DISCLAIMER: While we are a large and diverse community, our core values are inclusivity, empathy, and equity. It is never our intention to unfairly attack any particular group or spread hate. Before any form of content is released on our platform—Instagram posts, submissions, Peahce staff writing, etc.—we put in our best efforts to review it with sensitivity and care to ensure that our output is reflective of our mission. At the end of the day, however, we are still an organization that is mostly composed of students and young adults; we are all constantly evolving and learning as people, and sometimes we can make mistakes that misrepresent Peahce as a whole. With this in mind, we encourage you to reach out to us via Instagram DM or email if you take issue with something posted on our platform. We are always open to critique and welcome your thoughts.
MISSION STATEMENT The Peahce Project is a dedicated online space that spans across our website, podcast, Instagram and other social media platforms for Asians by Asians. Founded by Arden Yum in the summer of 2019, its sole purpose was to publish interviews and showcase art and writing of Asian creatives all over the world. Each month Peahce chooses a theme that helps to guide and encompass the content for that period of time, allowing artists to tap into these many modes of exploration through topics such as identity, culture, race, diaspora, and more. At the heart of Peahce’s mission is to create a community where Asians can connect with one another through any vessel of expression they desire. The Peahce Project hopes to be an equitable and inclusive environment, both in our internal makeup as well as the content we produce. We aim to do so through incorporating diverse voices and perspectives in our team that reflect the diversity of the Asian community. Peahce works to hold ourselves and our members accountable for sharing a positive, inclusive and authentic message, and acknowledge the limitations of our individual perspectives as well. We are conscious of the narratives we promote and the influence we may have on others through our digital presence, and regularly evaluate how we can continue to improve as an organization. The Peahce Project values the community we have built through our website and social media, and welcomes feedback and critique to best adapt to our community’s needs and opinions. Our platforms are places of discourse, solidarity, and growth and we hope to foster important and necessary conversations through the content we create. The Peahce Project is ultimately a community-centered organization and aims to reflect that throughout our work. Over the course of the 2020 pandemic, Peahce has also evolved into a space where the community is able to engage in social justice issues and partner with alike organizations to push for more proactive political action. As we enter the next chapter of The Peahce Project, we’re returning to our original mission of highlighting the creative and personal work of Asians from all over the world.
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PSA: “Pretty for an Asian Girl” is not a compliment.
Table of Contents
by Ellie Huh
My Relative Is Voting For Trump
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by L.R.
6 Does Your Mum Know? by Teagan Nguyen
7 My Model Minority Mind by Jeeho Ha
Kim Pham
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Interview by Emma Wensing
Leaving Home by Benecia Jude
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Balikbayan Box by Zeean Firmeza
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Fishes From Childhood by Yeji Kim
Frances Cha Interview by Arden Yum
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artwork by Aarushi Jain
PSA: “Pretty for an Asian girl” is not a compliment.
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hat does it mean to be Asian? This is a question I’ve found myself asking more frequently, and each time, I decide that there’s no right answer. Because despite how Asian identity has come to be perceived in the Western world, there is no one cookie-cutter “Asian.” Of course, some Asian stereotypes have grains of truth to them, but throughout American history, ideas of “Asianness” have often attempted to boil all Asians down to a few choice descriptors: foreign and sneaky, exotic and dangerous, seductive and demure, effeminate and weak, nerdy and awkward. Something that connects all these different, outdated (yet
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ironically all too present) ideas of Asian identity is this: being Asian somehow defines and overshadows all of you—your personality, your upbringing, your looks—and alienates you. But why does everything you do and everything you are have to be in some way conflated or associated with stereotypical conceptions of your Asian heritage? If you’re good at math—it must be because you’re Asian, and all Asians are nerdy,
academic geniuses. If you’ve watched some anime in the past—well, it’s to be expected of weeb Asians. If you play video games like osu!, League of Legends, and Valorant—it would be fitting for Asian gamer girls. Taken on an individual basis, this stereotyping can, on the surface, often seem benign and almost complimentary. However, they still point to a larger issue at hand, namely how people of Asian heritage are often seen as ‘Asian’ before, and above, all else. This reduction of personhood to a single facet of identity, along with the stereotyping of Asian identity, can have real consequences, including the fetishization of Asian women. The fetishization and objectification of Asians, sometimes referred to as “yellow fever,” stems from the long-standing stereotypes surrounding Asians, Asian women in particular, including obedience, exoticism, submissiveness, and hypersexuality. Those who fetishize Asian women are drawn to a preconceived, shallow notion of Asian identity through which fantasies of relationships with Asian women form. Asian women, then, are quickly reduced to the racialized stereotypes imposed upon them, and are forced to question whether others are attracted to them for their ethnicity rather than the whole of their identity and personhood. In other words, there is always the lingering question of: do you like me because I’m Asian, or because you’re actually interested in the totality of who I am? The fetishization of Asian women burdens them with not only the anxiety of determining the answer of such a question, but also with the task of either meeting or resisting the stereotypical expectations of them as Asian.
