Shi-shi-etko by Nicola I. Campbell

Nicola I. Campbell is a Nłeʔkepmx, Syilx, and Métis author who writes about healing, nature, respect, and understanding. Her book, Shi-shi-etko is about a young girl who is leaving for a residential school in four days. We journey through the girl's questions, fears, and hopes, and watch her package memories of her family and home to bring with her to the school.

What special memories do you have of your family or your home? Write a memoir entry about them, and remember to include the five senses to make it more interesting!

When We Were Alone by David A. Robertson

David A. Robertson is a Swampy Cree author who won the 2017 Governor General's Literary Award for his book When We Were Alone, illustrated by Julie Flett. The book tenderly tells the story of a young girl asking her kókom (Grandmother) about many of the traditions she holds. She learns of her kókom's time spent in a Residential school as a child, and the way that she now shares her culture and traditions with great pride.

Write a response about the kind of traditions you share with your grandparent(s) or parent(s). What makes those values and traditions special to you?

The Science of Breakable Things by Tae Keller

Tae Keller is a Korean-American author who spent her time growing up in Hawaii. In The Science of Breakable Things, Keller tells the story of Natalie, who recently rediscovers her love of botany. In chapters called assignments, Natalie teaches us about love, science and mental illness. She brings us through the egg drop competition, her science classes with Mr. Nelly, and living with her depressed mother. We learn that some things are breakable like eggs, and also the things that aren’t, like family and friendship. Keller uses the format of experiments and some hopeful tinkering to illustrate the human condition with love and loss. How have you experimented with things in your life?

I listen by Janet Wong

I Listen by Janet Wong

Once in a while
I wake up in the dark
and I look around my room.
I listen to the sounds in my house-
the refrigerator humming,
the heater clanking,
Mommy's soft breathing,
Daddy’s noisy snores.

My own breath
make the sound of the water in a puddle
on a warm but windy day-

woosh and shush and
woosh and shush and-

then
I fall back asleep.

Janet Wong graduated from Yale Law School but found her true calling to be in writing, publishing and sharing poetry with children. In 2021, she became the first Asian American writer to be awarded the NCTE Excellence in Poetry for Children Award, the most prestigious lifetime achievement award that a children’s poet can receive.

Ms. Wong writes poems to be spoken and poems to be shared, poems about feelings and poems about happenings, poems that might challenge you and poems that might bring you comfort.

What do you hear at night? Or at any point in the day?

Monkey Beach by Eden Robinson

Monkey Beach tells the story of Lisamarie in the British Colombian village called Kitimat. The author, Eden Robinson, expertly weaves Haisla cultural beliefs and practices into a mystery story of Lisa’s missing brother, Jimmy. As a reader we are exposed to a plethora of topics: Haisla family structure and nomenclature, the effects of intergenerational trauma on indigenous groups, worldviews and indigenous values on the use of land and life. In doing so, Robinson also reclaims appropriated Haisla myths and lore. She uses the traditional terms for what we know now to be ‘Sasquatch’ as the Haisla ‘B’gwus,’ explores Haisla spirituality, and the use of non-traditional medicines to provide the reader with different connotations of each practice, and build cultural competency. Branching off from this, Robinson uses Lisa’s journey of finding and embracing her spirituality to encourage her audiences to examine their identity, culture, and obligations to their past, present and future selves. Tell us about a cultural belief or practice you engage in!

How has this been a part of your life?

