interview with laura gao

Laura Interview with Gaoby Zoe Kim

Laura Gao is a comic artist and writer based anywhere with good wifi, espresso, and bread! Born in Wuhan, China, Laura immigrated to the U.S. and grew up in Texas. Her work has been featured on NPR, PBS, and her parents’ fridge. Laura’s debut graphic memoir, MESSY ROOTS, about her identity search as a queer Chinese-American in conservative small-town Texas, is coming out in January 2022 with HarperCollins. Instagram, Twitter: @heylauragao Website: lauragao.com

Introduce yourself!

Hi, my name is Laura. I am currently 24. I grew up in Dallas, TX, but I was born in Wuhan, China. I’ve kind of moved all over the country and the world at this point, but I’m currently in Taiwan, Taipei. My current day job is as a comic artist. I’ve been working on my own graphic memoir for the last year, and I have another book coming out after that. And yeah, that’s how I spend most of my time! Otherwise, I love biking. And I love dogs, brownies, and bread.

Tell me about your first graphic novel!

This time last year was when kind of like the peak of the [pandemic] was hitting. It really hit close to home because, as I said, my hometown is Wuhan, where everything started. All of my family besides my immediate family are currently still in Wuhan, and I’m very close to my grandparents and cousins over there. It was very jarring to see the suffering they were going through and feel so helpless about being on the other side of the world but also have so many people here hating you for what they think happened and blaming you for what happened. So this book is based off of my emotional reaction to a lot of the trauma going on at that time. This first book is called “Messier Roots,” and it’s a memoir about my life immigrating from Wuhan and growing up in a small, conservative, very white town in Texas. I was one of the few people of color and was working on my identity not only as a Chinese American but as a queer Chinese American too.

This was spun out of a viral comic I made back in April 2020 called “The Wuhan I Know.” It was all the feelings I was having at the time around the xenophobia, racism, and a lot of the hurt and worry I had for my family. I wanted to not only give a tribute to my hometown and like how brave I thought everyone was over there, but also shed light on how terrible the situation is and why it’s unfair to blame this group of people for what’s happening. After the comic went viral, I was very lucky to have a couple of publishers reach out and want to turn it into a book.

“The Wuhan I Know” was how I discovered you on Twitter, and I remember that despite an overwhelming positive response, you were still getting attacked by a handful of bigots on Twitter. I imagine this is something happening more frequently to Asian artists because of the pandemic. What’s your suggested method for handling it?

Well, for one thing, I think I was pretty ready to handle it given that at the time, my job was working for Twitter on their anti-abuse platform. So my role itself meant I had to look at the worst of the worst of the internet to figure out how to work against it. So I think for myself,

I’m pretty used to knowing what kind of cesspool Twitter can be sometimes. When I first posted the comic, I expected a way worse reaction, just given what was going on at the time. Any kind of tweet that mentioned Asia or China— you can guarantee at least half the comments were very racist in some form or fashion. So I was pretty ready for a lot of the racist comments to come, but I was also very glad that for every racist comment, there were at least fifty positive comments on that thread. And so I kind of just used selective filtering.

Another thing was reminding myself about why I made this comic. It’s very easy to get caught up with “oh, so-andso said this, and that really hurt.” But I remember reading this one comment from this Chinese mother who said, “Thank you so much for making this, because I finally have a digestible, easy way to explain to my two 5-10-year-old daughters about what’s going on and why they should still be proud of their heritage. Even if kids at school are bullying them for it.” And I remember screenshotting that and keeping that saved for every time I felt bad about something or every time someone made me mad with a comment. I’d just be like, “Hey, this is why you made this. This is who you’re trying to help, and this is the positive effect you actually have.” I absolutely love getting comments like that because it’s great having thousands of likes, but at the end of the day, it’s just a number. You never really understand the human connection behind it, so seeing something tangible like that makes my whole week.

As for my advice for other creators: remember that posting something publicly that is incredibly personal and emotional is already so brave in itself. And always have a good group of support around you, like friends that will boost you, no matter what other people say on the platform. And use blocking very liberally!

One of my favorite comics you’ve done is about your parents’ reaction to your coming out and how their anxieties spilled over to your brother. A lot of your comics, including this one, take on heavy topics with humor. Tell me about your rationale behind that approach.

For this one—yeah, I had just come out to my parents, and it was an extremely poor reaction. I was very prepared for it. I have known for my whole life that my

Scan here to read the comic

parents would not be accepting of me being queer. Afterward, I wasn’t feeling too down because I had prepared for the worst. But I also had a lot of emotions around how they were reacting and the ridiculous things they were saying, especially to my brother, who, God bless, stayed home to field all the ridiculous questions, so I didn’t have to.

