority of my formative years in China. My father worked as an engineer in Shanghai during much of my early childhood. He lived alone there while my mother and I lived in San Jose, California – until my parents decided to relocate the whole family to Shanghai when I was halfway through third grade.

After I was forcefully plucked from my elementary school and established social circle in the

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middle of the school year, my 8-year-old self vowed to never accept China as my home. However, as I established a new life and developed friendships with fellow children of expatriates, I realized that I could not definitively call a single location “home.” I had developed roots in three countries at once: the U.S., China and Taiwan.

After moving back to California in my junior year of high school, I couldn’t help but feel disconnected from my peers at school, many of whom I had known in elementary school before I moved to Shanghai.

They had spent their entire lives in one place and had grown up around the same consistent group

of people.

This is a common dilemma that many third culture kids face as they grow up, and even throughout their lives. Third culture kids, a term coined by American sociologists John and Ruth Useem in the 1950s, are individuals who have grown up in one or multiple countries other than their parents’ or their own country of citizenship. Many are the children of expatriates who travel to – and often establish lives in – foreign countries because of their work.

When I spoke with other third culture kids at UCLA, I found they too have dealt with the inevitability of change in our lives, from lost friendships to places we call home.

Nichole Chen As a first-year student at UCLA, Nichole Chen eagerly joined all the student organizations of cultures she identified with: the Association of Chinese Americans, the Taiwanese American Student Association and the Korean American Students Association.

However, having grown up in China, she said she felt their members were too Americanized for her to relate to.

Chen, a third-year political science and economics student, is Taiwanese-American and was born in Southern California. However, she attended an international school from kindergarten through high school in Tianjin, China. She said she has struggled with cultural identity her whole life; she felt she could never fully identify as being Chinese, Taiwanese or American.

She also grew up around Korean culture because many of her peers at school were Korean, but never felt like she could fully identify with it.

“Even though I grew up in China, I never really felt Chinese,” she said. “I still feel more connected to my Taiwanese roots. Also, Korean culture was the only culture I was surrounded by … so none of the cultures are ones I can fully claim.”

Chen’s feeling of never belonging anywhere became most evident during taxi rides in China. Taxi drivers always asked her where she was from, but were never satisfied with whatever answer she gave. If she said she was American, they would point out she was not blonde-haired and blue-eyed. If she said she was Taiwanese, they would refuse to acknowledge Taiwan’s status as a sovereign nation. At one point, she just started saying

she was Korean to avoid further questions.

“I always feel like it’s this little dance of white lies,” she said.

When she moved to the United States for college, Chen found herself facing a similar conundrum when people asked about her origins.

For a while, Chen decided to give a different answer whenever a new person she met asked her where she was from, just to see how their responses differed. However, no matter what answer she gave, people would notice she didn’t display all the characteristics associated with that culture.

When she said she was from Brea, California, which is where her family currently lives, people noticed she did not fully understand American culture, despite being an American citizen. For example, she did not understand certain slang terms like “Netflix and chill” or references to American pop culture.

When she said she was Chinese, Taiwanese or Korean, people would see that she wasn’t completely fluent in Mandarin or Korean.

Aside from cultural identity, Chen also struggled with the constantly changing social dynamics of her school as friends came and went throughout the years.

She knew people for an average of four years at a time, she said.

Her graduating class consisted of 27 people, only one of whom had been there since kindergarten.

“Being at an international school is sort of like being … on a bus ride,” Chen said. “People get on and off the bus, but for some people like myself, the bus ride just lasted a really long time. When I realized it was finally my turn to get off the

“None of the cultures are ones I can fully claim.”

bus, it was an odd thought, because I was the one who watched all these people come on and leave – I could have been the bus driver.”

There was a period of time when she felt numb to change; she became accustomed to people in her life constantly moving around. Even now, she sometimes struggles with not wanting to invest in relationships because she feels like everyone will eventually leave.

After seeing friends come and go, she has developed a sense of urgency about relationships that drives her to make the most out of every moment with the people in her life.

When making new friends, Chen prefers to first dive into deep philosophical discussions to see if they are compatible on a more personal level, then proceeds to talk about more surface-level topics if there is an established connection.

She was at first surprised to see how most of the people she met at UCLA approached friendships from the opposite standpoint, preferring to initiate friendships with shallow small talk and taking their time to probe for a meaningful connection.

“I was just so used to the feeling of, ‘No we don’t have time,’” she said. “When I first (came to UCLA), I was like, ‘We only have four years here. Everyone in my life leaves after four years. This is going to be a real short time.’”

Chen has been trying to embrace the scattered nature of her identity.

She likes to say she is “not fully anything, but partially everything.”

“When you translate that into home, I don’t think I have one location as home,” she said. “I think every place has the potential to be home if you make it. I wouldn’t say home is anywhere else but here at UCLA for now – but that’s temporary, and I’m okay with that.”

“I always feel like it’s this little Dance of white lies.”

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hyuna lee Hyuna Lee’s four years at UCLA have been the longest she has ever stayed in one place.

Lee, a fourth-year psychology student, grew up in five different countries, following her South Korean diplomat parents wherever they led the family.

She was born in South Korea, but moved to Japan at 1 year old, Germany at 4, South Korea in second grade, Nepal in fourth grade, back to South Korea in seventh grade, China in her freshman year of high school and back to Japan in her senior year.

Constantly moving made it hard for Lee to maintain lasting relationships, leading her to view friendships as shallow and centered on surface-level interests

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and inconsequential activities, such as talking about school or gossiping. She never felt supported or encouraged by her relationships with her peers, as she never talked to them about more meaningful topics like personal hopes and struggles.

