EDITOR'S STATEMENT
by Ana Chen, founder and Editor-in-Chief
by Ana Chen, founder and Editor-in-Chief
It’s that time of the year when we turn our heads and realize, wow - we’re closer to 2020 than the start of 2019.
This thought always fills me with a mild nostalgia. I felt the same way standing in Shenzhen Airport, staring at the fog-wreathed trees outside. I’d spent most of July in China, touring an exhaustive (and exhausting) number of cities along the coast. The experience had been jarring. It wasn’t just the armies of relatives that greeted us wherever we went, nor the strange foods, nor the bombardment of Mandarin signs (anyone who knows me knows that I can read around 50 Chinese characters).
No: it was the sense that the person I’d grown into over the last two years - a person who’d consistently defied, disappointed, and exceeded the expectations of her culture, family, and friends - had shut China out.
This wasn’t anything purposeful. The past two years (I last visited China in 2017) had simply molded me to America. Everything from my style to my mannerisms to my values reflect this, and this hit me hard in China.
Seeing the troubling wine culture and the toxic masculinity, seeing the obsequious pandering to white tourists, seeing the unyielding hierarchy of social interactions...it felt surreal at best, painful at worst. But being the bull-headed optimist I am, I tried to take things in stride. I tried to learn from the people we met, from the signs flanking the roadways, from the sun-tanned hands of my grandmother.
And I did learn - I learned about the pressures students here face (school from 7 AM until 5 PM, then tutoring until 8:30 PM). I learned about the miles and miles of apartments, breaths crammed into cells stacked twenty floors high. I learned why so many Asian Americans struggle with mental health issues yet aren’t willing to seek help.
More than once, I found myself on the verge of panic: I couldn’t be a part of this. I couldn’t juggle the perspective of an outsider, the skin of an insider, and the values of both.
But you can say that things got better as time went on: after visiting Suzhou, Shaoxing, and Xi’an, all stunning historical centers, I began to appreciate China. I began to treat it as just another culture, complete with its flaws and beauty. There are moments when I genuinely felt proud to be Chinese: standing before Shanghai’s dazzling Pudong River, holding my baby cousin in Taiping, watching a master artist paint a bookmark in Suzhou.
To be a part of something, but to not let it consume you: for me, that’s the root of so many of my difficulties with mental health. And this doesn’t just apply to being Chinese - dance also comes to mind. Womanhood. Studies.
And I don't think I have that balance figured out yet. Even if I did, it would be applicable only to me. But enough of this statement - it’s time to get to the good stuff. A huge shoutout goes to the Adroit Journal's wonderful summer mentorship program and the abundance of visual artists in this month's issue!
Happy reading, and happy last six (five?) months of 2019!
- Ana Chen, Founder and Editor-in-Chief
This thought always fills me with a mild nostalgia. I felt the same way standing in Shenzhen Airport, staring at the fog-wreathed trees outside. I’d spent most of July in China, touring an exhaustive (and exhausting) number of cities along the coast. The experience had been jarring. It wasn’t just the armies of relatives that greeted us wherever we went, nor the strange foods, nor the bombardment of Mandarin signs (anyone who knows me knows that I can read around 50 Chinese characters).
No: it was the sense that the person I’d grown into over the last two years - a person who’d consistently defied, disappointed, and exceeded the expectations of her culture, family, and friends - had shut China out.
This wasn’t anything purposeful. The past two years (I last visited China in 2017) had simply molded me to America. Everything from my style to my mannerisms to my values reflect this, and this hit me hard in China.
Seeing the troubling wine culture and the toxic masculinity, seeing the obsequious pandering to white tourists, seeing the unyielding hierarchy of social interactions...it felt surreal at best, painful at worst. But being the bull-headed optimist I am, I tried to take things in stride. I tried to learn from the people we met, from the signs flanking the roadways, from the sun-tanned hands of my grandmother.
And I did learn - I learned about the pressures students here face (school from 7 AM until 5 PM, then tutoring until 8:30 PM). I learned about the miles and miles of apartments, breaths crammed into cells stacked twenty floors high. I learned why so many Asian Americans struggle with mental health issues yet aren’t willing to seek help.
More than once, I found myself on the verge of panic: I couldn’t be a part of this. I couldn’t juggle the perspective of an outsider, the skin of an insider, and the values of both.
But you can say that things got better as time went on: after visiting Suzhou, Shaoxing, and Xi’an, all stunning historical centers, I began to appreciate China. I began to treat it as just another culture, complete with its flaws and beauty. There are moments when I genuinely felt proud to be Chinese: standing before Shanghai’s dazzling Pudong River, holding my baby cousin in Taiping, watching a master artist paint a bookmark in Suzhou.
To be a part of something, but to not let it consume you: for me, that’s the root of so many of my difficulties with mental health. And this doesn’t just apply to being Chinese - dance also comes to mind. Womanhood. Studies.
And I don't think I have that balance figured out yet. Even if I did, it would be applicable only to me. But enough of this statement - it’s time to get to the good stuff. A huge shoutout goes to the Adroit Journal's wonderful summer mentorship program and the abundance of visual artists in this month's issue!
Happy reading, and happy last six (five?) months of 2019!
- Ana Chen, Founder and Editor-in-Chief