It’s a great way for me to share my emotions with others to also uplift them if they were feeling the same way. There are times in which I do want to just be sad and have others feel sad when they read it. I think that’s fewer of the comics I make, but there are a couple that I do want people to cry when they see it. But then I typically try to add a bit of both. Like “okay, you can cry, but also laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.” Like, “Hey, like, you know, here’s the funny

stuff they say to your brother, and you know it’s just so obvious how ridiculous they’re being about the whole situation. And it’s not you, it’s them.” I hope other people who are also coming out to very conservative immigrant parents can just look at it and relate and laugh—and then hopefully, it just makes their day a little better.

There’s a really big gap between our perceptions of being LGBT+ and our parents’ perceptions—especially in terms of what it means to be LGBT+ or why we are. What’s your personal approach to that gap? Do you feel a need to attempt to bridge it or would you rather leave it be?

I’ve always had a very messy relationship with my parents, not just on this topic, but most topics when it comes like politics and the way we think. That generational gap is so real for my family. Anytime we do talk about politics or something really sensitive, it ends up turning into a huge fight. I think generally, my family is the worst at communicating. No one talks about their emotions or how it makes them feel. As a result, I’ve learned to just be a bit more avoidant and prioritize my own mental health over trying to “brute force” their understanding. I would say that’s probably not super healthy for the long run. I do think that ultimately, we will have to have these hard conversations to try to understand each other. But just out of my own

personal experience with my own family (and this is probably different from other families), I’ve learned that sometimes it is better to take a step back, distance yourself, and prioritize your mental health.

Do you have any specific sources of inspiration when making comics?

I picked up comics as a way of really focusing on storytelling. Comics are like storyboarding in a way. I get my ideas through a kind of internal narration or monologue of like, “Something funny might happen here.” And then I’ll be like, “Oh my gosh, this sequence is a really “I want to be able to funny scene. I should turn into a comic so share this thing I just realized about myself that other people can laugh about it too!” and my identity—and Or maybe something not only as a way of kind of profound clicked in my mind me figuring out mylike, “Oh wait, I just made all these conself, but helping othnections between my childhood and ers do so too. ” why I’m this way with my parents.” And immediately, I want to be able to share this thing I just realized about myself and my identity—and not only as a way of me figuring out myself, but helping others do so too.

This past year, you made a huge switch from a tech job to being a full time comic artist. What pushed you to make the jump?

Yeah, I guess that’s such a drastic move from an outside perspective, right? Friends and coworkers will often say it’s a big jump, and it’s funny because I feel like I’ve been jumping almost my whole

life. In college, I jumped majors almost every semester.

I have so many different interests, and I hope one day when I’m 80 I can look back and, you know, some people like to look back and say, “I did this one thing and excelled at it for 50 years,” but for me, I want to look back and be like, “I did 50 things, and maybe I didn’t like fully excel at each, but I got to try all of them and have so much fun with them.” That’s how I really want to live my life.

It’s not an easy thing to say, “let me give up my incredibly cushy, paying job with health insurance to be self-employed, with unstable income.” And I also have a lot of imposter syndrome because I never went to art school or did all these things that other people have to do to even get a book deal. But I always tell myself, you should always take the jump because you’re always going to regret not doing it. I think for me, that took a lot of fear out of it. I was like, “Hey, you’re just here for the ride, and you’re seeing where it goes.”

What’s coming up for you? You mentioned another graphic novel coming soon.

I’m planning on finishing it within the next month, so I’m really excited, but my next one will start afterward. I haven’t gotten the full premise of it, but I kind of sold it as a happy queer female love story just because there are barely any out there! I thought, “Well, if people aren’t gonna give it to us, I’ll just make one.” I haven’t decided if it’ll be about my life yet, or if it will be a bit more like a fictionalized version. But that’s all I can reveal for now.

OM.

Each issue we feature pieces of prose and poetry from Asian women and non-binary writers around the world. Here are this issue’s pieces!

“Today” by Reeti Roy // IG: reetiroy

Today took thewind out of my sails, under a jagged sky. What followed was a shifting gaze a hapless haze atop a half-moon tree. The sky was painted midnight blue a surrogate for rainbow hues scars against the hard-won fights. today took thethe owl from its delight of watching other feathers fly. you came in bursting at the seams. And dreaming many half-dreamt dreams an antidote for fireflies.

Poetry by m.m

Broken Clocks. I’m stuck in a moment. I’ve lost track of time. I can’t move forward and I can’t rewind.

Chaser

They wonder what it’s like to taste a sip of Gin as it drips from those cherry lips.

Icy

She looked like an Angel with a voice soft as snow, but she could freeze hell over with a whisper that Could make the Devil Cold.

