I travel back home to Hong
Kong every summer to visit my
family and it always feels uneasy
leaving my dad and his family
when summer ends. However,
it feels a little more uneasy and
heavier this year as I walk into
the security gates to leave my
dad. As I currently write this
piece on my 20-hour flight back
to Michigan, I’m reflecting on
my identity as a documented East
Asian immigrant, retracing all
of the sentiments on my journey
that led to today – seeing my dad
alone in Hong Kong as he works
to support our family in the
United States.
I grew up in a humble middle-
class family in Hong Kong. My
mom’s side of my family gradually
moved to the U.S. through family-
based documented immigration
during the 1990s and 2000s
to
start
Chinese
restaurant
businesses for a living. Naturally,
my mom wanted to give me a
chance to have better education
and opportunity in the U.S. as
well. We became permanent
citizens (green card holders)
in 2003, but we did not move to
the U.S. for a long time after we
received our green card, because
we were not emotionally ready to
go through such a drastic change.
My mom eventually moved
to the U.S. by herself in April
2011, getting everything settled
for me to come to the U.S. half a
month later. Unfortunately, her
green card was confiscated by
the
immigration
department.
Immigration
officers
interrogated my mom for seven
hours in a monitored room at the
Detroit Metropolitan Airport.
They said she had a “lack of desire
to settle in the U.S.” because she
didn’t settle in the U.S. for all
these years after she received her
green card. She now holds the
status of a “temporary resident,”
and she had to hire an attorney
to fight for the slim chance of
getting her green card back.
Ever since I can remember,
it has been an ongoing and
indefinite fight for her residential
status. She has had five court
hearings already and the court
decision
has
always
been
deferred. Long story short, she
might exhaust all her effort and
money to lose her U.S. resident
status at the end, and none of
us know how much longer this
fight will continue. She could’ve
just left me in the U.S. and
reunited with my dad in Hong
Kong the day her green card was
confiscated, but she never gave
up and still chose to take the risk
to care for me. I would ask my
mom why she insisted on fighting
a battle that leads to nowhere
and she would tell me, “The
hardships along our immigration
journey mean nothing, because
we believe it will be worth it at
the end for you and your brother.
It is always worth it to help you
along the way to pursue better
opportunities. Don’t worry too
much.” For that, I am beyond
grateful for my parents.
My
mom
wanted to make
fair for both me
and my brother.
She still wanted
to
give
my
younger brother a
chance for better
opportunities
in
the U.S. like I had.
So, she applied
for my brother to
go to a Christian
school
as
an
international
student this year,
paying thousands
of dollars to give
him
a
better
education. Living with my dad
for his whole life, my brother
finally left Hong Kong to the
diaspora, because my dad had to
continue his job in Hong Kong
to sustain our family financially
overseas.
When I had to come back to the
U.S. for the new school year, my
dad and I walked to the security
gates in silence. I could feel his
heavy feelings of taking on the
responsibilities of supporting our
entire family, but he put on his
calm demeanor and his fatherly
figure on the outside as usual.
He smiled and said, “Son, don’t
stress yourself too much when
you go back.” My heart aches
to see my dad holding back his
vulnerability when we depart at
the airport. Since I came back
to the U.S., my parents have
constantly been in my thoughts
because of all the changes our
family is going through.
I don’t usually share much of
my journey with others, because
it was such a complicated,
exhausting
and
expensive
journey to talk about. Also, I know
I have so much to be grateful for
aside from the hardships along
my journey. People are always
in shock and empathize with the
struggle
of
my
family’s diasporic
experiences when
I tell them about
it. But through
my
experiences,
I recognize my
privileges of being
a
documented
East
Asian
immigrant, and I
learned how much
harder it must’ve
been
for
other
undocumented
immigrants
just
to
find
better
opportunities or
live a better life
in U.S. When I had to see my dad
left alone in Hong Kong just to
provide for our family overseas,
it certainly made me sad and my
heart aches, but it also reminds
me of the blessings of my family
has, especially when reminded
some families of undocumented
immigrants
are
forcefully
torn apart and sometimes lose
contact with each other. I am
fortunate enough to still have
a family. I can’t even start to
imagine how much more uneasy
undocumented immigrants must
feel, considering the way more
complicated process and the
unimaginable traumas.
Sometimes,
privileged
documented immigrants, like
some of my relatives, don’t see
the way I see immigration issues.
They are so focused on their
troubles on the diaspora journey
that
they
fail
to
recognize
the bigger picture of others’
struggles. Yes, we might not be
the crazy rich Asian “FOBs”
rocking Moschino and Supreme
daily. Quite frankly, my mom’s
family started from nothing
and can barely afford living in
middle-class suburbs in the U.S.
even now. There were way more
roadblocks along the way that
I left out in this piece. We have
our struggles. But it doesn’t
make it valid for documented
immigrants to say it is unfair just
because we had to go through
all the time-consuming legal
processes and troubles while
undocumented
immigrants
had not. White supremacy has
given you permission to believe
undocumented
immigrants
are dangerous or a burden to
society, when in fact they are
human, just like us. Imagine your
family being forcefully separated
and potentially never seeing
them again. Imagine your only
options are either being dead
in warzones or risking lives to
just escape and survive in the
Global North. Imagine all the
traumas, hardships, bigotry, they
have to put up with in the Global
North. In fact, they deserve an
opportunity in the U.S. more than
we do because of the conditions
they face in their home countries.
