# data[].attributes.body
I published a few comics by Anthony on Hobart and I always got excited to work with him. We never met in person, but even in short emails and DMs he was always funny and smart. I was so excited and proud of him when he got into Syracuse, got a story published by the NYer, got a book deal. Afterparties has been the book I've been most looking forward to and, in addition to for so many other reasons, it breaks my heart that he won't be able to see and hear the warm reception I'm sure it will receive. I'm seflishly heartbroken that I won't be able to excitedly email him how much I love it while I"m reading it.
<3
-Aaron

# data[].attributes.body
Anthony taught an english class of mine in high school for one trimester. we’d talk about movies after class, and I’d pretend I wasn’t intimidated by how cool he was. I sent him everything worthwhile that I ever made and he looked at all of it. And we talked about it, too. And exchanged emails about it. It meant the world to me as a sophomore in high school. I will cherish those post-class talks with Anthony forever.

Ryan Barnett

# data[].attributes.body
Though we never met in person, I can see that your life was a profound gift to the world. I read your stories, essays, and interviews and simply marveled at your brilliance and vision. Like so many other Khmer Americans here, I am so proud of your work and so devastated by this loss. You brought our parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters to life on the page, and in doing so, gave us a language to set all our stories free. There is so much more to say, but for now, rest in power, dear one.

# data[].attributes.headline
Ant, we never got to finish our conversation. I'll never get over how abrupt and suddenly you left us. We all miss you and I know you're there, on the other side, watching us. We'll continue the chat one day. Until then.

# data[].attributes.subject
Ant, we never got to finish our conversation. I'll never get over how abrupt and suddenly you left us. We all miss you and I know you're there, on the other side, watching us. We'll continue the chat one day. Until then.

# data[].attributes.body
was on the P.D. Soros Instagram page (it was the year after you've applied) and it was such a profound moment for me to see a Khmer-American making it! Naturally, I said, I won't get it because I'm not as great at Anthony Veasna So! Spoiler alert - I guess not because I didn't get the fellowship. But I am so thankful it led me to knowing you in the snippet of time. I'm so immensely inspired by you and writing this makes me sad to know this world won't get to read your stories and perspective - and selfishly, your take on the Cambodian-American life that no one can articulate so well. I wanted to see more stories about our people outside of those retched 4 years. I wanted us to live the fun, bright, and beautiful lives that we know our community is on paper for the rest of the world to see - so the first words they don't think of when they hear "I'm Cambodian" and it be defined by those 4 years. I am so thankful to have even had the privilege to know you. I will carry your energy with me for as long as I live. Thank you. - May

# data[].attributes.body
when i first met you, i had already read all of your writing and prowled through all of your tweets. i was introduced to your existence via our close mutual friend, though i doubt you ever knew this. you were the coolest person in the room that weekend and i could not contain myself around you. i think in my trembling awkwardness i said something dumb like "hey this fellowship is great, it's so gay", having just got there from my straight AF graduate program.  your flippant total body response was "ugh are you kidding me there are so many straight people here" and every time i interacted with you thereafter every part of you would writhe with your words.  thank you for all the living you did. -gap

# data[].attributes.body
Thank fuck I will never have to hear the word, burpee, ever again, haha. God, I miss you. I still remember asking you whether or not Syracuse was worth attending, to which you told me, NOPE, PLEASE DON'T COME HERE!!! Thank you for looking out for me, as another queer, Asian American artist. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be at NYU now. The rent is awful but at least I'm surrounded by people who know the shape of your name in their mouths. អូនស្រឡាញ់បង​ I will carry you with me for the rest of my life.
-Albs

# data[].attributes.body
I never met Anthony in person because we first started conversing in the midst of this pandemic. And yet his personality—charming, forthcoming—was not lost on me. We lamented academia, we discussed teaching and writing and Tiger King and how he had asthma and how he was finding a balance to his mind work with body work (push ups mostly). He offered me some honest advice rooted from his own experiences and I, in turn, offered him some. It felt real, pure. I’m sorry he’s gone too soon. Please accept my condolences. Shine, still.
Talib