However, being in college for four years and simply having friends around for a longer time than usual has helped her learn how to put effort into maintaining relationships.

“I never had to deal with longer friendships, so it is hard,” she said.

“It’s also a lot more rewarding to have people who really know me.”

She appreciates how college has given her the time to settle down and explore.

“It’s like a break,” Lee said. “I’ve had so many experiences, and now I get this break where I can learn about different things in the world and about myself.”

Lee said she wants to keep moving around after she graduates and does not like the idea of staying in one place. She is not afraid of change when it happens and thinks change, whether good or bad in the moment, is beneficial because of the lessons she learns from the experience.

“Change was something normal for me,” she said. “Initially I thought I wouldn’t like change, but it has shaped me into a person that wants change.”

“Change was something normal for me.”

Laura Yee Laura Yee renounced her Malaysian citizenship to become a Singaporean citizen in summer – a formal declaration that Singapore is the home she feels most connected to.

Yee, a third-year ethnomusicology student, was born in Penang, Malaysia, but moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina, when she was 9, and then to Singapore when she turned 14.

When she moved to Argentina, Yee did not know any Spanish and could not understand anything in the local public school she attended.

However, the first friend she made at school – a girl who had moved from Ukraine at 6 years old – helped Yee practice speaking Spanish. By the end of her six months in Argentina, Yee had become so fluent in Spanish that when she transferred to a new school, kids thought she was originally from Buenos Aires.

One night, when Yee’s father picked her up from the train station after she got off school at 10 p.m., he told her they would be moving away from Argentina with a shaken expression on his face.

Earlier in the day, Yee’s parents and two brothers had experienced a traumatizing robbery in which they were threatened at knifepoint and tied up in their own home. This incident,

along with the 2008 financial crisis, prompted Yee’s family to move back to Asia. She had seven weeks to say goodbye to her friends and prepare for the move.

“It taught me to appreciate my life at that moment. You never know how your life is going to change … how you’ll never see (your friends) again, never keep in touch,” Yee said. “Value the relationships you have, even if they end. It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just the course of life.”

Having grown up immersed in Argentina’s open and friendly culture, Yee experienced culture shock when she moved to Singapore, which she feels is more conformist and conservative. She had trouble readjusting to accommodate the more reserved and subdued personalities of many of her new peers.

In Argentina, it is customary to greet everyone with kisses on the cheek. However, Yee forgot that Singaporeans do not greet each other in the same way, and she would almost kiss people when they hugged her.

People in Singapore sometimes assumed she was lesbian, she said, because they thought she often behaved in a very touchy manner with

her female friends.

“I came from a Latina culture where I learned to be more extroverted and friendly, and yeah, a little touchy,” she said.

As a result, many kids at her school in Singapore thought she was too extroverted and flirtatious, and laughed too much.

Yee did not recognize Singapore as her home until she left the country to go to college.

“While I was in Singapore, I really considered Argentina (was) where I felt at home, but when I left to come here, I began to recognize … the cultural traits I had developed in Singapore and a certain sense of pride,” she said.

For Yee, change has become a constant, and her experiences moving around have taught her to accept that she cannot control when relationships form or end. She thinks people who are not used to moving tend to get upset when friends stop staying in touch, but she understands that she cannot keep in contact with everyone – even if they mean a lot to her.

“I may have a good relationship with you now, but if it ends because I move away, I won’t blame myself or them,” she said. “It’s just life.”

“value the relationships you have, even if they end.”

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pub peeves

WRITTEN BY WIlliam thorne PHOTOS BY lindsay weinberg

& Madeleine pauker

island of Jersey, nestled near Tcoasthethesmall bay of Saint-Malo just off the of France, packs plenty into its 45

square miles of land – plenty of milk, courtesy of its famous cows, bountiful potatoes, often considered the tastiest in the United Kingdom, and a disproportionate wealth of offshore bank accounts, due to its status as an infamous tax haven.

I grew up on “The Rock,” as the locals call it, where the maximum speed limit is 40 mph and the population a smidge over 100,000. Living in Los Angeles over the last four years, I have come to realize that Jersey and LA have a surprising amount in common. They are both blessed with gorgeous, sandy beaches.

They both suffer from staggering wealth inequality. And, as it turns out, they both lack decent pubs.

The pub is a revered, many-headed beast. Pubs in the U.K. vary wildly, from rural watering holes where locals have a permanent tab open and the landlord is a key part of the community, to fancy gastropubs, which are effectively restaurants masquerading in pubs’ clothing.

Both types have their pros and cons.

The former is usually cozier and provides a better environment for having a few pints and a good chat with your mates, while the latter makes up for its sometimes stuffy atmosphere with superior food.

For all its fancy seafood restaurants and top-quality produce, Jersey severely lacked in the homey pub department.

When I was a young boy, pub meals seemed to consist of bland chunky chips, lukewarm baked beans and greasy fried scampi.

It wasn’t until I moved to the English

mainland, when I was about 11, that I discovered the wonders of a good pub.

In the last decade, the trend in the U.K. has been for the once stuffy, dark pub to be transformed into a light, modern gastropub. Gone are the crusty carpets seeped in decades of sweat and spilled beer. Virtually banished are the jars of pickled onions, swimming in their primordial ooze. They have been largely replaced with airy restaurant settings, in which the cutlery comes neatly wrapped in a linen napkin.

