The city looks big, he told me. I watched cars zip along bridges and trains chugging along the bay and into the port, and said yes, I agree. Our city looks expansive, and we are a part of it. How novel to appreciate it from this vantage point, considering how small the world around me […]
It is 3:00 p.m. on a Wednesday. Not literally, but it has felt as such since home became my public health-sanctioned everywhere. An endless midday, midweek. How many times have I walked here by now? Jogged through the stairways and corridors while saturating my phone with similar photos, as if I might discover a new
Pride month, for me, is as much of a celebration of queer identities as it is a time to continue the fight for respect without respectability politics. It’s a focused time to bring people together on queer issues—including racial and economic justice. It’s also a time when I reflect on my own journey since coming
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As a second generation Chinese American, my nascent understanding of this country was an amalgamation of utopic American ideologies: the American Dream, the wonderful melting pot of America, a healed society post-civil rights movement. And growing up, I didn’t feel like I had the agency to question that. Rather, I was socialized to lay low,
Galvanized by the sun and our morning spread from the fruit stand along Kuhio Highway, the day was ripe for a sobering hike. We weaved along the muddy switchbacks and scaled the rocky slope up to our rewarding view: an unfettered panorama of mountain and ocean encircling us. It was a beautiful day in tropical