asian american

Once, at a party set on a rooftop in Brooklyn for an “artsy vibe,” a young woman said, sipping her drink, You’re so lucky. You’re gay plus you get to write about war and stuff. I’m just white. [Pause.] I got nothing. [Laughter, glasses clinking.] Unlike feelings, blood gets realer when you feel it. Because everyone knows yellow pain, pressed into

Love you so much and you so rude, Māmā says to Dòu Dòu as they argue in the next room. * Sometimes I wonder what Little Moon can know of love if Māmā has only ever loved her in English.

-Xialoe Zhan, Think an Empty Room, Moonly with Phone Glow