The Wheatsheaf, one of the local pubs I frequent near my home in Bath, England, stands perfectly astride the fine line between grungy pub and gastropub. In the bar, you’ll find dark wooden beams, low ceilings and a roaring fire in the winter. It’s the kind of homey, welcoming environment that sets great pubs apart from their bar or restaurant counterparts. The food at The Wheatsheaf is tasty and diverse, with hearty pub classics like fish and chips and a homemade burger, as well as more elegant choices, such as hot-smoked salmon Wellington and roast wood pigeon.

However, after years of being spoiled, moving to LA for college has brought me back to the old, poor pub days on Jersey. I wasn’t expecting to find bang-up pubs 5,000 miles away from my homeland, but the couple of pubs that I have visited over here have boasted more TV screens than the NSA control room and more options on the menu than any patron could possibly comprehend.

I decided to scour the LA pub scene to see if I could find a good, old-fashioned pub in a city where, much like in the U.K., soaring rent prices are threatening to sweep so many traditional local businesses under the crusty rug.

Ye Olde King’s Head 116 Santa Monica Blvd.

Santa Monica, CA 90401 e Olde King’s Head in Santa MonYicated ica was more like a museum dedto pub culture and all things

British than an actual pub.

The bar area was dark and gloomy – reminiscent of the pubs of yore. The place was packed with expats and soccer-mad locals, their eyes glued to an important Premier League match projected on two huge screens.

It’s traditional for English pubs to be filled with quaint knickknacks such as tankards or beer coasters, but the restaurant side of Ye Olde King’s Head looked like a Jackson Pollock painting of Britishness. One wall was laden with hunting paraphernalia, including riding boots, stirrups, curvy horns and even the heads of a couple of unfortunate deer. Another wall was covered entirely in porcelain plates.

As if the pub and restaurant weren’t “British” enough, next door is Ye Olde King’s Head Shoppe, where they sell everything from jars of Marmite to mugs with Prince Harry and Meghan Markle smiling eerily back at you.

I sat down to eat, trying to put aside the creepy feeling that I was in a huge shrine to my culture, and

Atmosphere Authenticity Food

decided to order two quintessential pub classics: a Scotch egg for starters and the pub’s “world-famous” fish and chips as a main course. The two dishes could not be more synonymous with England unless the Queen were eating them while petting a bulldog (she’s out of corgis).

I’m not the biggest Scotch egg fan at the best of times – when the yolk is crumbly, the meat is succulent and the batter is crunchy – but Ye Olde King’s Head’s Scotch egg really tested my stiff upper lip.

The batter was too thin and the egg inside was slightly green at the edges. The chef added a curry flavor to the sausage meat in an attempt to spice things up a bit, but all that did was overpower the meatiness of the sausage.

The Scotch egg was served with a small pot of gravy and a simple tomato slice, two accoutrements that seemed like afterthoughts. When trying to photograph the dish, it quickly became apparent there was no angle or change in lighting that would make the egg look appealing enough to run in a magazine.

After the starter, I feared for the fish and chips. My fears were confirmed as soon as the waitress informed me that mushy peas would be $5 extra. Fish and chips without mushy peas is like macaroni without the cheese, apple pie without the crust, a hot dog without the bun, a Twinkie without the digestive pills. It’s fair to say my world was shaken.

When the dish arrived, there was nothing worldly or famous about it.

The mushy peas were watery and tasteless, the batter on the fish was too greasy and the cod inside was slightly chewy. A good fish and chips consists of soft, flaky fish covered in crunchy batter with peaks and furrows to it. What I was served fell short of the mark on each count.

On the plus side, the chips were suitably chunky, the inside was fluffy and the compulsory tartar sauce had the lemony, acid bite you’d expect.

I staggered out of Ye Olde King’s Head into the Santa Monica sunlight feeling bloated. I had been stuffed so full with a greasy, poor excuse for good pub food that I felt ready to burst.

The Cat & Fiddle Restaurant and Pub 742 N Highland Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90038 Atmosphere Authenticity Food

I

n the middle of a nondescript block in Hollywood, The Cat & Fiddle’s faux-Tudor exterior stands out like a sore thumb.

The dark beams painted onto a cream-colored background aren’t exactly in keeping with the drab offices and residential buildings around it; however, once you duck inside through the quaint wooden entrance, you’re greeted by a bright, airy space with olive-toned walls.

Compared to the cluttered, messy walls of Ye Olde King’s Head, The Cat & Fiddle’s decor is more minimal and tasteful. The central wall is adorned with a collection of large, ornate gold plates, separated by two duelling pistols hung at a jaunty angle.

To complete the look, a beautiful old set of bellows sits proudly above the bar. Although I briefly contemplated taking them down and using them as a makeshift air conditioning system – I visited the pub on a warm 83-degree Saturday – they helped cap off an overall decorative effect that reminded me of several of the homier pubs I enjoy back in the U.K. Wandering through the pub, I found

a large patio out back, complete with gushing Italianate fountain and copious shade, but I managed to resist the temptation to stay outside and sat indoors to try and get a truer experience.

My attention turned to the menu, and my eye was immediately attracted to its house-brand dry hard cider.

Somerset, the English county in which I live, is famous for its dry cider, and I was eager to test whether this LA equivalent met the standard. To my slight surprise, the pint more than exceeded expectations, as a cold, crisp freshness washed into my mouth. The cider had the required bite and the dryness that differentiated it from a sweeter hard cider, such as an Angry Orchard, that you would find in most grocery stores.