# data[].attributes.body
The first story I've read of yours was 3 Women of Chuck's Donuts. I remember being in awe of how seen I felt. I sent the reading to a khmer friend. Him & I got into an argument about masculinity, khmer pride, and gender roles. We were able to move pass it, but your storytelling pushes these conversations that I did not have words for. I am thankful for the spaces you intentionally created. I wish to known you more. Thank you for repping so hard for the khmer queers, for sharing your magic. <3 M

# data[].attributes.headline
Anthony, you freely expressed your love (and disdain) when I needed to hear it from someone. You reminded me that I was funny even when I felt I wasn't (obviously you were the funnier). We would cackle at the terrible essays we had read and our shared experiences as immigrant children - you at the shop and me at the dry cleaners. You fed me constantly saying that I was a poor student and you a rich writer with a book deal - from NY to Stockton to Palo Alto. You would call it your investment, and it was finally my turn this time in SF. I would brag about you constantly to my friends - you were on my list of people whose in-law unit I could live in when I couldn't figure out what to do with my life. I am grateful to have met you and to have your writing to hold onto and to share. - Kathy

# data[].attributes.subject
Anthony, you freely expressed your love (and disdain) when I needed to hear it from someone. You reminded me that I was funny even when I felt I wasn't (obviously you were the funnier). We would cackle at the terrible essays we had read and our shared experiences as immigrant children - you at the shop and me at the dry cleaners. You fed me constantly saying that I was a poor student and you a rich writer with a book deal - from NY to Stockton to Palo Alto. You would call it your investment, and it was finally my turn this time in SF. I would brag about you constantly to my friends - you were on my list of people whose in-law unit I could live in when I couldn't figure out what to do with my life. I am grateful to have met you and to have your writing to hold onto and to share. - Kathy

# data[].attributes.headline
I've been listening to various YouTube and podcast recordings of you reading your work. It's so comforting to hear your voice. And so hard to believe that you are in another place now. I love how you are so fully yourself--Each conversation we had, you were willing to be vulnerable and to be real, and that helped me to move through the world in that same way. Thank you for leaving us with so many gifts. We are missing you and thinking about you. --Jenna

# data[].attributes.subject
I've been listening to various YouTube and podcast recordings of you reading your work. It's so comforting to hear your voice. And so hard to believe that you are in another place now. I love how you are so fully yourself--Each conversation we had, you were willing to be vulnerable and to be real, and that helped me to move through the world in that same way. Thank you for leaving us with so many gifts. We are missing you and thinking about you. --Jenna

# data[].attributes.headline
We met at a conference (how cliche). We were instructed to wear business casual. You didn't. We were instructed to cede the floor. You didn't. Immediately, I was drawn to you. I decided you would be my conference buddy.  Our conversations were erratic, spanning dozens of topics at once—finally, someone who understood me. We shared our most painful experiences through a mixture of sadness, sarcasm, laughter, and realness. Thank you. Thank you for being you -- always. I still can't believe you're gone. Maybe it's because I know that, in a way, you'll always be with me. -Wendy D. 

# data[].attributes.subject
We met at a conference (how cliche). We were instructed to wear business casual. You didn't. We were instructed to cede the floor. You didn't. Immediately, I was drawn to you. I decided you would be my conference buddy.  Our conversations were erratic, spanning dozens of topics at once—finally, someone who understood me. We shared our most painful experiences through a mixture of sadness, sarcasm, laughter, and realness. Thank you. Thank you for being you -- always. I still can't believe you're gone. Maybe it's because I know that, in a way, you'll always be with me. -Wendy D. 