women, but it also serves as a reminder of the complicated relationship that Western beauty standards have with the Asian community. Phrases like, “you’re attractive for an Asian” or “you look so exotic” can have damaging effects on a person’s self-esteem and sense of individuality. Not only do these “compliments” compound the feeling of objectification that Asian women might have by suggesting that they are interchangeable among one another, but it also pushes the notion of Asian Americans as always being “foreign” and can increase anxiety about body image and an inability to meet Western standards of beauty. Asian fetishization both relies on and perpetuates racial stereotypes by assuming that a person’s Asian identity is equal to the entirety of their being. The complexity and diversity in Asian cultures at large is erased in favor of a one-dimensional conception of a singular, all-encompassing Asian identity. But we are more than the stereotypes laid out for us as Asians. There is depth and variety not only in the Asian diaspora but within every individual as well. You’re bold for an Asian. You’re athletic for an Asian. You’re charismatic for an Asian.
Additionally, Asian women are often given backhanded compliments that imply a connection between their perceived attractiveness and their ethnicity; they are either attractive because they are Asian, or in spite of being Asian. Not only does this lead to a heightened sense of “otherness,” in which Asian women are held to a different standard of “foreign” beauty apart from other
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My Relative Is Voting for Trump
Graphics by Jenny Hoang
CW: references to sexual assault and harrassment “He’s draining the swamp and fixing the economy!” “Your generation is becoming more and more sensitive.” “If they had complied with orders this wouldn’t have happened.” These are some of the statements I have gotten used to hearing around my extended FilipinxAmerican family during gatherings (pre-pandemic). Some of us comfortably sit away from the table whenever politics is brought up. Some will make a disclaimer that politics is not to be discussed. 3
Some bring up the headlines on social media. Some will interject with quotes from fake news. Some tell us we’re getting too loud. Some laugh at those of us expressing our views with vigor and passion. Some will try to change the subject. Some will tune everything out—after all, wasn’t this supposed to be a party? Together, we are a loud mix of liberals and conservatives on various areas of the political spectrum trying not to find ourselves in a heated debate—but still wanting to insist that we’re right— before the kanin is even done cooking. A few of my relatives are proudly voting for Donald J. Trump in the upcoming election. Under
any other circumstances their favored candidate probably wouldn’t bother me this much, but these circumstances are far from normal. I recognize that we have had, and always will have, our differences when it comes to politics. However, Trump’s statements regarding women alone cause me to be wary of the Trump supporters in my family. I’m not saying that I’m afraid any of my relatives will physically attack me, but I am a survivor of a sexual assault. How am I supposed to feel knowing that a family member is ready and willing to overlook a president that feels entitled to grope women? I no longer feel safe with them, nor do I feel I can trust them if I were to ever be assaulted again. I grew up feeling safe with my family knowing that we were a tight-knit bunch that looked out for another. Donald Trump and his administration have changed that dynamic completely. It should maybe go without saying that the Trump supporters I am related to are also strong supporters of the right to bear arms. I grew up with a sense of “security” from these family members. I can remember several male relatives making comments when I revealed I was in my first relationship. “Wait until he sees my gun. He won’t touch you!” “If any guy hurts you I’ll beat them up.” The irony in those statements weighs heavier than the application of our president’s fake tan. They voted for the very type of man that would pose a threat to me just a few more years later. Now they want to vote to keep the same type of man in power. When Trump initially came into office my first thought was for my young nieces and nephews. “How am I supposed to teach them the right values and morals if their president isn’t even a decent role model?!” I can still remember the feeling of my heart slamming into my gut. I was an optimistic, hopeful college student at the time. I had just started entering the “real world” and trying to figure out how to “adult.” I wanted to be a good example for my nieces and nephews. I couldn’t understand how I,