The food didn’t quite match the cider’s lofty heights. Before arriving at The Cat & Fiddle, I knew I wanted to again opt for the fish and chips to give myself a comparison point, and to make sure I wasn’t totally losing my fish-and-chip mojo after the disappointment of Ye Olde King’s Head. The fish and chips at The Cat & Fiddle came with mushy peas, as it

should, but yet again, they were too watery for my liking. A friend shook her head and made a face like she was sucking a lemon when she tasted them.

I’ll admit that mushy peas take some getting used to, but I have yet to find a good enough iteration of the dish to show my friends the delicious addition they should be.

The fish at The Cat & Fiddle was certainly an improvement on Ye Olde King’s Head, as this one had a peaky, crunchy batter – a perfect casing for the soft, flaky fish inside. However, the chips were a little soggy and underwhelming, meaning that the dish was a mixed experience overall.

For dessert, I decided to order one of my absolute favorites: Bakewell tart, which consists of a shortcrust pastry exterior filled with a generous layer of raspberry jam, a sponge-like layer of frangipane and a topping of chopped almonds. The tart was almost a good Bakewell, but not quite. The consistency of the frangipane was too thick and coarse, which meant the jam layer was barely visible and the flavor didn’t come through. In a picture-perfect Bakewell tart, the frangipane and raspberries are in a harmonious marriage, with neither overwhelming the other.

I suspect the ground almonds, the main ingredient of frangipane, weren’t ground finely enough in this recipe, a mistake that led to a flavor divorce.

However, despite the mixed food results, I wouldn’t hesitate in coming back to The Cat & Fiddle. While I was sitting at a table, sipping hard cider with my friends, I noticed a collection of board games piled in the corner, and I could just picture returning on a weeknight and cracking out the Monopoly set. The Cat & Fiddle comes pretty close to capturing the convivial, homey atmosphere that I crave in a pub.

The Pikey

Atmosphere Authenticity Food

7617 Sunset Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90046 thought I had seen the last of quirky Istaff, old pubs with flatcap-wearing bar and then I set foot inside The

Pikey. I entered through a flowery front patio, and my eyes struggled to adjust to the bar’s dim lighting, an orange hue emanating from two large chandeliers.

The Pikey has a Tudor watering hole vibe; it’s the kind of place Shakespeare’s Falstaff might hang out, along with all sorts of other blaggards and ruffians.

The decoration inside veered more toward Ye Olde King’s Head’s scattergun approach, with all sorts of trinkets and knickknacks. The Pikey aims for dark humor: One of the more striking pieces was a merry-go-round horse, with pole and a set of plastic deer antlers stuck on its head, mounted above a doorway. It also featured a portrait of Winston Churchill next to an iconic photo of Hugh Grant taken after he was arrested in LA alongside a sex worker for lewd conduct in a public space.

Putting the quirky, if slightly odd, vibe aside, I ordered a Welsh rarebit – an open-top grilled cheese with mustard spread on it – with a side of thrice-fried chips to get a cut of The Pikey’s jib. Both turned out to be absolutely scrumptious. The chips were among the thickest and crunchiest I have had since leaving the U.K., and the Welsh rarebit had a pleasant tang from the mustard to counterbalance the decadent ooze of the cheddar cheese on top.

However, the highlight of The Pikey’s offerings, the dish that pretty much made the entire pub odyssey worthwhile, was the sticky toffee pudding. Back home, sticky toffee pudding is probably the most common pub dessert, providing the final shove out the door you need at the end of your meal to send you home in a comatose state. The Pikey’s version did exactly that.

The date cake was moist yet springy, crucial given the slathering of divine, luxurious toffee sauce on top. Between the runny sauce and the firm sponge, it perfectly covered both ends of the dessert-texture spectrum. The ensemble was topped off with a much-need-

ed dollop of clotted cream, which brought a freshness to the dish that could easily have been cloyingly sweet.

While The Pikey wasn’t exactly the classic, homey pub that I had set out to find, the sticky toffee pudding was such a showstopper that I can easily imagine coming back just for another taste of that sponge covered in sweet, toffee nectar.

As Shakespeare himself put it in “Richard II:” The last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.

You’re not wrong Bill, you’re not wrong.

Classic pub dishes explained While British food may not be the most revered world cuisine, it still has a variety of traditional dishes that might stump most people when they see them on a menu. Here's a little explanation for five different foods you'll typically find in an English pub.

SCOTCH EGG A boiled egg, encased in chunky sausage meat, encased in crunchy deep fried pastry. Scotch eggs are not always my cup of tea, but if the egg is crumbly, the sausage perfectly seasoned and you plan on having a heart attack in the very near future, then tuck in!

PLOUGHMAN’S LUNCH A stoic staple of pubs up and down the land, a ploughman’s originated as a simple, hearty meal that ploughmen would eat during their lunch break. It usually consists of a chunky wedge of sharp cheddar, a chunky wedge of bread, a chunky wedge of butter, and a generous dollop of relish or pickled onions on the side.

MUSHY PEAS The clue’s in the name with this dish. They’re just peas that have been crushed and mushed into a coarse consistency, with added butter and liberal seasoning.

Many iterations resemble a type of adult baby food, but I like them not entirely pureed, just with a little bite back.

YORKSHIRE PUDDING Unlike the last item, the name of this puffy, delicious pastry is slightly misleading. A Yorkshire pudding is not a dessert, but rather a savory pastry traditionally consumed as a complement to the meat centerpiece in a Sunday roast. With its towering walls and rough appearance, a good Yorkshire pud is golden and crispy on the outside, and slightly soft and yellow on the inside. Generously lather it in gravy or pop a sausage in it and you’ll be one step closer to heaven.

STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING Just to keep you guessing, this pudding is indeed a dessert! Sticky toffee pud is a steamed date sponge cake, with a rich, oozing, luxurious toffee sauce spread all over it, and then usually topped off with a dollop of whipped cream, ice cream or clotted cream, depending on how you like your arteries blocked.

SOURCE: William Thorne, prime director, bbcgoodfood.com. Graphic reporting by William Thorne. Graphic by Grace Hubrig, Daily Bruin contributor.

A R E M E A C C IDEN F N CO

ahmed ismail hoang BY bilal N E T alerie IT -v T WR SAIN E kristie L Y E B S LIETT PHOTO

BY JU RATION ILLUST

I

arrived in New York a year ago on an uncomfortably cold spring morning.

My cousin Tahoora and I ventured out in the 43-degree weather from her apartment looking specifically for turkey chili. I searched Yelp for reviews, menus and photos, my fingers numb and struggling to use my phone.

“We should review our brunch on video,” Tahoora said. “We could make it a vlog.”

A vlog sounded exciting. I loved the idea of the creative process: documenting and reviewing my day on video, editing clips and producing a short movie. I admired vloggers such as Connor Franta and Zoella for their willingness to talk about anything. I had made short montages before, but because I didn’t like the way my voice sounded on camera, I shied away from vlogging. I never considered my life worthy of vlogging – an average college student’s day just didn’t seem that interesting.

YouTube vloggers have become increasingly popular recently. Some, such as Casey Neistat, have raked in millions of followers for their daily life vlogs. If I were to start vlogging, I thought to myself, I would need the dedication these vloggers have and the confidence they exude.

Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone

and recorded Tahoora. She began narrating what we were doing to the camera. Nothing exciting was happening – the two of us were only walking to brunch – yet the stories she told and jokes she made sounded so natural and effortless. I realized in this moment that a compelling vlog didn’t need to entail something exciting.

When Tahoora asked me to describe what I was eating, I turned the camera to myself and talked about my turkey chili bowl.

It was flavorful and warm, just what I needed on that brisk New York afternoon.

I have never been the type of person who could come across naturally on camera. I have always been someone you would find in the corner of a room, too afraid to mingle with the group, waiting for someone to approach me and start a conversation. I didn’t mind talking to people; I just didn’t know how, and being alone made me feel uneasy about my nervousness.

Over time, I grew more comfortable with letting myself be seen on camera because, as I looked back on footage of myself during the editing process, I realized how much vlogging

resonated with my personality.

Although talking to the camera first seemed like a substitute for talking to other people, it gave me the confidence to start up a conversation about anything.

That new confidence helped me overpower the self-consciousness I felt on camera.

My audience didn’t have to be anyone but my family and friends, and I found comfort in knowing that I could later edit out any parts I didn’t feel like keeping. I kept the camera rolling when I was stumped on what to say, which let me capture the spontaneous moments when I thought of something clever.

Tahoora and I ventured all over the city that day. We visited the American Museum of Natural History, went shopping in the Flatiron District, had coffee at a little cafe called Boule & Cherie and had dinner at a French restaurant. Our day seemed like a perfect one to vlog. We were both on spring break and on our own, hopping around a city that had so much for us to see.

While we ate crepes and sipped cappuccinos, Tahoora propped our camera up to start a segment she called “Coffee Talks.” We sat in the warm, comfortable cafe and

asked each other questions about our big family, made jokes and discussed hypotheticals.

“If you had to pick a family member to sit on a bus with for a long time, who would it be?”

By now, it was clear that the audience for our vlogs wasn’t the general public but rather just our family and friends. Aiming for fewer viewers meant we could have more personal and funny conversations.

We didn’t try to mimic popular vloggers; instead, here we were, Tahoora and Bilal, being ourselves.

I edited the clips and stitched the vlog together on my flight back to Los Angeles. For our first vlog, I searched for soundtracks with looping, catchy beats that could give it a playful and casual feel. When I was finished, I sent the vlog to a few family members and friends and received positive feedback.

“I liked the angles you shot with,” my cousin said.

People commented on specific parts of the vlog, and some even asked for the outcomes of cliffhangers. Did Tahoora end up buying the green purse or the pink one?

“You’ll have to wait until the next vlog and see,” I would tell them.

When I heard positive feedback on my vlogs, I felt encouraged to

continue. I even brought my newfound confidence to situations off camera.

“Let me tell you all about this pasta I tried making last night,” I once said to a friend before delving into a detailed recipe and description of how it made me feel. I would never gush about something so trivial before, but here I was now, passionately describing the flavor of the fresh rosemary and the comfort I felt while I ate.

When Tahoora and I both went home to Pakistan in summer, we used our free time to vlog. Only now, it wasn’t just the two of us – we had a large family around to help out.

We interviewed people with short questions, such as “What are your plans for this weekend?” We cooked with our little cousins: The salad we made was terrible and nobody ate it, but the footage of the kids learning how to peel tomatoes was a perfect addition to the vlog. We vlogged at dinner during Eid, a holiday my family celebrates.

Once, when a few of my cousins were spending time together, one of them asked, “Why do you need to be vlogging right now?”

Even though some family members

“

hesitated when we approached them, we tried to make them feel at ease by reassuring them anything they did not want in the vlog could be cut.

“OK, ask me that again,” someone would say. “I have a better answer.”

Tahoora and I became a duo that worked well together. She brought the humor, the charisma and the questions, and I came up with creative ideas for how we could shoot and edit the clips into a movie that flowed smoothly. During Eid, when Tahoora asked me to walk around alone and interview people, I tried to mirror the confidence she brought to the camera.