Baby’s Breath An empty garden. A seed that would not bloom. A spring this heavy always stays with you.

Butterflies Meeting you made me want to change my colors for the better. With a hint of love we blossomed into something rare and special.

Sunday Brunch There’s something so divine about that sunday type of love. where you cuddle in bed with champagne on our tongues. Making avocado toast while we hum along to records of our favorite songs. Holding each other close as we make sweet love. taking in these moments where we become one. As the day moves forward we’ll hold on until next sunday comes along.

“bien affectueusement” by Khushi Ramnani

underneath the cool linen we watch as the light escapes from our silhouettes on the wall. let the swirls of the rose-tinted clouds dissipate in to the blue.

paint me with your lips. let your words contour my shadow. soften my edges with your broken breath. kiss my palms warm, as our thoughts swim untethered.

spill your secrets into my hair, while you trace the patterns of the rays. name the streetlights after me, when you remember my scent.

lock your lips with our hushed wishes and our duvet talks, spin what we had to silk, and dress me with that gold.

i would tell you how beautiful the sunset was but the window was too dirty and the sky’s blushes all blended behind this summer’s white cast.

my plants no longer listen to me though i raise them with love and my violet playlist on shuffle, their leaves flicker yellow too often as they twist and turn around their pots as though i sheltered them naught. should i be free them? but what of the heatwaves and the beetles and the cars that would strain their hearts?

perhaps they don’t know how grateful they should be, under the set a.c as they sip on filtered water. or maybe they’d find solace amongst the ruthless jungle that festers within our city, fighting for shade and basking under bridges that lead across rather than beyond.

for now i’ve named them like i’d name our children who’d grow to be just as relentless and chaotic. from clementine and jerry lee, names that would scare my brown family. i suppose each plant documents a different time in my life where i felt lonely without you, and now they’ve grown to be such beautiful earthlings with their six leaves and more.

i can’t seem to let go of the thought that someday these plants will be a home i once forgot.

“Being Nervous” by @hsouen on IG

[2/3/2021]

Eyes perk open at 7:27AM on a Tuesday morning. Blast! Blast! Blast! Blast! Blast! Dogs simultaneously woof! Woof! Woof! The air is filled with thicker than usual fog. Or is that smoke? What is happening? Those were not gunshots, were they? Those were not loud and long enough to be gunshots. How can I be sure when nobody knows? Do I sense something unusual? Has someone just committed a crime? The water in the kettle on the stove has not boiled. The lights and circuits inside flickered suspiciously, According to my family just moments ago. No internet connection to check what has happened. Residents asleep at an otherwise quiet time. The electricity office did not know till informed. The murders have begun their daily cawing. When there is nothing that civilians can do But carry on with their routine while in impatient wait. Oh wait, I hear loud sounds again at 8:19AM. No, that was someone washing their sarong. Electric power is restored at 8:22AM.

“Adrift” - Spoken Word Track by Christy Ku (Prod. Nush)

Transcript:

My first breath was the sea I’ve been drifting ever since.

I live in borrowed rooms and rented time, no walls will ever remember me but my body carries the memory

of every place as I sleep. These houses borrow me too names, hands and bodies they’ve been through, fingerprints and atoms from every move. Do rented homes make their souls from everyone they knew?

I leave homes better than before dance in their dark on the kitchen floor. I clean and care and adorn and restore order in every corner. They’ll hold me for a tenancy, but it’s always temporary, we’ll move on to another somebody.

I disown the past like dead weight to make space and keep sailing but I can’t explain why these boxes feel heavier leaving each front door. So much of me left in houses I no longer know, how much of me is left is an unknown. It doesn’t get easy, I’m still grieving. How many goodbyes until I find my home?

I can’t forget my childhood bedroom where the ghosts and the past are buried where I hid the real me beneath the mattress and drawers where I locked the doors knowing what I locked in with me where I believed the world must be bigger than this, better than this. One day I ran, I didn’t look back and I’m still that kid with a backpack trying to disappear by the train tracks

taking the batteries out of my phone. And that house is long gone, only dialtones, everyone’s gone on to their time zones. But at night I think I’m in that room. I used to dream of getting out now in dreams I’m in that house.

With each move I don’t know what I’ll hear. Locals think only they have rights to live here. And you know what? They probably do. I move into neighbourhoods they put years into their feet are more rooted with lived truths of systematic misuse and generational issues and I just want a roof before I move.

Instead I’m under scrutiny racism and misogyny coming to bother me like I’m an unwanted anomaly, a novelty. Local warfares never cease or desist there’s distrust and unease no neighbours want me. You know they used to follow us? Throw slurs or rocks is this how you’re supposed to grow up?

