Issue V2.1
Category
riksha Issue V2.1
From the early days of riksha, our mission was to create a space for Asian Americans to tell their stories. That space included print issues, performances, art exhibitions and collaborations with many creative Asian Americans in the Chicago community who were breaking new ground. As we thought about a relaunch of riksha, we wondered, does our community still need this space? What came to light after the election helped clarify things and we are pleased to say we put the call out and the work arrived. We invite you to join us on this next journey as we expand this space in the months ahead. Welcome!
Holy Thursday
A new story
by M. Evelina Galang
From the collection in progress, “Strength is the Woman”
At night, curled next to her brothers on a cot just outside the kitchen, Soledad dreamed of aswang creeping out from under the beds of the house, feeding on the blood of Mrs. Mayor. The wife had eyes that glowed Jello-green, she schemed with all the witches, found ways to make Lola E’s life miserable. Soledad hated her. Soledad wished her dead. She opened all the windows wider, she invited the moon to come in and drink all the evil out of the house. She asked the angels to hover over Lola E. “She is old,” Soledad said in her dream. “She can’t fight for herself, and Mrs. Mayor is an aswang.”
Bitter Oriental
by Danielle Tanimura
digital collage
How We Met
by Lisa Tomiko Macri
oil on canvas
Bonneville
A screenplay excerpt
by John Sun Lew
EXT. TOPAZ INTERNMENT CAMP, CENTRAL UTAH – DAY
TITLE CARD: Topaz Internment Camp, Central Utah, September, 1942
A convoy of busses approaches a dusty compound, ten football fields broad, containing a grid of 42 identical blocks of 12 tar-paper barracks. As their bus passes under the main arch, Danny looks through razor wire and guard towers in the fore to the snow-capped Mount Topaz.
EXT. TOPAZ – COMPOUND – DAY
Okinawans and Salt
A poem by Lee A. Tonouchi, Hawai’i’s own Pidgin Guérilla.
My Aunty Jane
loves for make
and eat
Okinawan food,
watch Okinawan programs,
and read all kine books about
Okinawa.
Southeastern Melody
A video piece by Via Nuon
Daydreaming
by Andy Hoi-Csiu Chan
ink on paper
Mermaid’s Howl, an excerpt
A performance excerpt by Marina Celander
The Game of Death (in ten parts)
by Larry Lee
acrylic enamel on MDF, 86″ x 42″ x 24″, 2011
Andy Hoi-Csiu Chan – Ink On Paper
by Andy Hoi-Csiu Chan
ink on paper
After Pulse
A poem by Mary Anne Mohanraj
His father said: he saw two men kissing
in the street, and it made him angry.
I was eighteen the first time I
spent the night with another girl,
walked back to campus with her
the next morning, wanting to hold
her hand, afraid to.
Cartel of Silence
An essay by Euree Kim
Nurse told me to be stripped naked.
I asked: Do you have my consent? What about my rights?
Nurse replied, I do not need your consent. You do not have rights.
A Daughter’s Tribute
S.M. Lee wrote this post prior to the Women’s March in Los Angeles in honor of her mother. She posted it on the Women’s March on Washington page and received feedback from thousands.
Musicians
by Lisa Tomiko Macri
oil on canvas
Okinawans and Garlic
A poem by Lee A. Tonouchi, Hawai’i’s own Pidgin Guerrilla.
My grandma makes it
one habit
for carry cloves
of garlic
in her pants pocket.
In Okinawa, das how
she tell.
Supposed to be
so you no catch cold.
[X] Other
An essay by Danielle Tanimura
“What are you?”, not “How are you?”. As early as preschool, I thought that this was just how conversations were supposed to start. This is normal. This is fine.
Bruce
by Larry Lee
wood closet poles, gold leaf and chain, dimensions variable, 2000
My aim is true (for Naomi Nordstrom), Or dedicated to the one you love
by Larry Lee
polystyrene, black enamel paint, 96″ in diameter, 2016
Promethia
by Danielle Tanimura
digital collage
Over time Tom Baker finally mastered the Five Fingers of Death
by Larry Lee
assorted cardboard tubes, enamel paint, carriage bolts, and casters, 2016
And so Master Po asks Grasshopper (the young Kwai Chang Caine) to ponder the true meaning of chinoiserie…
by Larry Lee
wood in black red rub finish and metal bracket ties, dimensions variable, 2005
Seeking Refuge
An essay by Mary Grace Bertulfo
“’One is one’s own refuge, who else could be the refuge?’ said the Buddha.” – Walpola Rahula
Monday night. 6:10 p.m. Alone.
I drove down Lake Street in our worn, twelve-year old mini-van. Hot fury heaved in my chest and shoulders and transformed into a high-pitched scream that poured out of my throat for two whole blocks. I screamed until I had no more energy. I screamed until my voice was hoarse. Had I been a superhero, Wonder Woman say, the scream would have been a siren shattering every van window.
Chris Marker Says: “Love don’t love nobody.”
A poem by Paul Yamada
Prelude
It’s not just the lake and the park
it’s not about residence, no
or physical dwelling, abode
perturbations and back spasms
will follow you like perfume on
the tongue, shirt cuffs and pant legs
if there is nowhere to write here
is there somewhere, anywhere else?
Picture Bride
by Danielle Tanimura
digital collage
The Sheltering Palms, Emma’s Tune
A video piece by Via Nuon
Remember heritage, imagine identity, stop believing
by Co Shi An
I am not white. I have spent 29 years of life believing I was white. Now I’m realizing it. I’m not white. I am not white and I am also not Yellow. I am, however, Chinese, and Irish. Not white, not Yellow. Chinese and Irish.
Puzzling
A video piece by Via Nuon
I remember my Chinese name
An essay by Mengnan/Mary Wu in response to Co Shi An’s essay “Remember heritage, imagine identity, stop believing”
I remember my Chinese name. I remember when it was my only name.
My grandfather wanted a son. My grandmother gave birth to three daughters. Each daughter gave birth in the same year in Beijing. My mother, the middle daughter, was supposed to give birth to me in the middle of her two sisters. But I was 2 weeks overdue, and I broke the order of things. My two cousins were both born female before me, and I was the last hope for my grandfather.
earth dragon
A poem by heather c. lou