Free(dom) of Speech

By: Jessica T.

Falling from the clouds, earth caused fear yet to the roads he bowed and relief caused tears.

Grasping those years, memory caused him to ascend the mount rice grew near, water balanced on both ends.

He carries the light which others depend, never reaching free-range ‘til nights clashing with friends yet the sun brings fights for change:

A change for freedom, the choice to arrange his own desires, his own claims, to let curiosity seek the strange. to make dream and life one and the same.

He sought the reality free of shame, so he leapt from his roots for almighty fame to freedom’s foreign terrain, to find the loot.

Yet he fell from the soot, and the clouds parted to reveal the arrogance put where tears had departed.

Now see my broken-hearted ashamed of his shame, from trauma he never parted, yet a trauma never claimed.

A trauma only proclaimed in tears watering this land of the free Yet tears can never name these feelings I fail to see.

“Don’t be like me, anak, my child; just be happy to be in the land of the free.”

Yet how free can I be, with emotions suppressed?

“Tatay, father, use your freedom of speech tell me you are not okay, please, be the human I see.” the healing wound by Leeyana

M.

In my day to day life, I find myself meditating upon the collective trauma of my family There is a reason why most Asian parents do not believe in mental health issues, much less support strategies to relieve the associated burdens In just under a century, a look back into our history reveals a dark past of exploitation, displacement, and colonization, both from the West and countries in the Asian continent What happens to a hurt animal? It becomes violent It nips It barks It bites because it thinks that help is just another hand that will hurt them As a community, we have become that dog We push our trauma aside, as we don’t know how to heal We push it away so the hurt lessens But when a wound is left untreated, it becomes infected It seeps into our bloodstream so that every moment is unbearable, and when the infection is too far gone, the stench of it starts to affect the ones around us I can clearly see the way trauma has affected my family and furthermore, how it has affected me I see the pattern, and I have started to heal

My parents were born in the fading years of the Marcos regime Although I was not given much of a glimpse into their lives during the regime, I cannot imagine that it was easy I find myself thinking: is this why they are the way they are? Is the endless poverty of the Filipino people the reason why my father is so resourceful to the point of stinginess? Is it why my mother loves to flaunt the money she has? Is that why they stock up on food we won’t eat or clothes we won’t wear? When I tell them about my struggles, is that why they laugh, like it’s something so menial that it’s not even worth an understanding nod? Oh, their privileged daughter, with no worries of the world around her “You don’t know what struggle is”, that was what I was always told See, trauma works in ways that are incomprehensible and erratic My father brushed me off with a scoff and a swig of his nightly beer because “his uncle was worse” My mother told me I should be grateful and to never “complain”, because “I’m not carrying my family on my back” like she did When I was a child, I hated them for it I hated seeing my father drunk He was so embarrassing to me When he put the bottle on the table, I cringed at him When he drank at our family gatherings, I rolled my eyes, already imagining how disheveled he’d become by the end of the night I bit my tongue as hard as I could when my mother berated me for being “lazy” I imagined getting struck by a semi truck when we got into screaming matches in the car The smell of their wounds was making me gag I vomited everything they gave to me, their privileged, weak daughter All we could do was stare at the mess I made, and sigh, both of us disappointed

But I don’t hate them for it, at least not anymore I’ve made peace with the way they are I can’t heal their wounds, not completely That’s not my job The smell of rotting flesh and pus has gone away The wounds have scarred, thick keloids roping on their bodies I laugh along with my parents now I hold their hands I talk to them instead of blocking them out On my chest, there is a scar above my heart It is small and clean I touch it tenderly Underneath it, inside my heart, is a little girl I have kept her there so she is safe She still knows the smell of rot She is so small, and still so scared I can’t heal my parents’ wounds What I can do is wrap it in cotton and kiss it like they kiss my head I kiss my past self, her little hand covering the crust around her dry lips I can tell her that it’s okay now My parents are like giants to her, with fangs for teeth and claws for nails and scars from past battles covering every inch of their body But I see them for what they really are: hurt They had to use their fangs and their claws to stay safe

They just didn’t know that they were already safe. They didn’t know who they were hurting. I hug my parents closer. I hug the little girl closer. Trauma works in ways we can’t understand, but so does healing. A wound will always close, no matter how long it takes.

Melting

by Brianna B.

What is my mental-health path?

Melting is a self-portrait representing my experience with being Asian American. Being apart of two cultures, yet not belonging to either can be isolating and awkward. I showed this by using oil pastels as my main medium making the piece look messier and using a sharp tool to scrap away swirls into the oil pastel making it look disorienting.

I realized how I felt about my race when I went to Thailand with my mom and my sister in the summer of 2022. I am from Thailand but moved to America at a very young age, so for a long time I denied my culture which included little things like, not wanting to bring seaweed to school because other students would judge it and call it “disgusting”. When I visited Thailand that summer I realized how much I despised being Thai and how much the “Thai side” slowly disappeared while growing up in America. I showed this through the stretching of the left side of my face. I felt like I needed to fit into whatever culture niche I was immersed in. Whether I was in Thailand or America. I either felt too American or too Thai. So with the words:

“If

I’ll Be Somebody I’ll Never Let My Skin Decide

For Me” above my head, I communicated how my appearance defines who I am, how I feel, and if I want to be “somebody”.

“I’m Proud” an original song by Katie C.

I’ll push down my feelings

So people think I’m fine

“Oh she’s that one happy girl”

But really I’m crying inside

I’d embrace my stereotypes

Mental health talk is a waste

With asian parents like that 你以為你是誰

(Translation: who do you think you are)

Are you Chinese? They’d all ask No, I’m Taiwanese, is what I’d say Confused faces reply

Where the heck is that?

My tears turned to lies

I’d make a lengthy story

Oh, I’m Chinese, Japanese, Looking back, I wish I could say sorry

I should’ve been proud

Oh here I’ll show you on a map

Culture isn’t a barrier

How I shielded it is what makes this story sad

(I am Taiwanese) 我是美國人

(I am American)

(No matter who I am)

I should never run

Never run from who I am

Don’t let it get to my head

Don’t let them flood my mind

Yet I reflect on who I am

I’ve cried but never let the tears flow

I’ve screamed but never let my voice show

I’m tired of pretending that I’m perfectly fine

I should be speaking up; and now’s that time.

I used to overlook my mental health

“Oh it’s okay, when I grow up I’ll understand”

But looking back I see all of my wrongs

Dear future, this is what I demand

I demand to be proud

I’ll say this is not the end

I’m proud of my culture

我一定要勇敢

(I must be brave)

Call this the sequel

Of a story I used to hate

The new and improved reboot

And again and again I’ll say

我是台灣人

(I am Taiwanese)

我是美國人

(I am American)

不管我是誰

(No matter who I am)

I should never run

Still I look back on the past Stories I will carry

I can’t help it, no I can’t

Still their words I find it scary

Taiwanese or Thai?

Slanted eyes or a narrow nose

Why don’t you ever wear a kimono?

Are the asian stereotypes true?

It was questions like these that made me afraid Made me want to hide all of my colors

If there’s nothing on the surface for them to see Then what is there to judge?

But now I’ve learned

I think I’ve grown And now again

I’ll say

我是台灣人

(I am Taiwanese)

我是美國人

(I am American)

不管我是誰 (No matter who I am)

I should never run

Never run from who I am

Don’t let it get to my head

Don’t let them flood my mind

Yet I reflect on who I am

I hope I’ve learned

I hope I’ve grown

But no matter what

I’m Proud