as their Tita, could encourage them to be kind to others while the man in charge of their country had begun banning, shaming, and judging people based on the color of their skin. It felt surreal, like George Orwell was somewhere watching from above and taking notes. Then, it felt frustrating. Was I letting my nieces and nephews down? Was I a hypocrite for trying to be a kind grownup while the grownup in the White House could have sent us into war for a tweet? Some of their very own parents voted him into office. How could their parents have elected this racist, misogynistic, lying, cheating individual? Maybe they still believe Trump has drained the swamp. Maybe they just don’t feel threatened because they have lived in privilege for so long. Maybe it’s because they haven’t heard Trump use any negative adjectives to describe Filipinxs. Maybe it’s because it wasn’t a Philippine ban. Maybe because he doesn’t refer to COVID-19 as the “Filipinx” disease. Maybe it’s because he and his ideas are a direct threat to other brown people. Maybe it’s because they have dealt with microaggressions but have never been murdered by the police. Maybe that doesn’t matter to them. I’m not sure what does anymore. I don’t know what makes my Trump supporting relatives feel safe besides their rifles—it doesn’t seem to be legislation or the actions of the government. They shrug their shoulders or even go out of their way to justify the murders of black and brown individuals; but if hate speech towards an Asian person goes viral in a video, they feel outraged. I often wonder what it would take for them to see the reality that Trump doesn’t love them back. I have so many questions still, but I don’t think I want to know their answers. If Donald Trump was the man that assaulted me, would you have still considered him worthy of the candidacy? If one of our relatives died as a result of Trump’s misinformation regarding the Coronavirus, would you have regretted voting for him? 4
If a shooter came to my preschool and murdered me while I tried to protect my kids, would you still not vote for gun control? If a shooter came to your kids’ school, would you still want teachers to be armed? If you were married to or loved anyone belonging to the Latinx, Muslim, Black, Chinese, Indigenous, LGBTQIA+, or disabled communities, would you still feel Trump’s statements and actions could be justified? I know that after the election—no matter the result—there has been a significant change in the dynamic I have with these family members. This is more than the racist undertones we had to put up with at the Thanksgiving dinner. It goes far beyond anyone living in “a different time.” Perhaps for them, I will always be Little L.R., their bubbly relative. I understand I cannot change them and make them into the people, or voters, I wish they could be. I love them, but it is hard to love someone who isn’t bothered by Trump’s lack of respect and empathy.
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It is disturbing to love someone who feels no anxiety around the possibility of this administration sticking around. It is not easy to regain that old feeling of familiarity and belonging when I see them or as I scroll through their social media. It is difficult to know where to go from here. I don’t have all the answers, nor nearly the amount of tools required to build the bridges necessary for better communication with these family members. So I take it day by day. I will be holding my mail-in ballot in my hands by November 3rd knowing my vote will be an example to my nieces and nephews, and the children I work with. I will be filling out my ballot with our Earth’s future generations in my heart, hoping that someday they will be able to elect a president they are proud to support. One who doesn’t spread hate and fear, one who will acknowledge and respect them as people, a president who sees the color of their skin and loves them all the more for it.
My mother buys me clothes until I’m choking on a silk scarf in the closet. I’m starving and molding myself to fit in this space In the dark, all alone Because “lesbian” doesn’t translate into the old language And I can try to say it in an accent But why bother when I can say “disappointment” Instead I’m watching the Youtube videos I’m reading the pamphlets; I’m asking the questions But I’m not the funny white gay man. I am The eldest daughter in an Asian family I am white-washed; trendy; Gen Z Influenced; brainwashed, naive; stupid “Why are you doing this to Me?” I’m waiting for the tearful hug, The Facebook post, the Pride selfie I’m waiting for a narrative, a guilt-trodden Lie So I show up to church in one of her silk scarves We’re matching. Me, the girls behind their mothers, And Mum. Suddenly, We’re all choking Artwork by Kaori Ochoa
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by Jeeho Ha My Model Minority Mind is a visual reflection of my experience with mental illness: the sensation of feeling trapped and overwhelmed by your own brain. Navigating mental illness as an Asian person is a unique kind of minefield because you’re already set against so many preconceived notions about your intelligence, ability, etc. I’ve struggled with chronic anxiety and depression for over ten years along with a slew of other mental illnesses; it’s been a part of my life for so long it feels like the background music of my brain. Many of my anxieties are influenced by growing up and being Asian: the stigma surrounding mental health, pressure to live up to familial and social expectations… As personal an experience as mental illness is, I hope this piece will resonate with others who are navigating some of these same thoughts and experiences.
