by Gavin Li





I'm Gavin Li and I'm proud to be an Asian American. Being in a multicultural environment, I am able to take some and give some different points of views in different cultures. I've had firsthand experience on the farms in China's countryside where my family comes from and it is completely different from places like New York City. Learning and growing in an environment where my parents did not forces me to be self aware and self dependent outside of home. WHATS YOUR STORY?!

A Walk in my Fil-Am Shoes

by Marion Condeza

I was standing at the door of my grandparents’ home, basking under the blazing sun and taking deep, reflective breaths of the stagnant, humid air. I listened to palm trees swaying everywhere as the wind blew them and little, happy-go-lucky children running around in their ruffled school uniforms. It was my first trip to the Philippines in ten long years, and I really appreciated every detail. I let every moment sink in.

I turned back inside and saw my grandfather’s cousin with a wide genuine smile as she looked back at me. She gestured towards the amazing breakfast she had made just for me. She was so sweet and caring that almost I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t know I had so many relatives. Plus, I was an important guest to all of them when we barely knew anything about each other. They had so little, but presented me with large home-cooked meals and gifts such as my grandfather’s precious, old songbook. I could tell they tried their hardest to please me.

It was an odd feeling to be so loved by these strangers. All the while, I was discovering that we shared a deeply remarkable ancestry— a past before my birth that my parents’ few stories barely touched upon. I found I had a family that was so huge it practically dominated my parents’ entire hometown. I felt a fervent place in my heart finally awakening, overtaken by immense acts of love I never asked for.

A lot of pride filled me through my visit to the Philippines. Nevertheless, something was wrong. Everywhere I went, I felt I didn’t quite fit in. Actually, it was quite obvious.

Entering a large gathering of Filipinos, I would get heads to turn as if everyone knew at that moment I walked by that I was from somewhere far from out of town. Tiny barefoot children in large hand-me-down dresses couldn’t stop staring at me—the tall girl with A&F shorts, big hoop earrings, and manicured nails. I felt so uncomfortable. And I couldn’t break the awkward silence of these brown-eyed youngsters.

As a matter of fact, there was no Filipino dialect I could have used to talk to anyone in. Every day, we visited new family members, and it was increasingly frustrating sitting around for hours— forced to listen to laughter and chatter I couldn’t understand. Upset and dying of boredom, I wondered, Why didn’t my parents teach me their dialect, Bisaya?! Even meeting my half-brother for the first time was extremely tongue-tied. He made the excuse that he was too shy, and whenever I tried speaking to him his difficult attempts to respond were half-hearted just because he thought his English wasn’t so great.

I was crestfallen at hearing how everyone assumed I was quiet and reserved. There was so much I wanted to talk to them about their lives, history, and culture! But if I simply ever asked, “What did he/she say,” or “What does that mean?” people were likely to ignore me or laugh. Was it because they couldn’t explain? Or because I would never understand? Obviously, there’s something that sets me too far apart from their culture.

I am Filipino. It’s funny how when asked my nationality, I reply immediately with that answer. If it was actually valid, my trip to the Philippines would have been much more easygoing and fulfilling. There is another half of my identity I need to acknowledge—and that is being American. As a Filipino-American, I am not only mixed with different cultures, but unique experiences, perspectives, and troubles.

One trouble that has come to my attention is that most first generation Filipino-Americans cannot speak their parents’ native tongue. Knowing I wasn’t alone as a child, I used to think that it was no big deal, English was enough. Then, I began to hear my Filipino friends gossiping. I sat by my aunts or uncles praying deep words I couldn’t understand. I noticed parents singing in Bisaya with our karaoke machine. As the days went by, especially after visiting the Philippines, I wished more and more that I wasn’t disconnected from their lively communication.

I regret not learning at an early age when it would’ve been easier, but I am sure I am not alone. What should be done for Filipino Americans and other Asian Americans else feeling shut off from so much of their own culture? Such miscommunication can really complicate self-identification and limit relations with other people. Please, don’t ever let it limit any of yours. There are many different languages and people in the world out there, but never let that stop you walking in another person’s shoes.

Thank you so much— for walking in mine.

John Liu: The Communist

by Karen Zheng

I usually do not read the morning newspaper, but for some indiscernible reason, I accepted it on Thursday, September 10th. It was a special edition of The Epoch Times, and the front page headline read, “NYC Election Infiltrated by the Chinese Communist Party.” It was very anti-John Liu, who was running for New York City comptroller, the primary election being on September 15th.

I met John Liu at a SLI workshop in the summer, and I found him to be quite a likeable and influential Asian-American. He wants Asians to be more politically involved, and is an ideal example of “the American dream.” From the first page, however, I learned that he is backed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), and has many connections to pro-Communist businesses and associations in the United States. The third page covered inconsistencies found in his campaign finance disclosures – he apparently accepted donations from contributors who were found to have missing required information, and several fundraisers in his name reported incorrect amounts of obtained campaign money. Page five pointed out examples of China's use of democratically elected officials overseas to “accomplish [its] goals, which is to be the most powerful nation on earth.” The paper also discussed John Liu's “shady aides and associates,” namely chief of staff John Choe – who supports communism and Kim Jong II – and former district administrator Ellen Young, who cheated Taiwanese immigrants out of lots of money. It ended with his indifference to hate crimes in Flushing, and the roles that his peers may have played in orchestrating some of them.

At first, I was pretty disturbed by John Liu's communist ties and untrustworthy connections; but I soon realized that the newspaper was evidently biased, and that no rational person would take it seriously. When I showed it to my friend who volunteered for him this past summer, she just laughed and told me that he is not a communist. I thought that calling him the “darling of the CCP-controlled media,” and a supporter of “the CCP's party line rather than democratic principles ... something that many New York voters likely do not wish to endorse,” bordered on ridiculous. I did not think that his campaign's financial discrepancies were a big deal, because I also would have taken anyone's money, even if they did not put their occupation or employer on the form. Comparing John Liu to corrupt politicians was unreasonable, since the writers did not talk about his suppressing democracy like the other politicians did. Lastly, I did not think that both sides of the hate crimes issue was covered, because he may have tried to do something about them but was unable to, or perhaps was advised not to for campaign reasons. I ultimately found that behind the paper's request for New Yorkers to not vote for John Liu, was an extremely hateful view of the CCP and the unjustified belief that John Liu is a representative of it.

John Liu won the comptroller position. His website is: http://www.liunewyork.com/