# data[].attributes.body
I remember running into you weekend evenings in the Narnia kitchen when I stayed up late studying and you and your friends had come back home from doing something much cooler. Seeing you then, before I had a hint of writing in me, I thought--this is the kind of effortless artist I will never be. I dreaded living in a house with 90 people, and yet I never minded running into you, who were always funny and sweet and unexpected. Throughout the years, our lives kept intersecting in serendipitous ways. The Craigslist apartment ad I responded to that year--it was delightful walking into that home and seeing it was you and your boyfriend, who I remembered sitting beside you in that Narnia kitchen when you two first started dating--how happy it made me to see you two, living together. You said I was put together and you were figuring it out, but I didn't feel that way when I called you about Syracuse a couple years later. You seemed to have this writing thing all down pat--you knew what you were about, what you wanted, and where you were going with it, while I had no idea. You were kind and generous with your time and wisdom to a new writer, whose amateur questions must have sounded silly to you, who seemed like you'd been doing this your entire life. I kept updated with your life and accomplishments on social media these past years--every publication made me so happy. I knew how hard you'd worked and you seemed to be becoming that artist I'd always seen you as. I imagined that we were going to talk about writing together again and we'd laugh about all the shared time. I wish I had told you more how much I admired you. I hope that you and your family know your beautiful life has had so much meaning for those of us lucky enough to know you.
Love, Belinda Tang

# data[].attributes.body
We had never met in person before, but we are connected through Monica Sok, who I consider a sister, so to me you were also family, like a younger cousin, if you’ll allow that. I am such a fan of your writing, and your humor as I was able to enjoy it online. I am so looking forward to your story collection. I felt so certain that I would get to meet you IRL one day and tell you to your face how much I admire your fiction. Last week I got an email from Kundiman that you were supposed to be at the 2020 retreat as a fellow. I was suppose to be there this year, too, except of course the retreat was canceled because of covid, postponed for next year. I’m sad you won’t be there, and we won’t have the chance to meet.
A couple months ago we were DMing on Instagram about selfies, and you said that you felt self conscious about your eyes because they are asymmetrical. “Perfect gays run rampant through SF,” you wrote. I said that I have asymmetrical eyes too, and that for Asians, having asymmetrical eyes is a sign of profound beauty! (A joke to make you laugh.) You thanked me for saying that. “I needed to hear that,” you said. It made me so happy to affirm you.
You are with the ancestors and spirits now, but we remember you here❤️
-Jean

# data[].attributes.body
I led Anthony's Levinthal Tutorial in creative nonfiction at Stanford in 2013. He wrote about Stockton, Manchester Street, and his family's auto shop. If anyone is compiling his work, I'd love to contribute these early drafts. They are incredible. Eavan Boland adored him--if she were still here, I know she'd have so much to say. I've submitted memories to other places and have a card going to his family, but sending love here as well. He'd always end things with a joke, and indeed, despite the grief, I can't think about him without smiling.   -Allison Pitinii Davis

# data[].attributes.headline
I had the privilege of sharing an office with Anthony when he worked as our English teaching fellow in '16-17. He was an incredible person - the kids were drawn to him, and he was constantly contributing to new curriculum and to student life at Urban. He was by far my funniest office mate, and an incredible person. My thoughts are with his family and closest. 

# data[].attributes.subject
I had the privilege of sharing an office with Anthony when he worked as our English teaching fellow in '16-17. He was an incredible person - the kids were drawn to him, and he was constantly contributing to new curriculum and to student life at Urban. He was by far my funniest office mate, and an incredible person. My thoughts are with his family and closest. 

# data[].attributes.body
-Bethany Hellerich, Urban School of SF

# data[].attributes.headline
In 2019, I was fortunate enough to attend Lambda Literature's Emerging Writer's Retreat. I was at least five to ten years younger than most people at the retreat and, even though everyone was queer, I was really intimidated. Anthony (along with Danny Thanh Nguyen) was one of the kindest, most genuine people I met at that retreat and made me feel welcome immediately. He was stylish, talented, queer, Asian, and showing the world how those identities intersected and were multitudinous -- the embodiment of what I wanted to grow up to be. His reading was one of my favorites of the retreat and I am so looking forward to reading Afterparties. Not only that but after my own reading, he and Danny came up to me and were so kind and generous and encouraging to me. Having been at PWI's my entire life, they made me see - yes, I could do it and potentially make it in this straight and white world of writing. They were exactly what I hoped I would become. It is an absolute tragedy that someone so talented and with so much to tell the world (so much that the world NEEDED to hear) is gone. My heart aches for everyone Anthony was lucky enough to grace and for all the books we will not get. I am so grateful to have met and passed through his life even if briefly. He is a writer I will continue to come back to and look up to for the rest of my life. 