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All photos featured in this interview by Emanuel Hahn and Kim Pham
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Kim Pham
Hi, I’m Kim. I’m one of the co-founders of Omsom. I am a first generation Vietnamese-American and the daughter of refugees. I grew up in Boston, but have lived all over: London, New York, Berlin, Dublin, San Francisco, and LA. I really just spent a ton of time in my early career cutting my teeth in start-ups, and then I quit that all about two years ago to start Omsom, which is a brand I now run with my younger sister Vanessa. We are a new food brand that strives to reclaim and showcase proud, loud Asian flavors!
What inspired you to start Omsom? It really all stemmed with our identity. Vanessa and I are first generation Vietnamese-Americans. Daughters of refugees. We grew up in Boston, Massachusetts, and I think for a long time there was kind of, like, shame with our identity, particularly with food; I feel like every Asian kid has this lunchbox story, and we really internalize that. Our town was 98% white. It wasn’t until we got older and we stepped back into our identities and our culture that we realized just how important food is to us as individuals. On a larger level, there is a movement happening with Asian Americana, where our community is taking back our voice and reclaiming the multitudes that exist within not only our food, but also our communities and our culture. It was all very inspiring to us and we’re like, “How can we kind of be a part of this conversation, if not help drive it?” Omsom was born from that idea of building an unapologetic Asian American brand with food as the vehicle.
What are some of Omsom’s products? We basically craft what we call starters. Essentially, they are rip-and-pour packets with everything that you need for a specific dish. So all the seasonings, sauces, aromatics, oils, vinegars, anything from a flavor perspective— we have it in this little pack right here. All you would need to do is rip it, pour it [in] with whatever protein and vegetables you have, and in 30 minutes, you’ll have a really delicious Asian dish! What’s cool is that for each of our products, we partner with a chef of that background to make sure our products are super tight, because it’s really important to us that we build products with cultural integrity. The way that we know how to do that is by partnering with people who’ve cut their teeth in these cuisines; they’re either first-generation or immigrants themselves, and they’re really redefining modern Asian food. We launched with a Southeast Asian line—so Vietnamese, Thai, and Filipino—and so we partner[ed] with a Vietnamese chef, a Thai chef and a Filipino chef. 10
Why did you choose the name Omsom? It originates in the Vietnamese phrase om sòm, which means rowdy. Growing up, it was kind of like a negative term. My parents would chastise me and Vanessa for being in the back of the car, bopping each other in the head, and they’d be like “Hey, stop, don’t be so om sòm!” and it was seen as a negative thing to be rambunctious and rowdy. I just love this idea of reclaiming that word, and kind of spinning it on its head in many ways. Everyone always talks about Asian American communities being seen as quiet, or submissive, or model minority, and we really just want to like give a “F**k you” to that. We’re going to be in your face, or be noisy, and we’re going to be unapologetic. We just want to bring that energy in our name and it just felt core to us.
Especially with COVID going on right now, the model minority myth has been super harmful to the Asian American community. One hundred percent. I mean, it’s been harmful, like full-stop, deada**, since the dawn of time. We are a food company, but these are the sort of things that we think about regularly. As in, what are the issues happening in Asian America, and how is it our duty and responsibility to help drive that conversation, through the vehicle of food?
I know a lot of people who I’ve interviewed have talked to me about the lunchbox incident for them. Do you or your sister have any particular experiences? We grew up in a town south of Boston, which is 98% white, so yes, for the longest time, I felt that was every lunch for me in particular. For me it was white rice with pork floss (in Vietnamese called chà bông) and I would get all the time, “Oh it looks like cat hair,” but it’s just dehydrated, shredded pork on rice. I just remember being like, “This is so annoying. I feel so embarrassed.”
Have you faced like racism and discrimination in the field as an Asian woman? As a cisgender Asian American woman, I experience a lot of privilege compared to my Black or brown friends, so I don’t ever think I will ever fully understand that. However, prejudice against Asian women is a particular kind of insidious. When I was working in venture capital, I would oftentimes be the only woman, let alone woman of color in a room. That was super normal, and with that comes many challenges. I think I was often written off as being “this young little Asian girl.” Bias manifests in different ways, particularly for Asian Americans—the number of Asian folks getting promoted, put into decision-making positions, or management roles is still quite low.