Retrace our journeys. At the
end of the day, undocumented
immigrants are just striving to
live a better life in diaspora just
like us documented immigrants.
While they have fewer resources
than we do, we should recognize
our privileges, support policies
like
Deferred
Action
for
Childhood Arrivals and abolish
Immigration
and
Customs
Enforcement. We must stand in
solidarity with undocumented
immigrants.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Wednesday, October 3, 2018 — 7A
A debate over the lengths
of albums in today’s age
Pursuing solidarity between all immigrants
EFE EDEVBIE
MiC Blogger
COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
SAM SO
Assistant MiC Editor
Sister, sister: On finding
real, shared experiences
I’ve obsessed over “Sister,
Sister,” a TV show about twins
separated at birth and reunited,
since I first stumbled upon it in
elementary school. Back then, I
liked it because it was funny and
entertaining. But now, as I still
watch it 19 years after its final
episode aired, I’m realizing how
much the show really meant to
me.
For a long time, I wanted a
relationship like the twins Tia
and Tamera had on the show.
I saw myself in
Tia.
Like
her,
I’m a plan ahead,
always prepared,
honor roll, type-A
kind of student.
I
could
relate
so
strongly
to
her.
At
times,
moments on the
show
became
my reality. Like
Tia, I worked so
hard all throughout high school
and was sure I’d get into the best
universities in the country. I felt
her disappointment when she
received her rejection letter from
Harvard University, and just
like in the show, my mom and I
jumped for joy when I got into the
University of Michigan.
Back then, I didn’t realize how
big of a role model Tia was for
me. I didn’t think too much about
how great it felt to watch a show
in which the main characters
looked like me. I did not know
how much I would come to
appreciate the show’s honest,
real representation of some of
the experiences I would later
face growing up as a Black girl in
America.
But at its core, “Sister, Sister”
is about the unbreakable bond,
love and friendship between two
sisters. When I told my friends
how badly I wanted a twin sister,
they laughed at the impossibility
and tried to comfort me with
stories of how annoying their
sisters were. With one older
brother, I can still relate to
having a sibling, but the six years
that separate us make it difficult
to have any shared experiences.
It wasn’t until recently that I
realized what it really was about
Tia and Tamera’s relationship
that I longed for all this time.
Tia and Tamera can relate to
each other in a way that very
few people can. They share lived
experiences because of their age,
similar physical appearances and
environment. They understand
each other in a special way only
identical twins, and maybe other
really close relatives or friends,
can.
Now I realize
all that time I
spent
watching
shows like “Sister,
Sister” and “The
Bold
Type,”
I
was looking for
someone to whom
I could relate. I’ve
finally found that
person for me,
and no, I didn’t
discover a long-lost twin or clone
myself. Instead, I am beyond
lucky to have made a friend
who shares a background so
similar to my own. I find myself
eager to share my frustrations
with her because I know she’ll
understand. I don’t have to give
her background information on
where I stand because she’s lived
so much of it. Finally, I can say,
“You know” and she actually
knows!
What a relief it is to have
someone who gets it. To have
someone to talk to about the
struggle of grasping my identity
as Nigerian and Black. To have
someone who can relate to my
love of fashion and my faith. To
have someone who understands
my hesitation and frustration
with make-up. And possibly most
importantly, to have someone
who will never get sick of
re-watching Black Panther with
me.
To Efe, the sister I always
wanted and friend I am forever
grateful to have.
HALIMAT OLANIYAN
MiC Blogger
When so much of my news
is disseminated into 20-word
summaries with a link to an
article as I scroll through my
social media, it is really easy to
remain distanced from the impact
of current events. In fact, on Sept.
6, 2018, it took at least four posts
about the same thing for me to
realize what monumental change
had just occurred — the Indian
Supreme Court declared Section
377 of the Indian Penal Code to
be unconstitutional. In the sea
of comments, there seemed to
be this notion that India was
finally modernizing like Western
countries, but that was not the
truth — India was and is still in
the process of decolonization. It’s
not moving forward, rather, it’s
moving away from white colonial
ideals.
As an Indian American born in
the United States, my experience
with LGBTQ issues at a personal
and policy level has been decidedly
complex. I grew up in California
in a time when Proposition 22 in
2000 and Proposition 8 in 2008
caused huge controversy over
same-sex marriage and LGBTQ
rights. It wasn’t really an issue
discussed at home — my parents
grew up in India, where gay sex
was criminalized. It was illegal
to be gay. My experiences in
school, especially through my
involvement in social justice
groups, made it clear that this
way of thinking was unfair. And
though my parents might have
been conservative, even my father
would have argued that due to the
civil rights attributed to marriage,
everyone had a right to marry
whom they wished. On the other
hand, I also knew my parents
would be deeply uncomfortable if
I came out as queer.