# data[].attributes.subject
In 2019, I was fortunate enough to attend Lambda Literature's Emerging Writer's Retreat. I was at least five to ten years younger than most people at the retreat and, even though everyone was queer, I was really intimidated. Anthony (along with Danny Thanh Nguyen) was one of the kindest, most genuine people I met at that retreat and made me feel welcome immediately. He was stylish, talented, queer, Asian, and showing the world how those identities intersected and were multitudinous -- the embodiment of what I wanted to grow up to be. His reading was one of my favorites of the retreat and I am so looking forward to reading Afterparties. Not only that but after my own reading, he and Danny came up to me and were so kind and generous and encouraging to me. Having been at PWI's my entire life, they made me see - yes, I could do it and potentially make it in this straight and white world of writing. They were exactly what I hoped I would become. It is an absolute tragedy that someone so talented and with so much to tell the world (so much that the world NEEDED to hear) is gone. My heart aches for everyone Anthony was lucky enough to grace and for all the books we will not get. I am so grateful to have met and passed through his life even if briefly. He is a writer I will continue to come back to and look up to for the rest of my life. 

# data[].attributes.headline
I have read Three Women of Chuck’s Donuts so many times, and each time, the last two lines, “Yes, they think, we know this man. We’ve carried him our whole lives” just breaks me. I come from a family of beautiful and strong Khmer women who have had to and continue to endure hardships left and piled on to them from the Khmer men in our lives. It meant everything to read something that spoke to my own lived experience from a fellow Khmer. I immediately shared this story with everyone I know, particularly my sisters. “THIS,” I yelled at them, “YOU HAVE TO READ THIS. HE GETS IT. IT’S THIS.”Anthony’s storytelling, his words, touched us more than we can articulate. And we loved it and we embraced it and we told each other how we couldn’t wait to read more of his work. So when we learned of his death, everything stopped. We didn’t formally know Anthony but, in a way, we felt we did. We were connected through our shared difficult history as members of the Khmer diaspora. It felt like we lost one of us. And it hurt. He had so much more to give. But also the world was so lucky to have him, even for a short while. He has left a lasting mark, so please find solace in that. The world will keep reading and rereading his words. He will keep speaking for generations to come.  

# data[].attributes.subject
I have read Three Women of Chuck’s Donuts so many times, and each time, the last two lines, “Yes, they think, we know this man. We’ve carried him our whole lives” just breaks me. I come from a family of beautiful and strong Khmer women who have had to and continue to endure hardships left and piled on to them from the Khmer men in our lives. It meant everything to read something that spoke to my own lived experience from a fellow Khmer. I immediately shared this story with everyone I know, particularly my sisters. “THIS,” I yelled at them, “YOU HAVE TO READ THIS. HE GETS IT. IT’S THIS.”Anthony’s storytelling, his words, touched us more than we can articulate. And we loved it and we embraced it and we told each other how we couldn’t wait to read more of his work. So when we learned of his death, everything stopped. We didn’t formally know Anthony but, in a way, we felt we did. We were connected through our shared difficult history as members of the Khmer diaspora. It felt like we lost one of us. And it hurt. He had so much more to give. But also the world was so lucky to have him, even for a short while. He has left a lasting mark, so please find solace in that. The world will keep reading and rereading his words. He will keep speaking for generations to come.  

# data[].attributes.headline
In Memory of Anthony Veasna So (1992-2020) 

# data[].attributes.subject
In Memory of Anthony Veasna So (1992-2020) 

# data[].attributes.body
A statement from the So Family.

# data[].attributes.body
Please help the So Family keep Anthony's writing legacy alive.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Anthony Veasna So, 28, of San Francisco, CA, passed away on December 8, 2020 at his home. He was born in Stockton, CA on February 20, 1992, son of Sienghay So and Ravy So. He is survived by his partner, Alex Torres; parents, Sienghay So and Ravy So; sister and brother-in-law, Samantha Lamb and Zachary Lamb; sister Linna Armstrong; brother Jonathan So; and his nephew, Oliver Lamb. He is also survived by his grandmother, Hap Yeng, his aunts, uncles and numerous cousins.