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I got really tired of working in venture and seeing that the people who make decisions on what companies to or to not invest in like 98% of time are old white men. Even if there were young Asian analysts, or BIPOC associates, when you actually look at gatekeepers and who hold the keys to the bank, literally, it was always old white men. And I thought, “Okay, I could stay in this, and try and change it from the inside out or I could build my own thing, build the company of my dreams, and hopefully in the process make a s**tload of money to try and change the way that wealth flows through this country.” Omsom is my small attempt at that. When Vanessa and I quit our jobs, we were like “if we’re going to build this company, we’re going to do everything differently,” and think we really have worked hard to do that. One of my mentors always used to say, “It’s not about pulling your chair up to their table. It’s about creating your own table,” because when you pull your chair to the table, you’re still playing by their rules. “Their” rules will often perpetuate systemic and institutional injustice. F**k that. Make your own table. That’s what we’re doing with Omsom; we’re literally making our own table. We’re going to hire our own team (coincidentally, all women of color), work with investors that we choose to work with (50% are women or POC), and be hyper-intentional about our mission, the products, and the people that we amplify and partner with. We’re taking everything back to the start.
Do you have any advice for aspiring entrepreneurs? Yes. One: just start. I think for a long time, I was like, “Okay, I don’t know what I want to do yet, and I don’t know if I’m ready, so I’m going to work and de-risk it. I’m going to learn, you know, from all these different folks and that way when I start it’ll be easier.” Now that I’ve started it, I’m thinking, “Oh my god, nothing can prepare you for how brutal this is.” You might as well just start earlier. It’s gonna be painful no matter what! Two, know that every day your ego is gonna be f**king rocked on a daily basis. I pride myself on my resilience and competence, but starting a company means you’re just constantly being humbled. There’s so much that you have to learn, there’s so much you have to do, and like no amount of preparation can prepare you for it. Buckle in, jump, make the dive, and just know that you’re constantly going to question yourself. That’s one hundred percent okay and all part of the journey.
Lastly, how would you say being the daughter of immigrants has influenced your identity? Everything, every way. It is the lens through which I view this world. Thematically, it has given me immense empathy, understanding, and passion for helping other underrepresented or marginalized communities. My identity is very much a part of my activism; my activism is rooted in my identity. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be Black or brown in this country, but I feel even having a glimpse of understanding of what 12
my family went through has made me angry, in a good way. When I talk about fire, a lot of it is rooted in just like seeing the s**t my parents went through, and even to some extent what my sister and I have gone through. What this nation and our government continues to put other underrepresented, marginalized folks through makes me angry. I want to change that. This identity has also kept me mad humble, in both good and bad ways. Battling scarcity continues to be a big part of my life, so sometimes it’s difficult for me to have the abundance that many folks take for granted. My family doesn’t have generational wealth. If Omsom fails, Vanessa and I can’t go get some money from our parents and relax until our next thing. When we were fundraising, folks would often say, “Oh, don’t go fundraise, just borrow $200k from a rich family member as seed money and start the business.” Our parents are immigrants; no one in my family has a cool, even, $50k to lend us to work on this idea. When it came to investors, Vanessa and I were oftentimes trying to sell the dream with confidence— when in reality, her and I were hustling 2-3 jobs each just to try and pay rent. We were nervous about being able to get groceries the next month, but on the surface we just had to say, “Yeah, everything’s going really well, you should totally invest in us.” I’ve seen a lot of folks with way less traction, less domain expertise, and less work invested than we put in, and they’re able to coast for a while because they had a wealthy parent who could help. Maybe it was help to pay for rent, or not having to pay a salary to themselves, because they were living off of a trust fund or a partner who is very wealthy. Wealth begets wealth in this country. We didn’t have any of that, and so I feel it’s just given us so much fire and grit, and I’m really, really proud of that, because that came from my parents. That came from them coming to the US, being survivors, back against the wall. I’m proud of them, and I’m proud that I got that from them, but it’s hard. Is there anything else that you want
to add or talk about?
We’re hiring! So if anyone in your community is interested in an internship, or a full time role we’re always looking for really smart, talented folks on the East coast to join us. We’re building something really different and intentional and we want magical humans to join us on our journey! If anyone’s curious, you can go to our Instagram, which is just @omsom. Other than that, I write a weekly newsletter called The Shout, which discusses similar things to what you and I have dis cussed today—Asian American identity, how food plays into it, how justice and food are inherently tied. You can sign up at omsom.com!