The
biggest
complexity,
however, came from my religion.
My family practiced Hinduism.
I didn’t practice it religiously,
but Hinduism was about more
than rituals and festivals. It was
about philosophy and ethics.
The religious text I was most
familiar with (because there
are several in Hinduism), is the
Bhagavad Gita — the speech Lord
Krishna gave to Arjuna when his
commitment to justice wavered
in the face of having to fight
his family. And not once in the
entire text, did it mention that
“you shall not lie with a male as
with a woman.” In fact, Hindu
mythology didn’t simply ignore
queerness, the myths included it.
There were stories of Vishnu, one
of the primary deities, taking on a
female appearance and engaging
in
relationships
with
male
deities who knew his original
form. When my culture was
filled with stories that were not
heteronormative, it was difficult
to reconcile what I read with
what I saw being practiced.
It wouldn’t be until college that
I’d learn what Section 377 was
and from where it came. Before
the British colonized India, there
was a vibrant queer history. It
wasn’t the norm, but it wasn’t
considered against nature either.
To see my mother country stuck
in the white supremacist ideals of
a bygone age was frustrating and
painful. It was shameful to know
that a place I considered vital to
my heritage was also considered
so backward. I wanted India to be
better, and yet I could understand
that as an oppressed people, how
difficult it was to unlearn these
bigoted views.
When I saw people celebrating
the repeal of Section 377 as a move
toward Western ideology, I was
angered. This didn’t acknowledge
that Section 377 wasn’t an Indian
ideology but a Western one
in the first place. Yes, we live
in the 21st century and LGBTQ
rights should be a given and not a
constant struggle, but India only
gained independence 70 years
ago.
It takes time to undo societal
norms. There’s certainly more
to be done for LGBTQ rights
women’s rights and lower caste
rights in India. But with the new
verdict, India has taken one more
step towards embracing its roots
and culture.
So, in the end, I did hit the
love button on that Buzzfeed
India post and every other time
it came up in my newsfeed. And
each time I clicked it, I felt pretty
damn proud to be brown.
Moving away, not forward: LGBTQ rights in India
AKANKSHA SAHAY
MiC Columnist
“It’s 25 songs?”
My initial reaction to the
track listing of Scorpion by
Drake had nothing to do with
interesting
track
titles
like
“Ratchet Happy Birthday” or
“Can’t Take A Joke” — it was
about how obnoxiously long the
Toronto artist’s newest project
was going to be.
Twenty-five tracks, split up
into an A side and B side. A year
after we had gotten a 22-song
“playlist” in More Life and two
years after the release of the
20-song Views, Drake’s albums
have only been
getting
longer,
and in an age
where streaming
giants
like
Spotify,
Apple
Music and Tidal
have dominated
the
music
consumption and
listening
space,
it makes senses.
More songs on an
album means more streams or
plays which means more money
for the artist. Sure, the overall
quality of the albums are bound
to go down, but this is the best
strategy in terms of releasing
music nowadays, right?
Kanye West would have to
disagree.
When most of the music
industry has zigged and ditched
the standard 13-song album
model for longer and longer
projects, Yeezy and the rest
of G.O.O.D. Music zagged and
dropped a series of 7 to 8 song
projects
this
past
summer.
Highlighted
by
Pusha
T’s
DAYTONA, Kanye’s self-titled
ye, and the inaugural joint
album effort of Kanye and Kid
Cudi with KIDS SEE GHOSTS,
G.O.O.D Music opted for shorter
LPs, with the runtime of most
of the albums falling under or
about 25 minutes.
While this seems to be more
of an artistic decision than one
influenced by a bottom line
(“Man, if we can’t kill you in
seven songs, we don’t really
need to be doing the music,”
was Pusha T’s response about
G.O.O.D.
Music’s
strategy),
it’s worth considering if there
are some monetary benefits
to Kanye and crew’s sudden
change
in
direction.
With
an album length that was so
easily digestible, I listened to
ye start-to-finish seven or eight
times within the first 24 hours
of its release — seven tracks
multiplied
by
seven
start-to-
finish
listens
comes out to 49
total
streams,
not including the
extra
streams
I gave to songs
like
“Ghost
Town” and “No
Mistakes.”
Conversely,
Scorpion was an
absolute struggle to get through
— just as More Life had been
for me the year before. Once I
had completed the marathon
and listened to the entirety of
the 25-song behemoth, I had
no intention of going back for
a second start-to-finish play of
the Drake project. It was too
much to listen to. It got boring.
It
lost
my
attention
more
than once. It wasn’t engaging.
Twenty-five tracks multiplied
by one start-to-finish listen
comes out to 25 total streams,
not including my extra streams
of songs like “Sandra’s Rose”
and “Emotionless.”
I streamed the seven-song
album almost twice as much as
I did the 25-song album. Has
Kanye stumbled onto something
here? Maybe. Just maybe.
“I streamed the
seven-song album
almost twice as
much as I did the
25-song album”
“I don’t usually
share much of
my journey with
other, because
it was such a
complicated ...
journey to talk
about”
“What a relief it is
to have someone
who gets it”
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