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Do you ever get the need to be
creative? Of course you do – who doesn't? Sometimes we feel like we've
been through a lot and want to share our knowledge and experiences with
the world. And once in a while, we come out with something that we think
is really good. Isn't it a shame to just let it collect dust on a shelf
or take up megabits on your hard drive?
Introducing the Asian
American Journal, AAJ, a written medium that strives to collect a large
body of these creative materials into one place for the rest of the
campus to enjoy. Yours truly is AAJ Editor this year and I am looking
for talented writers (fiction and non), poets, artists, photographers,
critics, and layout staff to contribute to an elegant publication.
We are one of the few publications
that specifically highlights Asian American works. Of course anyone can
write for us, and you don't have to write about being Asian or anything
of that sort; regardless, it is the fact that you can and it is the
power of having a voice that makes this literary medium quite essential
on a campus such as this.
So if you are interested in doing
anything at all, contact me, James Han, at AsianAmericanJournal @
gmail.com or join the Facebook group: Asian American Journal. We publish
once per semester so you have plenty of time to spill those creative
juices. So give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free, your suffering, your teenage angst, anything that gets
you writing, and we will give you one hell of an issue.
Below, and the photographs, are examples of what will be in AAJ Fall
Winter 2006.
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Fatal Love Syndrome
by Faye Lee
She gives unto you sir
Every little bit of pounce in her heart
Persuaded and infiltrated by thoughts
Thoughts so loud, coming from you
You beckon her to get on her knees
And watch you grow like Jack and the beanstalk
Your derision is a
curse for miles
Down the nonstop flowing sand of an hourglass
You patronize with disbelief
A sadistic savage you are and so unaware of every
Flaw you make with a striking word
She becomes an irrevocable hypocrite
Clawing her way deep into her skin
And changing her life and breath of values
Just to keep you in her vicinity, sir
Just to hang onto this fickle love she
Believes can repair her loneliness
You came unsoundly
and swept her up
At her weakest point when her eyelids
Never thought of pulling themselves back up
You stole her, burglarized her
Flawlessly, you became a suitor and tried to carry
Helen of Troy to safety by bestowing her with archaic
Effects of love
And she fell for every hit of the target
Placed directly over her chest
Foolishly, unknowingly she couldn’t stop
Herself from hanging onto every little
Bit of savoring moment when you deceptively
Took her weakness for pedestal high romance
For granted
You took every part of decency from her
Till this day she still permits you to
Dig deep graves inside her
Little by little more of her past well being
Is fading and losing touch with the
Entity that kept her at odds with commonality
She is now a statistic of fatal love syndrome
Letting love consume her life
How perfectly distasteful the flaws of loving someone
Can be
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Joy Dutta |
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Joy Dutta |
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Huy Huynh |
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Huy Huynh |
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The Aging Problem
Excerpt of a short story by James
Han
Some
turtles live to be over 100. They spend the last 75 years or so of
their lives slowly trudging around looking for food to eat. Lying
around doing nothing and sleeping in their shells are their primary
hobbies. I guess that's really no different than the first 75 years
of their lives, but then this analogy would not work so well. Down
the stairs came two behemoth turtles, each weighing easily 300
pounds.
"Grandma, grandpa, how are you doing today?"
inquired John.
"Ah, we're fine kid," grumbled grandpa, as the two turtles trudged
towards the dinner table. Their excessive weight and age caused them
to hunch over. A skilled artist could draw green splotches on their
backs and the resemblance would be uncanny. Indeed, turtle is a deft
metaphor for the old couple. If one were to tip them over like a
cow, it is doubtful their pudgy, dangling limbs would be sufficient
to get them standing upright again.
"This is delicious," exclaims John as he digs in before everyone
else sits down. The two tortoises sit around the table, and then
finally Michelle sits down. Everyone digs in and seems to be having
an enjoyable time with idle chatter, but let's not bore ourselves
and check back in the kitchen. If we peek into the garbage can, we
can see the shells of the packages which the dinner came from. Their
entire meal is one big microwave dinner - ladies, breathe a sigh of
relief. If we peer at the nutrition facts, one might be appalled at
the high amounts of fat, sodium, and cholesterol in this seemingly
wholesome meal. But one should pay closer attention to what is not
there, at least what is listed here as "natural and artificial
flavors."
The year is 2020, and American eats is nothing like the
vision. Supermarkets have completely discarded produce items as
unprofitable, which can now only be found at specialty shops. Food
processing giants have run amok with power comparable to tobacco and
pharmaceutical giants. Combine this with societal indifference, a
wealth of newly synthesized food additives that make food addicting
and unsatisfying at the same time rich and delicious, and shady
labeling practices and I present to you a society growing ignorantly
larger at the waistline. Healthy eating was a thing of the past;
today's microwave gourmand has an extensive selection of meals that
bludgeons him or his family from the inside. But this shouldn't be
too hard to believe if you look at food today.
Read it all in AAJ Fall Winter 2006
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www.aaezine.org
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