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Graphic by Kathie Xuan
The half-sunken boulevards write letters to me deep. The pale moon sinks to its beams. Romantic undertones whisk away the summer sun. Darkness over-keeps. What comfort I found in your “fine eyes,” what elements enchanted thee? Surrounded by the broken dreams and melodies. I wished to forever confine in your solemnities. What if I run away, and home is rendered bleak? What if I forget the bounded memories? New love, new life, new triumphant glees, will I neglect the love you breathe?
Author’s Note
transience (noun) A word that describes the passage of time. A word that perfectly encapsulates the coming of age experience, in which we all must face the inevitable: leave home.
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Illustration by Carys Atmodjo
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hroughout the first nine years of her life, she waited patiently each year and summer for a special box. The balikbayan box. A faint childhood memory of a large paper box sitting on the front porch early in the morning as the rest of the family gathers around it. Her Lola gently shook the girl from the slumber and told her that a special present awaited the family. Of course, nine-years-old and keen on presents, she would know exactly what her grandmother talked about. You see, the balikbayan box truly is a remarkable package that a lot of families and kids eagerly waited for in the Philippines. “Achee, sige na,” her Lola stroked her hair as the granddaughter rubbed her eyes, “let’s call your mommy and daddy.” The girl’s elation was indescribable. Immediately, she shot up and her eyes glinted. She bounced on her bed with a grin plastered on her face. “Yes!” Chuckling, her grandmother kissed the top of her petite head and reached for the phone, an iPhone 3 sent by her parents for her to call or text them. The phone rang and Achee took the phone from her grandmother. She could see her face at the tiny rectangular box and her father’s picture as she dialed. The screen changed into a face she only knew through calls. Her mother. “Achee!” Her ma exclaimed through the screen. Then, her father’s toothy grin greeted her.
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Graphic by Arielle Ong
“Ma, Da, I miss you po,” Achee drew the phone closer. On the other side of the world, it was the end of a new day while Achee was just about to begin hers. Her da’s toothy, crooked smile did not mask the dark circles underneath his eyes. At the same time, her ma’s hair was hidden by a blue surgical cap. Both wore blue scrubs with a logo of both of the hospitals they worked in. It seems that they had finished their work, at 10 PM, as Achee’s time was 9:30 AM, and off to see Achee open the box. There was roughly a twelve-hour time difference between where they lived and the Philippines. “The box is here.” A knock came from the door. The door creaked open and Tito Jason arched his eyebrow as if to question why Achee is still in her room. She pointed at her phone and, upon seeing her uncle, her parents gleefully greeted him. “Alright. Achee, you should try opening the box,” her Da began, “you’ll find surprises there.” Lola nodded and took the phone in her hands. She switched the camera to the back as Achee made her way to the bedroom door. Bouncing on her feet, the room where her two other relatives slept in was empty as she made her way downstairs to open the box. Her aunt and uncle must be waiting downstairs to witness it. As Achee came down and the living room came into view, everyone was downstairs. Almost all of her family lived in her house. Her mother’s side consisted of four brothers and three sisters, and two of each lived with Achee’s grandparents. In addition to this, one of
Achee’s baby cousins, Michael, lived with them. It was a fully packed house, albeit noisy at times. Their neighbor would threaten to call the barangay as one of the uncles, John, would sing all too loud late at night or bickered endlessly. “The box is right there,” Tito Jason pointed. Lo and behold, the large cardboard box with the written address on the side was in the middle of the living room. There was “balikbayan” written in bold letters — proudly exclaiming the type of box. It wasn’t any type of box: it was the box of dreams and grit from the diaspora to their homeland and family. It was a box from the two people Achee never saw before but felt an affinity towards — her parents. She turned her head, facing her grandmother who held the camera for her parents to see her reaction. Although she could not comprehend the weighing feeling under the pit of her stomach, she forced out a contented smile. “Let’s go open the box!” Kristin handed her scissors. Gingerly taking the scissors, she cut through the heavy-duty duct tape with ease and the whole family watched in anticipation for the box to open. The scissors cut through the smaller sides of the tape, and, soon enough, the folds of the box opened like a bird ready to spread its wings. Taking the two flaps and pushing it to the side, Achee revealed the contents of the balikbayan box for the rest of her family to take. The box was filled to the brim with all kinds of paraphernalia. At the topmost, there were T-shirts from Abercrombie & Fitch and comic books. Each of the gifts would be given to one of the family members. “Woah.” Michael’s pudgy hands grabbed a toy car — a Porsche — and excitedly ripped the case open to get it. All of the family members were digging in the box to look for what they could take. Achee, who waited until everyone took what they wanted and needed, looked at the bottom of the box. This was where her gifts usually were because her parents knew that the family would be much too excited first. “Ah.” There were Barbie dolls, dresses, and more toys at the bottom. She reached down the bottom, half of her body going inside, and took out the remaining contents. She eyed her Lola, who stood with the phone in her hands. Her grandmother stopped pointing the camera at her and seemed to be in a private conversation with her parents. Clutching the gifts on her lap, her Lola frowned and crossed her arms. She could not hear what she was talking about, but she could tell that she was upset.