“Equal Opportunity” by Jim Wong-Chu

Jim Wong-Chu (1949-2017) was an artist, then a teacher. Under the neon lights of Vancouver’s Chinatown, he captured its life—its inhabitants, its architecture, its everyday—in unreserved detail through photography, poetry, and prose. He devoted his art, his photography and poetry, his editing and event-organizing to highlighting the stories of Asian Canadians. Having arrived in Canada just after the Chinese Exclusion Act, Jim Wong-Chu had to learn how to navigate a society whose fabric was still very much interwoven with anti-Asian sentiment. Nevertheless, he found his calling, taking the lead in carving out more space for Asian Canadians to find their own artistic interests and explore their suppressed heritage. J. Wong-Chu had himself come to Canada as a “paper son,” someone who had immigrated with a false identity. ‘Paper children’ often kept their real past a secret from their descendants, severing them from their family history. Wong-Chu, however, worked to connect those severed lines that ran between person and past. His book, Chinatown Ghosts (1986), is a testament to this effort. The first Chinese Canadian poetry book to ever be published, it captured intimately the daily dislocations faced by Asian Canadians. He was celebrated for cultivating a love of the arts among his community through performances and readings, conferences and gatherings. He incessantly encouraged Asian Canadian writers to write, giving them advice and introducing them to publishers.

This week’s poem is “Equal Opportunity”; a poem that highlights the turmoils, hardships, and discrimination of Chinese workers during the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Upon reading his poem, think about a time where history has taught you a valuable lesson. If you feel inclined to do so, please submit a response below.

My Chinese by Athena Chu

My Chinese by Athena Chu

If you ask me if I’m fluent in Chinese, I will tell you my Chinese is a ghost lodged in my throat. A dried up flower I tore from the ground long ago, rootless.

My Chinese is missing pictures in a photo album: the first day of preschool, a mouth full of useless characters, ancient taste buds numbing out of existence, leaving the bitter aftertaste of a new language.

My Chinese is kneaded dough cut into little circles, filled with meat and folded over, cooked and served with vinegar in porcelain dishes.

My Chinese wears red dragons on silk qipaos, dressed in pearls and jade earrings. My Chinese is red. My Chinese is gold.

My Chinese is something I must hide.

My Chinese is a racist joke I threw in the garbage, wrapped in a napkin, stained with my culture and made a sound as it hit the bottom.

A sound as in the weakness in armor. A sound as in crevice, gap, hole. A sound as in the slits they called our eyes.

My Chinese remembers Yellow Peril hysteria, Chinese Exclusion Act, remembers alienation, remembers otherization, remembers being banned from this land, being treated as everything but human, remembers the clanking of metals to railroads as immigrants built train tracks to connect this country. My Chinese remembers. My Chinese forgets.

If you ask me if I’m fluent in Chinese, I will tell you that my Chinese doesn’t think it belongs here sometimes.

Sometimes my Chinese is angry.

My Chinese wonders why, “Hey, this person I know is really into Asian girls. You should talk to them,” is a compliment. My Chinese wonders why it is exotic, why you think fetishizing my culture is the same as loving it.

My Chinese wonders why it is beautiful only if it is white enough. My Chinese wonders if it is white enough.

My Chinese wonders why it is minority only when it is convenient, wonders why the massacres, mass expulsions, and near genocidal policies are missing in the history textbooks. My Chinese wants you to know that it is not invisible.

My Chinese wants you to know that it is not an accessory for you to wear. My Chinese wants you to remember that it cannot be eaten and then spit out.

But even I forget sometimes.

My Chinese settles for less than what it deserves sometimes.

If you ask me if I’m fluent in Chinese, I will tell you that my Chinese sits in the back of class, knows the answers, but does not raise hand.

My Chinese sits quietly during family reunions, knows what they are saying, has something to say, but can’t. My Chinese is reaching for words, but only finding air.

If you ask me if I’m fluent in Chinese, I will take you to the grave where my Chinese lives.

On the tombstone it says: Here lie decomposing words. Here lie broken skeletons and broken sentences. Here lie rotting corpses and rotting cultures. Here lie the missing limbs of history. Here, in memory.

Here. Take a shovel and dig with me.

