I am from typical late-night family dinners

from the clashing of washing dishes and the weary responses of “how was your day”

I am from the dragon fruit trees, its cactus-like branches hang over fences (dark pink fruit, sharp thorns

they tasted like overly-ripe berries)

I am the prickly red roses planted in front of the house,

the dead tree in the backyard

whose stump oh-so stays stubbornly rooted to the ground

I am from good deeds and morals

from Grandma Tran and Grandpa Tang

I’m from the “no-pain-no-gainers” and “hand-me-downers” 

from “talk less” and “listen more”

I’m from Buddhism and Confucianism beliefs

from “respect your elders”

and “study hard, gain wisdom”

I am from Roger and Yen’s Branch,

soft white rice and jasmine-infused green tea

I am from the passing down of traditions of generations from generations

from the celebrations of firecrackers and wearing new clothing every new year

from cash-filled red envelopes for “good luck and good health”

I am from my great grandfather who sailed across the ocean-blue for freedom and an opportunity

And from his son, my grandfather, who grew up and lived through cold hatred and warfare

From his children, who escaped their homeland to find their light at the end of the dark tunnel 

In the attic, there are storage boxes

overflowing with old black-white photos,

taken years, years ago but in our hearts, we relive it every day in vivid full-color

Within the years, people may fade away 

but it’s their memories and their history that linger and stay.

One day, things went a little too far, leaving the sisters wanting each other dead and gone. In response, the Whitlocks decided to take a “relaxing” retreat to the woods, coming back in tears with not two, but only one twin, claiming the other one had gone missing during the trip and was never found. Well, at least someone got what they wanted, did they?
Fear Story

                                          July 4, 1942                                                             Dear President Roosevelt,                     I would like to introduce myself. My name is Samuel Tadashi and I am sixteen years old, the eldest out of four siblings (two girls and one boy). I am currently being interned at Camp Harmony. My mother and father are both American-born Nissei of Japanese immigrants who came to the Hawaii Islands to work on sugar cane plantations. That makes my siblings and I the second American-born generation of the Tadashi family. 

On this first Independence Day after America has entered this terrifying and tragic war, we are here to honor and cherish the precious freedom that was granted to us by our Founding Fathers. I do not mean to disrespect our Founding Fathers but it does sound ironic … doesn’t it? That this “idea of democracy” would mean concentration camps … 

 However, not all agree....