When I started vlogging a year ago, all I used was the camera on my phone. But over time, I acquired tools that would help make my vlogs more interesting to viewers.

I bought a cheap, black-and-red tripod my 10-year-old brother told me about. I could now prop my phone up in places, hold it steady and shoot time-lapse videos over longer periods of time. The tripod made my vlogs more enjoyable to watch because they were less shaky. People recognized that I was vlogging when they saw me holding it. Ultimately, the tripod made it

I don’t get tens of thousands of views or followers. I don’t make any money, and I don’t plan on it.”

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feel like I had officially acknowledged vlogging as a hobby. A friend of mine gave me a wide-angle lens as a Secret Santa present, which allowed me to capture my surroundings as I walked and spoke into the camera. I even made the upgrade from iMovie to Final Cut Pro X once I grew more comfortable with video editing and decided to look for more advanced effects and transitions.

But I’m not a famous vlogger.

Unlike many, I don’t get tens of thousands of views or followers. I don’t make any money, and I don’t plan on it.

Once I felt adept enough at vlogging with Tahoora, I brought it to aspects of my life that don’t include her. I made a short video while decorating the Daily Bruin office for the holidays and created a vlog on a two-day Daily Bruin editor retreat in Lake Arrowhead, California. I didn’t have Tahoora helping me create material. I was on my own. I used previous vlogs, experiences and ideas to come up with a 16-minute vlog that people found interesting, including catchy music, funny interviews and tours of new places. I didn’t hesitate to pull out my camera and ask people

“

Now, i am unafraid of hearing my own voice.”

questions. The worst that could happen, I told myself, was that I would end up with an uninteresting clip I didn’t have to include in the final cut.

My friends were just as hesitant as my family when I started including them in my vlogs; only now, I had some experience in getting them to open up and talk.

“Just say anything you want!” I told them.

Most of my videos get about 100 views – sometimes a meager 10 or 15.

But I have never worried about that.

I vlog because it feels great, and it reminds me of the progress I’ve made as a person in the past year. I can now talk about my day, whether it was spent on an adventure or simply at home, in my vlogs. I vlog because I enjoy sharing the videos. The positive feedback I receive shows me that there’s something exciting about watching someone else do unexciting things. It keeps me going, and with every vlog I am reminded of how much more I can keep opening up to the camera.

Our lives did not become more interesting or even vlogworthy in the moments we recorded. Tahoora and I were still doing the things everybody

does on a mundane Tuesday. Only now, it was refreshing to make daily life seem like it was almost an art – to add a new, more observant perspective to an otherwise average day.

Today, I don’t hesitate when asking people questions as I did a year ago, both on and off camera. I am far less often that person in the corner of the room, afraid to mingle.

Now, I am unafraid of hearing my own voice. I can approach a stranger and ask to take a photo of them, just because I want to learn something about how their very average day is going – and because the lighting around them happens to look perfect. I tell them vlogging is a hobby of mine and ask about their own.

Holding up a tripod and speaking into my phone has helped me overcome the nervousness I once felt. I can walk up to whoever is in the corner of the room – the same corner I found myself in so many times – and ask a question.

Now, I can help others do the same.

“Hi, I don’t know you, but that sketch you’re making there looks really cool,” I might say. “Would you like to be in my vlog?”

“Sure,” they might reply, hesitantly.

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LA’s Filipino Foodscape WRITTEN BY Catherine Liberty

Feliciano

F

PHOTOS BY Chengcheng zhang

& MICHAEL ZSHORNACK

ilipino food is a bit of a puzzle, both to people who grew up eating it and those unfamiliar with what it has to offer. It is influenced by the nation’s history of colonialism; many cuisines have amalgamated seamlessly into modern Filipino food.

Today, hallmarks of Filipino food in the United States include Jollibee’s Filipino fried chicken, ensaymada (sweet brioche covered in cheese) from Red Ribbon Bakeshop or frozen, cured bangus (milkfish) from the grocery chain Seafood City Supermarket.

But none of these foods alone can encapsulate the culture’s diversity, nor have they widely captured the attention of non-Filipino customers. With few exceptions, many old-school Filipino restaurants are traditional sit-down family restaurants or buffet-style turo-turo, a shorthand for a popular type of Filipino restaurant that translates to “point-point,” referring to the way customers point to their selections.

New offerings are appearing increasingly often and tend to take the form of pop-ups, food trucks and casual dining options. These restaurants usually present a very polished and approachable aesthetic, inviting non-Filipino diners to regularly enjoy the cuisine.

At the heart of each of these restaurants, though, is an opportunity for members of the Filipino community to see themselves represented outside the familiarity of home.

Filipino food has undeniably been on the rise in Los Angeles over the past two years as restaurants such as Sari Sari Store have earned praise from critics and the Filipino community alike.

The Grand Central Market food stall styles itself after the Philippine corner stores, with its false corrugated steel roof and familiar Filipino products like Skyflakes and Spam lining its shelves.

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It makes sense: Los Angeles County hosts the largest number of Filipino-Americans in the United States and the largest concentration of Filipinos outside Manila. Yet while suburbs like Glendale and Carson have long been known as hubs of Filipino-American culture, its presence in the mainstream is novel.

UCLA alumnus A.J. Calomay said he thinks widespread recognition of Filipino food has been long overdue in the U.S. He is currently working on a sequel to the 2003 film “Lumpia,” titled after the Filipino eggroll made with brown crepe paper that its hero absurdly wields.

“Filipinos have been working in kitchens for decades,” Calomay said.

“There’s this collective feeling that we’re not trying to hide our food anymore. It’s damn good.”