Looking down, Achee felt a sense of disappointment within her. How come she felt so sad when her parents had given her so many presents? Although she was just a child, Achee knew what an empty feeling it was to see a box full of presents when all she wanted was one thing only. She knew, eavesdropping on her grandmother’s conversations at times, that they were arguing about when they would return. But, in between those arguments, she heard a resounding “They had to do it for their family.” Throughout the first nine years of her life, she would wait and wait for the balikbayan box to come to her doorstep. If there was one thing she would like na bumalik, it would be her parents. What was home like then? To see her parents’ tired smile and feel the warmth of their embrace, she was curious. Would they come to pick her up from the Philippines and bring her to the States? How can that be so when she only knew her relatives, not her parents? These were the questions unfurled within Achee—waiting for tomorrow to come eagerly and anxiously. For one more year before she left for the States, she would wait for the balikbayan box to arrive. Between the American toys and clothes were the dreams of her parents, all tucked into a paper box mailed to the Philippines.
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굴비 (Gulbi/Dried Yellow Croaker)
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멸치 (Myulchi/Dried Anchovies)
G
rowing up in Seoul, South Korea, I would often go to my grandmother’s fish restaurant, which specialized in 굴비 (Gulbi/Dried Yellow Croaker) to ‘help’ her out and to share a meal, deliciously prepared by her. After my family and I immigrated to the US when I was 8, my mom would often cook fish because the taste of fish made her feel at home in foreign, rural Michigan, surrounded with people who did not look like us. I appreciate this project for allowing me to work in Hangeul (한글, the written form of the Korean Language) in graphic design for the first time.
Partly growing up in the American school system, surrounded by Latin letterforms, then proceeding to art school, surrounded by graphic design created by cis white male designers, I felt like I lost touch to the beauty of Hangeul Letterforms. Hangeul is very interesting and truly wonky in that each block of letter is a horizontal combination of vowels and consonants that progresses vertically and its multi-directional form allows for super fun manipulations. 고등어 (Godeungeo/Blue Mackerel)
I have been hesitant to create works in my mother tongue and still am to some degree. I did not want to overestimate the amount of ownership I have over the Korean culture, being someone who has spent more than half of their life living in the US. I guess I am still working on the idea of ownership/claim over my heritage and culture, and working with Hangeul felt like a beginning, a reclamation of sorts.
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Frances Cha Frances Cha is the author of the novel If I Had Your Face. She grew up in the United States, Hong Kong and South Korea, and graduated from Dartmouth College with a BA in English Literature and Asian Studies. For her MFA in creative writing she attended Columbia University, where she received a Dean’s Fellowship. She has taught Media Studies at Ewha Womens University, creative writing at Columbia University and Yonsei University and lectured at Seoul National University. She lives in Williamsburg, Brooklyn with her husband and two daughters and spends summer in Seoul, Korea.