Debuting in a 2016 Slam Poetry competition in Boston, Massachusetts, Athena Chu's poem, drawing inspiration from Melissa Lozado-Olivia's "My Spanish", captures the pain felt by those who are disconnected to their mother tongue and culture, but who remember enough of that connection to feel the aching of what they are missing. In 2018, during her senior year in high school, Athena Chu was a Writing/Spoken Word Finalist and a Cinematic Arts Finalist at the National Young Arts Foundation's annual competition. She was. the only Finalist out of 757 students, who were selected from a pool of 7,500 students, to be nominated in two separate categories. During that competition, she also received a nomination for the US Presidential Scholars Program. Athena Chu is currently an undergraduate student at Princeton studying Comparative Literature.

I Am From by Lauren Yeobin Park

I Am From by Lauren Yeobin Park

I am from fairytale books

From piano keys and metal fences

I am from the dusty shelves in the local library

(Mysterious, built by gnomes perhaps)

I am from buttercups behind the school

Whose abandoned swings showed no sign of welcome

I am from my Asian mother

From brown hair and black eyes

I am from Aretha Franklin

And the way she spoke of the world through her music

I am born out of religion

Though people say faith lasts longer

(Faith in the wise, faith in those older)

From ‘never give up’ and ‘stand tall’

From words that inspired us to be the best

I am from chopsticks and hanboks

Sewed to excellence

I am from Polaroid pictures hidden under bed covers

From arrays of colored pencils

Each a token of diversity

In the summer of 1993, George Ella Lyon, a freelance writer and teacher who is particularly interested in the poetry of witness, started to collect a series of “Where I’m from” statements. Her collection was inspired by the work of Jo Carson and her poem, “Stories I Ain’t Told Nobody Yet.” Her list rounded out into a collection of poetry that has inspired a movement of Where I am From writing. In order to “ find a way to celebrate diversity at a time when our country(world) is divided by hatred and fear” Lyon partnered with Julie Landsman to create the I Am From Project. Their stated goal: “We want to be heard, not herded; we want to speak, not be spoken at or for; we want to break through stereotypes, profiling, and dismissal to be listened to in our full humanity.” With the hope that through a “national river of voices, reminding America (us all) that diversity is our origin and our strength.” Information about the I Am From project can be found at: https://iamfromproject.com. This week we are highlighting a poem from the project archives by Lauren Yeobin Park. After reading her poem, think about where you are from. If you feel inspired, share your thoughts.

my grandmother by Preesha Jain

my grandmother by Preesha Jain

my grandmother
wears silk sarees
woven with soft threads from India
stained with rich indigo dye;
tiny peacocks perch in the folds
and flecks of gold adorn them like jewels
sparkling with every movement.
a red bindi sits between her brows – she’s a queen.
but in Tesco
she’s an obscurity in the spice aisle.

my grandmother
has silver hair
plaited in intricate patterns
with garlands of yellow marigolds
tucked into the strands
accompanied with a sprinkling
of sweet-smelling jasmine flowers:
the marriage of the sun and moon –
but in Sainsbury’s
she’s an oddity amongst the frozen chapattis.

my grandmother
speaks in hindi
the language of saffron mangoes,
and fragrant blushing lotuses;
it flows like the ganga with
praises like honeyed rose petals
and even the stinging cusses like a biting karela
sound like a nightingale song.
but her broken English
in Morrisons
reduces her to suspicious looks
at the pickle shelf.

Since 1998, The Poetry Society has run an annual international poetry contest called the Foyle Young Poets Award and, despite the circumstances, last year was no exception. With 15,966 poems entered by 6,791 individual poets from 118 countries, the Foyle Young Poets Award is considered the largest international poetry competition for high school students. Out of all those entries, 100 were acknowledged, 85 as Commended Poets and the Top 15 being published in an anthology called You Speak in Constellations. Preesha Jain's poem is one of those Top 15 and juxtaposes the beauty of her grandmother's culture, heritage, and background against the prejudices held by strangers who make unfair assumptions about her. Jain uses vivid and multisensory imagery to fully capture her grandmother's character while also utilizing refrain and repetition to reinforce the negative stereotypes her grandmother faces while in the supermarket.

