I'm sixteen years old and I was raised by immigrant parents in the Bay Area. This collection is built around that identity. The first poem, “dragon boat racing”, explores many of my personal experiences with growing up in an immigrant family, and the way these stories start and "end". The title follows a traditional Chinese festival celebrated in the month of June, and in the poem, the narrator recalls things that their grandmother has told them: keeping quiet and remembering your blessings is the only way to create the American dream. The second poem, “INTERPRET”, was inspired by a trip to Thailand with a family friend nearly seven years ago. While it remains a work of fiction, it’s a look into my childhood and the people I’ve left behind. Tied together with themes of admiration and grief, this coming-of-age poem is never explicit in its immigrant nature, but it contrasts new world ideas with a dichotomic Asian upbringing in a moment of reflection. In this collection, I hope to show the nuances of an immigrant American childhood. I also hope that through these pieces, the reader will understand that these stories are not simply events set in the past. They remain dynamic and ever-changing in the present and future; when I write, I am able to retell this rich history. Immigration is never one thing entirely. My own culture shares Burmese and Chinese influences. Perhaps it will share an American one too.

I wrote this flash fiction piece for a competition with the prompt “promises.” I wanted to incorporate magical realism and somehow convey the personality of a secondary character through an inanimate object. So, I came up with this idea.

“Echo” is about a man who is codependent with technology. One day, he gets into an argument with a sentient AI assistant, and it ends up helping him realize what he can do to reclaim his humanity and connection with the real world. Although Mark’s experience is impossible, his way of life at the start of the story is reflected in many of our lives. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the gradual introduction of the internet to business, communications, and entertainment was accelerated rapidly. Due to quarantine policies that rendered in-person life very difficult, many Americans lived their lives through the web. Amidst the chaos of 2020, some people predicted digital life was a “new normal.” Although the pandemic did end, technology has irreversibly become a large, harmful presence in our country. Virtual life was and is not sustainable. Going outside, connecting with nature and each other in the real world, is a crucial part of our lives, and as technology encroaches more and more on our lives, it is more necessary than ever to hold onto our humanity. I hope that everyone who reads this script or sees it performed will be inspired to find some way to watch the ducks.

These poems were all written over the summer, inspired by my connections with the world around me. The first poem connects a thunderstorm I experienced in Missouri with the virtual world, describing the undercurrent of fear that runs through both. The second poem references my own incomplete sense of belonging, tying it both to the desert landscapes of California and the unknown vastness of outer space. The final poem is a reflection on what it's like for the memory of someone to be forgotten. Drawing upon the real examples of roadside cemeteries, I try to contemplate the impermanence of memory and the ease with which it is hidden.

Written as a part of a film application. Completed in one day, challenging to limit myself to just 5 pages. It was inspired by my application process, and was also meant to satirize the common-use of black-and-white in student short films.

This poem was loosely inspired by David Whyte's poem 'Everything Is Waiting For You'. I wanted to write a piece about how it feels to be lonely and wanting to be in love, and I think this poem captures the romantic simplicity of it all. Although love obviously isn't as simple or reliant just on fate as the poem suggests, there's something inherently beautiful about believing in fate and knowing there's always something out there, which I think is also key to the poem's meaning.

"Hoa lài cắm bãi cứt trâu" or "a jasmine flower placed in buffalo dung" is a common Vietnamese phrase used to express pity for beautiful women in ugly situations. In this story, I wanted to share a story of a woman who exchanged her happiness for a financially comfortable life—for both herself and her family. Many Vietnamese women are expected to sacrifice their marriage for the family by marrying into rich families. If they move abroad, they are expected to send money home. Mothers work overtime at nail salons or restaurants not only for their children, but also for their families back in Vietnam despite their ungratefulness. To uphold the image of prosperity, some resort to living a fake life online or avoiding their loved ones all together. As children of immigrants or immigrants ourselves, there is an undeniable distance between parents and children, whether it be a generational gap or a cultural difference. But how often do we stop to explore the other person’s perspective? How often do we share the stories that make us who we are? I wanted to share this fictional story about the struggles of Vietnamese women moving abroad for marriage to shed light on the unrealistic expectations that are held in our home country and the shattering reality of life. I hope we can be more vulnerable with each other to better understand each other. Without judgment. But with love. I hope you enjoyed reading this! Thank you so much for your time.

These poems were all written over the summer, inspired by my connections with the world around me. The first poem connects a thunderstorm I experienced in Missouri with the virtual world, describing the undercurrent of fear that runs through both. The second poem references my own incomplete sense of belonging, tying it both to the desert landscapes of California and the unknown vastness of outer space. The final poem is a reflection on what it's like for the memory of someone to be forgotten. Drawing upon the real examples of roadside cemeteries, I try to contemplate the impermanence of memory and the ease with which it is hidden.

Inspired by the Canadian wildfires and a recent trip to my birthplace in Manhattan, New York, this work seeks to contain the feeling of silence in the mouth of calamity—when all noises destroy each other, at once, and a city on fire is almost nothing.

I wanted the visceral and the mystical, magnificent beauty tinged with painful empathy, a potent longing expressed through both the limitations of human languages and experiences, yet with an opportunity to widen it. This story just started with a jar—one that contained the universe, yes, but still simply a jar. I did not know what it stood for. Yet, as I started to explore the world outside the jar, and its insides started to gray, I had to ask myself—what do I feel trapped by? What glass confines me? For this is a story of longing, and that craving does not exist without freedom first being ripped away. As a non-binary person stuck in an intrinsically heteronormative society, the answer came quite quickly. Thereafter, the jar became a cage where a mother assists her daughter’s escape from a never-ending cycle of forced femininity and motherhood, hoping for just the smallest taste of it for herself. None of this is truly explicit, and I do not mean it to be. But while the jar may represent many things—to limit a reader to a single interpretation would bring me utmost sadness—the story’s core revolves around entrapment and a yearning for freedom; the narrator knows she will never get it. But maybe her daughter will, and that might be enough.