What was it like growing up in the United States, Korea, and Hong Kong? Did you experience any “culture clashes” or feel any strong differences in yourself or others in each place? I was born in Minnesota, moved to Texas when I was four, then Hong Kong when I was eight and Korea was I was 12, and then boarding school in New Hampshire at age 16. Starting from Hong Kong, there was an enormous culture shock. In Hong Kong, I was attending a British school that was primarily ChineseCanadian students, and in Korea I attended a public Korean school for elementary and middle school. I always felt like I was the odd one out, but reading books always made me feel like my experience of feeling lonesome as an outsider was not necessarily because of moving countries – in the books I was reading, the protagonists felt like that in their own towns, in which they had grown up their entire lives. And they made me feel not alone. 19
Why did you choose to pursue writing, and what led to the shift from journalism to fiction? I come from a very literary family on my father’s side, and being obsessed with books from a very early age, there never was a question in my mind that I would not become a writer. In college, I tried to major in other subjects – it was a full year of taking classes in all other departments before I took my first English class during sophomore year. But then, it was obvious that I had to be an English major and I was just deluding myself. As for journalism and fiction, they’ve always gone hand in hand for me ever since high school, when I worked on the newspaper and the literary journal at the same time. For me, they feed each other. I think my fiction is better because of my journalism background, and I think my nonfiction articles are more stylistically better because of my fiction.
To what extent does your Asian identity and your own experiences with race and culture affect the work that you do? Well, considering that my novel is about four Korean women in Korea, but written in English, I would say race and culture is very much at the forefront for my work. It is a tricky and delicate thing, to write in English while the characters are speaking Korean and functioning in Korean culture in the book. So every sentence, every name, every place, every Korean concept, every relationship, I had to think about how to present it for an audience that does not come to the book with a working knowledge of Korean culture. But at the same time I didn’t want to hammer the reader over the head with explanations and footnotes, and I wanted someone like my friends, many of whom are Korean-American or are Korean but studied abroad in the West at some point, to also be interested and not turned off by having it seem as if it is for outsiders only. As a bilingual being from both Asia and America, I think I am constantly comparing and marveling and critiquing the difference between my two cultures at any given moment. I still spend several months out of the year in Korea, and I am grateful that I can code-switch.
In If I Had Your Face, you focus on four Korean women struggling with gender inequality, beauty standards, etc. What is something that you hope young Asian girls can take away from reading your book? When I was growing up, I never encountered Asian protagonists in American or British fiction. The Joy Luck Club was the first time I read a novel that had Asian protagonists and that blew my mind. It also allowed me to have the courage to try to write about Asian characters myself, albeit decades later. It’s a very different landscape today, as many Asian-American writers are publishing now, and I do hope that young Asian women today will be emboldened that their stories will be welcomed in the literary landscape. And that any hardship they endure, as difficult as it will be at the time, can and will become material for those stories. So there is always a silver lining. 20
About The Contributors! Kathy Pham (Designer) Kathy is a graphic designer and illustrator at The Peahce Project. With the desire to share writing, art, and interviews from the website to the world, she designed this zine as a gift for The Peahce Project staff and the audience to enjoy. Ellie Huh Ellie is a Korean American staff writer at The Peahce Project. She is interested in studying gender, queerness, and the social and legal intricacies of gender-based violence. In her free time, she likes to draw, longboard, and listen to music. L.R. L.R. is a Filipina American staff writer at The Peahce Project. She is an aspiring Montessori teacher, passionate about creating pieces that represent and celebrate children and families of color.
Teagan Nguyen Teagan is a second-generation Vietnamese-Australian high school student and a young writer. Her work has been accepted by Dark Poets Club and Estelluphoria. As an emerging poet, she hopes to discover the relationship of her voice with the world. Jeeho Ha Jeeho is a Korean American staff artist at The Peahce Project. She is a multimedia artist and aspiring creative director working at the intersection of art, pop culture, and social issues.
Emma Wensing Emma is a Korean American interviewer at The Peahce Project. She is passionate about hearing everyone’s story, and enjoys immersing herself in art and literature when she has free time.
Benecia Jude Benecia is a staff writer at The Peahce Project. She is a proud South Indian whose passion is to advocate for equity and racial competency in education. Her hobbies include writing poetry, painting, analyzing her favorite films, singing, and playing the piano. Being a part of The Peahce Project has been the highlight of her year. Zeean Firmeza Zeean is a Filipino-American staff writer at The Peahce Project. She enjoys working in policy for education to provide equity for all students and advocate for young voices. For fun, she plays League of Legends and writes poetry. Yeji Kim Originally from South Korea, Yeji currently resides in New York City, where she attends The Cooper Union School of Art. Although she mainly works in graphic design and illustration, she is currently experimenting, failing, and sometimes succeeding with numerous interesting shenanigans. Arden Yum Arden is the founder of The Peahce Project, starting back in 2019. She is a high school senior living in New York City who loves reading, writing, art, and fashion.