Have you ever been judged unfairly by the way you looked?

Arrhythmia by Natalie Lim

Arrhythmia by Natalie Lim

in 1962, my grandparents left China.
they stood together on the bow of a ship and
watched the only shores they'd ever known
melt into darkness,
owning nothing but each other and
the clothes on their backs —

no, i'm sorry.
this story is a lie.

i mean, at least it might be.
i mean that i've
never asked how they got here,
or what it was like in those early days
raising three boys and a girl
in a shoebox house in a broken-glass city
in a country whose valleys were still haunted
by the driving of railways spikes,
one-two one-two for miles on end.

when i started school,
i stopped speaking Chinese.
i still know a little these days,
can manage phrases like
doh je
and
ho bao
that fall from my mouth
and shatter on the dinner table
while everyone pretends
not to notice.
i smile as i pick the shards out of my food,
hide them under a napkin,
breathe a sigh of relief
when the waiter takes my shame away.

sometimes i wonder if my children
will do the same —

i wonder if my popo feels each
stilted conversation like a
brick through a Chinatown window, like
a slur hurled from a moving car, like
one-two one-two for years, 
for a lifetime, maybe

i miss hearing her call me
by my Chinese name. 
Natalie, she says,
each syllable so carefully deliberate
as she passes me dishes piled high
with chow mein, hand-stuffed dumplings,
the best of intentions,
and i smile like always,
shake my head,
thank you
i'm full

here is a true story:
i was born in 1996
in a mid-sized house in a mid-sized city
in a country that proclaims diversity,
acceptance, yes i am from here, 
yes i mean here, i mean how do you grieve 
something you never really loved to begin with,
i mean my grandmother calls me Natalie now,
i mean i stopped speaking Chinese 
when i started school so

all i know about China is my popo's hands
the distant echo of her pulse,
one-two like shattering, rebuilding,
like turning foreign soil
into survival, into homemade apple turnovers
and summer afternoons
in the back garden —

because of you, popo,
i have never gone hungry.
thank you for what you have given.
look at all you have made.

ho bao, popo,
ho bao.
doh je.

Every year, CBC hosts the annual CBC Poetry Prize, a national competition open to all Canadian citizens and permanent residents to submit a poem. At stake is a $6,000 grant from the Canada Council for the Arts, a short residency at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity, as well as being published on the CBC Books website. In 2018, Natalie Lim, then an undergraduate student studying Communications at Simon Fraser University, won the national competition with her poem, Arrhythmia, written about her interactions with her Chinese grandparents who immigrated to Canada. In an interview with CBC, Lim mentions that she used the metaphor of the medical term arrhythmia, which means that someone has an irregular heartbeat, to mirror the jolts that a person of colour feels when trying to integrate into Western society. She also uses the metaphor to mirror the starts and stops and uneven conversations she has with her grandparents, who can only speak Cantonese.

Have you ever experienced a time where you felt as though you didn't belong?

The Ghost Collector by Allison Mills

Shelly and her Grandma’s family have the special talent of seeing ghosts and helping them move past haunting others and towards peace. But her mom has always been concerned about Shelly getting too comfortable around the dead and is against her daughter helping Grandma out with her ghost-related jobs. As the story progresses, Shelly realizes no one knows what happens after ghosts unanchor themselves and leave the living world and she struggles with newfound emotions after a life-changing event occurs.

Allison Mills grew up in Vancouver where she enjoyed spending time reading all kinds of books because her mother was a teacher and a librarian. Her fascination with ghosts came from her time spent scaring herself by reading spooky stories. She is both Ililiw and Cree, as well as a settler Canadian, which allows her to know what it’s like to be in between two spaces you don’t entirely seem to fit into. Allison wishes to create stories just like the ones she loved to read but with more diverse characters she can connect to.