I wrote "Teeth" about the day before my 18th birthday. Birthdays bring up a lot of emotions for me, mostly melancholy ones. I wanted this poem to capture a sort of factual, everyday (a trip to the dentist, subtle symptoms of depression) but still honest and vulnerable reflection, rooted (no pun intended) in detail. I created meaning and metaphor out of those details. "gas station ghost" is classic teenage feminine desire. I was inspired by the idea of liminal space, both physical (an empty gas station at night, that haunting or dream-like feeling a setting can have) and emotional/metaphorical (feeling empty, lost, wistful). I wanted to be beautiful and appealing to this person and I wanted them to lean into vulnerability. I like the imagery in both of these poems and the way in which they (hopefully) convey a mood through imagery and reflection, but in a way that’s not super intense or stated outright. I think the best poetry is subtle-profound, and that's what I often aim for in my work.

I have been cultivating and creating this submission over a long period of time. I find that if I go in with the intention of creating a certain product or needing to write a poem that sounds a certain way or fits a certain prompt, my poetry becomes less genuine. When I look back over months of my poetry, I find that certain words or images resonate through multiple poems. And what always stands out the strongest is genuineness. When writing poems I break down emotions and memories I feel are too personal to share or too scary to release. I have always struggled with submitting because I feel as though I’m allowing strangers to see too deeply into who I am and how I feel. And this poem is even more that way, but with the encouragement of my writing mentor, I have gained the confidence to show people truly who I am and let the world hear my voice.

[Due to the severity of the situation, my piece contains mature, dark, and mildly graphic recollections]. Over the summer of 2023, I was taken out of school, away from my phone, my friends, and my home. Instead of finishing out my freshman year of highschool, I stayed in a place I like to call: not home. In the house where I lived for six weeks, I was surrounded by people my age who were undergoing similar experiences as myself. None of us could contact our friends from the outside so we grew into a tight knit group. We broke the rules together and we comforted each other on the neverending days. Even though I will never see those people again, I am forever changed by who they are and what they mean to me. Returning home has not been easy. I kept a journal throughout my time there, and wrote in it each night. Over the past month, I reopened the journal to draft my recollections, but I struggled because I could not fathom how to explain such a time of my life. I reference my experience amongst my close friends frequently, but there’s nobody to actually talk about it with. Here, I recount the time of my life that nobody knew. I share this writing to offer perspective to whomever comes across it, and to those that can relate: I hope you win the war you tell nobody about.

This story is the result of reading climate-related news articles and books about oligarchies in one sitting.

This is a piece that I wrote for the Micros and Minis contest in my Creative Writing class. It had to be exactly one hundred words long, and if it won, a student in the drawing and painting program would illustrate it. Although this piece is entirely fictional, it is based on some of my experiences. I used the death of my dog as inspiration for my piece. When he passed away, my family and I were on vacation, which made it feel as though we were lightyears away from him. I tried to infuse that grief with a more fictional element in order to make it more interesting to read and also write.

Thoughts on the conflicts of aging

Over the past few years, I've seen a rise in teen writers using their cultural identity as the basis of their art. I have always had mixed feelings for this: it almost seems trendy now to use one's race to speak about discrimination, even if that is fabricated. In America, I don't always feel in touch with my identity. I feel out of place in both cultures I'm part of, and sometimes I feel like I'm not knowledgeable enough to write poetry about being Chinese. For me, culture is a complicated thing and though I wish to be able to create art inspired by my feelings towards it, it seems far too dimensional to put into words. I want to create poetry surrounding my own feelings, but I don't think I know myself well enough to. Perhaps this is my own way of grappling with my cultural identity in the midst of a world that is as confused as I am. This poem, rather than being a one-night thing that I got a sudden inspiration for, was instead written over the course of two weeks. I struggled with my language and my feelings a lot, and what began as a criticism of using one's culture for one's own artistic benefit turned into a complex questioning of my own identity and my relationship to it.

This story is the true experience of my grandfather during the India Pakistan Partition in 1947. At the time he was 8 years old and his parents had left him, his brother, and his grandmother in Pakistan while his dad got a new job in India. This is my interpretation of his story on how he reunited with his family in India.

This poem was created to express my appreciation for the 'little moments', and memories from my childhood. As a first generation teenager growing up in America, I have developed an immense appreciation for my family across seas in Sri Lanka, and the memories that are created. Time and time again, as I am brought back to my grandmother's house after a long flight, am blessed with a certain nostalgic feeling that I'll never forget: a memory of my culture.

When I sit down to write, I’ve found that soulful music helps me best create meaningful work. Perhaps it’s the sharing of universal human experiences that I’m compelled and inspired by. I thus listened to many melodies while writing this. My goal is always to be as vulnerable and honest as I can. That objective is frightening, but all the same vital. I chose to write about the California coast because it has been a steadfast part of my life and soul, through cutting grief and light-heartedness alike. I included the theme of growing pains throughout the writing to subtly comment on how we as people ultimately don’t have a say in what happens to us, but a world of choice in letting go.