Jay Baluyot, co-owner of Filipino tapas restaurant Barkada, sees the process of modernizing Filipino foods as a form of expansion instead of evolution. Rather than seeing the existing Filipino food community as outdated, Baluyot believes newer Filipino restaurants can act as gateways to more traditional restaurants.

“Other restaurants are not our competition,” Baluyot said. “The whole thought is wanting to build together, that’s the only way to get our culture on the map.”

More than representation, Filipino businesses are an investment in a community that is due space in both the physical makeup of LA’s geography and its social consciousness.

“People are saying it’s (Filipinos’) time,” Baluyot said. “My response is, ‘It’s about time.’”

Here’s a snapshot of what some of Los Angeles’ newer Filipino restaurants have to offer.

Neri’s Casual Filipino Dining T

he Koreatown restaurant might be better known for its previous iteration, Neri’s, in Westlake. Neri Seneres, the business’ namesake, co-owner and executive chef, founded it about 30 years ago as a turo-turo restaurant.

The original location on 6th Street and Occidental Boulevard was just a couple blocks southeast of Historic Filipinotown. It closed about two years ago when her landlord declined to renew her lease and instead rented the space out to a Starbucks, Seneres said.

Initially, she was unsure whether she would reopen as she and her husband, both accountants who immigrated to the U.S. from the Philippines in 1967, were able to retire.

However, customers’ requests and her desire to interact with the community motivated her to rethink the business and reopen after her niece found a new location.

“When you’re retired, what are you going to do? Watch TV?” Seneres said. “Here, you meet people, you talk to people. When I go to other places, they know me and recognize me because I’ve been in business more than 30 years.”

Instead of using the same fast-food approach as her previous business, Seneres decided a casual dining approach would result in a fresher product and fewer wasted leftovers. The recipes, which are a mix of her mother’s technique and her own inventions, are rooted in the flavors of the Tagalog region of the Philippines.

The Koreatown location, which has been open for almost two years, mixes traditional and modern decor. Customers

order food at the register, greeted by a waving Lucky Cat and an altar dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Behind them, wall art lists Filipino dishes in different fonts: crispy pata, lechon kawali and bistek tagalog.

Seneres’ chicken adobo, a mainstay of Filipino cooking, hits your tongue with a sharp vinegar tang before melding into sweet and salty soy. The lechon kawali is deep-fried pork belly – layers of dehydrated and silky fat are subsumed by crispy, firm skin.

Neri’s casual dining label might have changed the format, but the food is still rich, comforting and familiar.

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Big Boi B

ig Boi, a recent addition to the Asian food oasis of Sawtelle Japantown, stems from the same culinary mind behind B Sweet Dessert Bar. The latter specializes in bread pudding and features Filipino desserts like halo-halo, a refreshing blend of milk, crushed ice and sweet toppings, all crowned with a scoop of ube ice cream.

Chef Barbara “Barb” Batiste started the brick and mortar B Sweet after the original food truck’s success. Its popularity has enabled her to create Big Boi, a Filipino restaurant aiming to share traditional food in a healthier way.

The restaurant honors Batiste’s father, who was called Boi, a common Filipino nickname.

When he was 43, he had a massive heart attack.

“My mom said, ‘Okay, that’s it,’ because you know Filipino food has a lot of fat and oils in it,” Batiste said. “So she made dishes leaner so he could continue to eat it without sacrificing the flavor.”

Batiste blends her mother’s heart-friendly techniques seamlessly into the traditional Filipino flavors, so much so it’s difficult to believe there’s any less fat, salt, or any of the other diet-killing macronutrients Filipino food is traditionally packed with.

The difference is clearest in Batiste’s lumpia shanghai. The already-small egg rolls have a little less heft than the versions you’ll find in other restaurants or the freezer aisle of Filipino grocery stores. The crunch and flavor is there, but the experienced lumpia eater may miss that wave of unctuousness coating the tongue. Batiste’s lumpia is testament to the infinite modifications that can be

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made to a dish while maintaining its identity.

As time has passed since the restaurant’s opening earlier this year, Chef Barb’s menu has evolved to include classics such as Filipino-style spaghetti, which uses a sweeter bolognese tossed with hot dogs and topped with shredded yellow cheddar. The heart of the menu lies in the entrees, which can be purchased by themselves or as a combo with white rice, garlic rice or pancit – a Filipino noodle dish traditionally prepared a number of ways. The latter two are the obvious choices – go with the garlic rice for a savory canvas that will not only soak up any sauces from your entree, but impart a deeper, almost nutty flavor to them, and go with the pancit for a hearty mix of noodles and vegetables that’ll add complexity to the meal through texture.

Batiste’s pork sisig is delightfully rendered and a drizzle of spicy mayo gives the dish an extra kick and disguises any missing fat that has been sacrificed in the process of making it healthier. Her chicken adobo uses both white and dark meat, but is delicately flavored in a way that makes you suspect Batiste has cranked down the intensity of the soy sauce and vinegar, compared to other chefs, in favor of marinating the meat so deeply that the flavors are still undeniably there.

Don’t be surprised if there is no space for dessert after you’ve dined at Big Boi, but don’t let the satisfaction stop you from picking up a small jar of ube butter. The bright purple spread is creamy and sweet, yet also earthy and may help stave off any Filipino food cravings you have later.

You Eat Now! A

cross cultures, children are familiar with parents, aunties and Lolas demanding “you eat now.” John Castro and A.J. Calomay hoped to evoke and satirize this communal experience when they named their pop-up, which they have attempted to host quarterly in Los Angeles since June 2016.