Have you ever felt invisible even in a room full of people? Have you ever felt disconnected to people you should feel connected to?

Chop Suey Nation by Ann Hui

In 2016, Globe and Mail reporter, Ann Hui, hopped into her car and drove across Canada. Her mission? To visit as many small-town Chinese restaurants as she could to learn about their owners and their backgrounds. Along the way, she discovers that her own family once owned a Chinese restaurant themselves, in Abbotsford, and her journey across Canada also becomes a journey into her own family's history and how they immigrated to Canada from Guangdong province to start new lives. Hui learns that Western, "chop suey", Chinese food is much more than a cheap imitation, but a reflection of the ingenuity and adaptability of 20th century Chinese immigrants to Canada, immigrants like her grandfather. Chop Suey Nation has received numerous awards, including the Dr. Edgar Wickberg Book Prize - Best Book on Chinese History in 2019. (Content Warning: at least one instance of mature language).

Ann Hui grew up around Vancouver and has been a reporter for the Globe and Mail for 11 years. She is their National Food Reporter and has been twice nominated for a National Newspaper Award.

Food is such an important part of culture and heritage. What dishes remind you of yours?

Front Desk by Kelly Yang

Kelly Yang is an Asian American writer who immigrated to Southern California when she was 6 years old. Yang attended UC Berkeley and studied law at Harvard, though she eventually gave up law to pursue her passion of writing and teaching. Her childhood experience working at motels with her parents inspired her book Front Desk, which tells the story of Mia Tung and her parents’ struggles of running a rundown motel. In the book, Mia’s character is reminiscent of Yang, specifically her dedication to writing and fierce opposition to racism. When faced with injustices, Mia is quick-witted and courageous. She often uses her trusty thesaurus and sparkly green pencil to advocate for those who have been silenced - in the form of letters. From Mia, we learn that no matter one’s age or background, only one brave voice can bring about change. If you wish, recount a time that you used your voice and submit a response below on the difference that it made.

Is there an issue you wish to stand up for?

Highway of Tears by Jessica Mcdairmid

In recognition of National Indigenous History Month, the next four weeks will feature stories written by or about the Indigenous population of Canada. Published in 2020, Highway of Tears - A True Story of Racism, Indifference, and the Pursuit of Justice for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls was written by Canadian journalist, Jessica McDiarmid, who investigated the decades of murders and disappearances along Highway 16 in British Columbia that disproportionally affect Indigneous women living in northern BC. Through interviews with the victims' family and friends, McDiarmid not only shares their stories, but frames them within a broader context of the estimated 4000 missing and murdered indigenous women and girls in Canada and the failure of Canada to provide justice for them. Highway of Tears was a finalist for the RBC Taylor Prize for Canadian non-fiction and a finalist for the Hubert Evans Prize for the best non-fiction book written by a British Columbian author. (Content Warning: Mature themes throughout the book).

What has your school or community done to recognize Indigenous history in Canada? What more could be done?

Welcome

Everyone deserves a voice and a safe place to use it. BASA has been developing voices and providing a safe space to explore them for over 30 years, but it is clear that more is needed. Especially in a time when we can not collaborate and congregate to share our voices and our strength, we need a place to be able to share our hopes, our fear and our frustrations. We hope this will be that space. This is a space for sharing our written work as well as a platform for our voices, promoting the exploration and expression of what makes us come together and what can make us feel alone. This is a place to celebrate our diversity and build strength in the exploration of voice and identity.

We will use this space to share, celebrate, and reflect on works by under-represented voices in literature. These voices will include, and are not limited to, those of Asian, Black, and Indigenous descent, as well as those from LGBTQ2S+ communities. As we celebrate the diversity of our BASA community, it is important to acknowledge the diversity of those in our greater community, and this space is meant to do just that.

This is how it works: read the written piece below. Then, we invite you to share your thoughts in a written response using the form at the bottom of this page. We will publish a small number of responses, and there will be a brand-new prompt every week.