Anthony graduated from Lincoln High School in 2010. In 2015, he graduated from Stanford University with a B.A. in English Literature and a B.A. in Art Practice. While at Stanford, Anthony helped write, illustrate and publish two graphic novels, hosted Stanford's comedy open mic, and spent summers as a standup comedian in Los Angeles and New York City. After graduating from college, Anthony taught literature and writing at The Urban School of San Francisco and Next Generation Scholars, a nonprofit that serves low-income students. In 2020, Anthony completed his MFA in Fiction at Syracuse University, where he was a University Fellow and won the Joyce Carol Oates Award in Fiction. He taught at several schools, including Syracuse University and Colgate University and Oakland-based Center for Empowering Refugees and Immigrants.

He was recognized as an acclaimed author, creative artist, and a thought leader for a new generation of Cambodian-Americans wrestling with their cultural identity. His fiction has been published in The New Yorker, n+1, Granta and Zyzzyva, while his comics have appeared in Hobart and Nashville Review. His debut story collection, Afterparties, will be released summer of 2021.

Anthony's accomplishments in the literary field are well known, but he was also a musician who played the piano. He was a huge tv and film buff and enjoyed the classics, e.g. Titanic. He loved to travel and always had a trip planned to go somewhere in the world at any given time. But most of all, he had a deep and generous love for family and friends. He had so much to offer this world. In the time he was here, he made it more joyful, poetic, and beautiful. Anthony will be forever remembered in the hearts of those who love him.

He will be laid to rest on Sunday, December 20, 2020 in the company of family in Lodi, CA.

Condolences may be sent to the family addressed to 8129 N. West Lane, Stockton, CA 95210. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made here in memory of Anthony Veasna So. All contributions will support causes and organizations to further Anthony's legacy and continue the work that he was passionate about.

Read more

#1 fundraising platform

People have raised more money on GoFundMe than anywhere else. Learn more

GoFundMe Guarantee

In the rare case something isn't right, we will work with you to determine if misuse occurred. Learn more

Expert advice, 24/7

Contact us with your questions and we'll answer, day or night. Learn more

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
In Memory of Anthony Veasna So, organized by Leana Taing

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Anthony Veasna So, 28, of San Francisco, CA, passed away on December 8, 2020 at his home. He was born in Stockton, CA on February 20, 1992, son of Sienghay So and Ravy So.

# data[].attributes.headline
Support for Anthony's partner, Alex Torres <3 

# data[].attributes.subject
Support for Anthony's partner, Alex Torres <3 

# data[].attributes.body
Please support Anthony's partner during this difficult time.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
My friend and former student, Anthony Veasna So, died unexpectedly this Tuesday. He was a mordant, brittle, hilarious, sensitive writer and I am heartbroken over his death.

His partner, Alex Torres, was also a student of mine, and I am asking for your help to make this horrible time less burdensome for Alex.

As a couple, they were wonderful, and their shared sweetness, silliness, and intelligence will remain with me forever. I met them at the start of their romance- when they were undergraduate students in my Victorian Sex class at Stanford, and I was so grateful to have a chance to get to know them both beyond the classroom in the last year.

Please give what you can to help Alex. Anthony's friends will also be organising a charitable giving to honour the commitments Anthony held dear.

Read more

#1 fundraising platform

People have raised more money on GoFundMe than anywhere else. Learn more

GoFundMe Guarantee

In the rare case something isn't right, we will work with you to determine if misuse occurred. Learn more

Expert advice, 24/7

Contact us with your questions and we'll answer, day or night. Learn more

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Help for Alex Torres, organized by Claire Jarvis

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
My friend and former student, Anthony Veasna So, died unexpectedly this Tuesday. He was a mordant, brittle, hilarious, sensitive writer and I am heartbroken over his death. His partner, Alex Torres, was also a student of mine, and I am asking for your help to make this horrible time less burdensome for Alex.