Neither are natives to the food scene and continue to primarily work in the film and television industry, but they see the pop-up as an extension of their involvement in the Filipino community.

There are no standalone locations where you can find You Eat Now!, but they They see the recently served pop-up as Castro’s an extension popular arroz of their caldo and involvement his mother’s in the Filipino dinuguan (pork stewed community.” in pork blood) at Barkada in February.

In the past, they have served Castro’s food in a number of diverse spaces including at the Commissary, the greenhouse restaurant atop The LINE LA hotel in Koreatown, and Mumford Brewing near Little Tokyo.

The venture started as large gatherings at Calomay’s house with friends and family. Eventually, he proposed to Castro they start a pop-up – he manages the business side, while Castro handles the food.

Calomay and Castro are hoping to create community-oriented events appealing to both Filipinos and non-Filipinos that double as a gateway to broader Filipino cuisine.

The media rarely shows dishes like balut (a preserved, fertilized duck egg), except to disgust Western

“

sensibilities.

“Sometimes a big tub of dinuguan isn’t appealing to people,” Calomay said. “But if it’s presented a different way, or if people see it on social media, they want to try it. And maybe if they’ll try that, they’ll try balut.”

Castro’s gelatinous arroz caldo is thick and creamy, only mildly seasoned to contrast with the crunchy, salty chunks of chicharones and crumbled boiled egg sprinkled on top. Sauteed spinach and shredded chicken add some color to the bowl, but also make it more nutritious and filling.

A chicken tocino sandwich, served with fries and atchara – shredded pickled vegetables – provides a familiar option to any unadventurous customers. Densely packed, slightly sweet shrimp lumpia over garlic rice is a middleroad option for anyone wanting to dip their toe, rather than plunge themselves, into Filipino cuisine.

While the arroz caldo and lumpia were the day’s most popular orders, the dinuguan highlights a traditional dish in a highly accessible way. By nature, dinuguan is meant to dress up the pig’s less appetizing entrails.

Castro’s preparation, however, uses thick chunks of pork instead of the slippery liver and intestines commonly used in traditional preparations of the dish, without sacrificing taste. The rich vinegar stew coats a foundation of green rice with a chalky smooth mouth feel, broken up by thin slices of pickled baby bell peppers for added freshness.

The impermanence of You Eat Now! may cause distress to anyone wishing to become a loyal customer, but it hopefully means satisfied guests will not only want to try brick and mortar Filipino restaurants, but learn more about the culture as well.

SPRING 2018

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Barkada A

t first glance, you might confuse Barkada for any other Hollywood lounge, until you realize the majority of the fusion-based menu is loaded with Filipino influence. While the restaurant is still waiting on its liquor license, its small-plates approach mimics pulutan – a greasy, comforting food which usually accompanies a good stiff drink.

For this reason, the name “Barkada” might seem like some hip vamping on the word “bar,” when it simply means a group of friends, a clique or a community in Tagalog.

“We’ve always been left out of that dialogue of, ‘Where do you want to go eat tonight? Do you want Korean?

Mexican? Thai?’” said founder Paul Montoya. “We’re not just a novelty.”

Montoya and his business partner Jay Baluyot hope to attract a larger crowd by using the best ingredients and offering a menu designed to be sampled. This approach shies away from the traditional preparation of Filipino food that’s made in large quantities using cheaper ingredients.

Montoya acknowledged the small-plates menu is unpopular with some traditional Filipino diners who question the portion sizes and higher cost, but believes

Bahay Natin Food Mart estled in Palms, Bahay Natin literally Ngrocery translates to “our house.” It’s a small store rather than a restaurant, but it deserves recognition for selling comfort food in the form of frozen longanisa, a sweet sausage, and jarred halo-halo toppings, rarely found in the “Asian” aisle of Ralphs.

Read more at prime.dailybruin.com.

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LIFESTYLE

his decision is a compromise that will attract Filipino and non-Filipino diners alike by allowing them to try many different plates at once.

Three quintessentially Filipino dishes – adobo, mechado and kare kare – are transformed in Barkada’s short rib trifecta. Each bite is silky and tender, regardless of the preparation. The adobo is imbued with the sweet-sour sauce, emphasizing the vinegar’s tartness to counterbalance the meat’s richness. The tomato-based mechado is subtly sweet and almost melts on the tongue.

Yet it’s the kare kare, a peanut cream-laden stew, that speaks truest to Montoya and Baluyot’s goal of popularizing Filipino cuisine. The strong peanut butter taste might surprise newcomers but pairs nicely with the short rib in a way that might be less intimidating than traditional preparations of kare kare using tripe or oxtail.

Other dishes combine different Filipino dishes in an inventive way. Lumpia, for instance, comes two ways at Barkada.

Their Lola’s Lumpia, filled with a comforting pork and vegetable mixture, tastes as though a Filipino grandmother sat in the kitchen and hand-wrapped them herself. The sisig lumpia, on the other hand, is filled with sauteed pork and seasoned with peppers and calamansi, a Philippine lemon. The result is a spicy, tangy and refreshing eggroll that could quickly become addicting.

These recipes are a mixture of family and chef-created ideas, heavily inspired by the pair’s upbringing in Los Angeles. While Barkada’s menu emphasizes Filipino flavors, influences from many cuisines run through the ever-changing menu, including Mexican and Hawaiian flavors in Kahlua Pork Nachos and Chinese flavors in their bao bun tacos.

“We all grew up around here and wanted to include the whole melting pot of LA in our menu by creating fusion dishes,” Montoya said.