Your kids are still staring at me.

When will I stop having to move? We’re unrooted unanchored untethered trying to get it together it’s breathless up here. We are indefinitely Generation Rent we’re left bereft in debt except for those inheriting wealth instead of traumas.

I’ve been asking why I don’t have survivor’s guilt. But it’s because I’m still adrift.

Scan here to listen to Christy Ku perform this piece, alongside music by Nushiee Productions and animation by Carolyn Cheng.

“Disoriented” by Bona Park

Who interrupted the quiet buzz in the streets Of downtown Laredo? Who drove a hole into the window of my father’s store with rocks and contempt?

I left Michigan in a frenzy to return to the haven of this Texas border town, and found that the music of discord greeted me here.

An air of paranoia entered the country with the arrival of the pandemic. Mislabeled as a Chinese virus, blame shifted toward East Asians, regardless of our country of origin.

People now come charging after us with their words and their fists. They don’t know us, our histories or our struggles, but they glare at our slanted eyes, and brand us as Other.

Long ago, my eyes met those of a young Mexican kid, through a wired fence that divided both our homes. She greeted me strangely. She called me Chinita.

But she was wrong. She couldn’t see how the rivers of Tejano, Korean, and American cultures merged within me.

I didn’t feel very different from her, but she called me by another name, and I felt myself receding.

One afternoon, my grandmother came into the house soaked.

She was gardening, when two teenage girls shot her with toy water guns. Unable to speak a word of English, she sprayed them back with the garden hose and they bolted towards the pavement, laughing.

After hearing this, I was so angry, my tears tasted metallic.

I remember following her to church early one morning. Church was the one space where I did not feel out of place, where my silence was not an act of fear, but of solemnity.

With our heads bowed down, the parishioners, my grandmother, and I recited the same prayer in different languages: 저희 죄인을 위하여 빌어주소서. Ruega por nosotros, pecadores. Pray for us sinners.

Although the world starts to skewer us, fracture our bones, target our businesses, the sun can never set on our Asian heritage.

Despite the hailstorm of bigotry, we will land on the soft ground of hope.

We will regain our dignity, and not rest until we are rightfully seen.

Moving forward with my faith as my armor,

I ask for that salve, compassion, which does not discriminate.

I ask that He allot each of us our portion.

“Broken Parts” by Joan Marshall-Missiye

We found each other and we forgot to heal our broken parts. We forged a journey and drank happiness too soon too fast. We ran through corn fields laughing, drenched under the heavy rain, and drunk from millet beer. We sped down red dirt roads on your motorbike, my head resting on a cozy dent at the base of your neck, our skins collecting the Harmattan dust.

We looked up at the sky in the darkest part of night, stars beyond stars, as if forever could never catch up. We stood together on a hill, in the middle of nothing and everything, looking across a hazy landscape bathed in rosy dust blown in from the Sahara, to the horizon we will never reach. We could have soared to the setting sun.

And then you found yourself in a car with me on the other side of the world. My fiery anger melting the frozen road. The unhealed parts of me showing themselves. You took me in your arms, held me close to quiet the rage, your heart beating against mine.

But there is a little boy crouching inside you, Hugging himself in his loneliness, Wishing for someone to wipe the tears falling on the empty floor. And he holds on to you in a dark spiral. And I am again your enemy, the one you cannot trust. You hear voices that I cannot. You believe in truths that I cannot.

I would move mountains to set you free, From this spiral that is drowning you. I throw myself in just to be with you, but I hit a wall again and again. I reach out and feel nothing.

Once in my loneliness I asked myself if I could still love you. And I saw you walking up a hill on a path of wildflowers under a never-ending blue sky that shimmered in the sun. Your shoulders hunched over the stroller where our daughter lay sleepy in the languid summer breeze. I put a hand on my chest to soothe the clanging ache inside me. I love you still and maybe that is all I can do.

“Lock In Moisture” by Tess Harold

Not since I was a teenager have I had so much time to moisturise. Hours spent exfoliating as if I could scrub my way to a new me. A glowing me. Trying fake tans, each promising that airbrushed model bronze, to hide my bumpy chicken skin, my blue veins drawing maps on my legs. Sex feels like something that happens to other people again. Nights wasted messaging guys who frankly set a low bar for both effort and conversation. Waiting for life to start. Breathe it in. This second adolescence. At least this time you have booze. And the internet. Workout videos at home trying to get abs. Always with the abs. Looking at coupled-up people, wondering what they know. I feel 15 again but this time with grey hairs. I live in my head again, biding my time. Making plans and going for walks -- but never touching. I’ve never spent so much time moisturising.