Because She Crossed an Ocean, My Mother

disciplines me to become 
good daughter, good unaccompanied minor, 
good migrant, good legal alien, good permanent resident,
good student, good graduate, good intellectual, good diversity quota, 
good asian, good work force, good patient, good healer, good artist, good dissident, 
good survivor, good lover, good partner, good machine, good robot, good person, good citizen, 
good American, good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good, good, good, good good, good, good good, good, good

so I installed a thousand surveillance
cameras in my heart

each morning

I turn them on

one by one
by one

by one.

MFA in Film in a Global Pandemic

i.

We spend four years of our lives mastering how to light / compose / direct / the perfect / cinematic moment / to construct a container of drama / so masterful / it’s impossible to look away. So preoccupied with the scene / in front of the camera / we forget to nourish the body / behind it.

ii.

You show up first / and are the last / to leave. You wear the film festival laurels around your neck/ each leaf covered in thorns. You learn to smile / perform good student / until / you get the grant / the scholarship / named after a prestigious filmmaker / to earn your right / to this mountain. At the summit / the horizon shines / untouchable / over an industry never meant / to hold / the unwell / 

iii.

My professor asks me to mine my lifetime / for a story / that will make our institution shine on screen. There are some memories / too sacred / to be made into a movie. There are some stories / too sacred to be retold / except to that one beloved / witness.

I cannot bring myself to photograph your face. 

iv. 

You take the subway home / tread lightly on the brooklyn streets / hide behind a mask / turn your key to your apartment door / slip in / just in time / without being attacked / pulled over / stopped. You remove your shoes / write a check to the landlord / pay taxes to a nation / to earn your right / to live here. You roll into bed / pull the comforter over your head / count down your breaths until sleep finally comes—or maybe / if you’re lucky—a dream. The feeling of a warm hand / resting / on your chest. It feels like a lifetime / since you’ve surrendered / to the touch of another body. You want to be held / for being a bad student / a not-on-time student / a human / worthy of rest / a dreamer / worthy of pleasure / an artist / worthy of imagination / a revolutionary.¹ “If schools are a feeder system for churning out good citizens, embrace being a bad citizen. Embrace being a bad subject, a bad student, a bad child, a bad person: a revolutionary.” mimi khùc, The Student Tarot Card, Open in Emergency

v.

They tell us: do not protest / it’s dangerous / instead / organize student-only events on campus.
I stop showing up to class.

vi.

You wake to daybreak, and it all begins again. Outside / they are constructing a jail in Chinatown / as elders are attacked from behind / a crowd of bystanders / watching. Outside, the sirens sing / lines of protestors are arrested / for betraying / the ideals of this nation / and the professor conducts class as usual / to get / to the end of a lesson. I zoom into a professor’s office hours / tell him why I disappeared / & finally give / this heartbreak / a name. All of this is / too hard, too hard, he says / as the pixels distort his face on the computer screen / as he holds back / tears.  I pray / to my ancestors an ocean away / to instruct me / how to make meaning / of this chaos. A classmate puts his palm / against my palm. Our flesh, soft and fragile, our blood, warm and transient, but alive. He tells me in the moments I feel too much / to look away—from the nation / the institution / for validation /and instead / turn toward my friends. Standing behind you / is your chosen family / holding up a mirror / to your own kindness. Give up on being a good student / a good filmmaker / a good citizen / instead / be a good person / a good friend. 

vii.

They taught us that we must / leave our bodies / journey to the edge / of the world / to find a story worthy / of our direction. Perhaps the movie was in us this whole time / a greyhound waiting to be let out of the house. In the middle of an open field / before the credits roll / lightning illuminates / the sky

I Want to End Every Empire

in my body
if only to make
more space for love.

I want to offer my love
to every revolutionary
if only
to help them be a menace
to the nation state
for just another morning.

I want to dismantle
every security camera
within my heart
if only to dance for a few hours
free of the burden
of another gaze.

I want to tear down
every border wall
if only to reveal
a clear view
of the mountain.

I want to shoot down
every drone in the sky
if only
to gift
everyone I ever loved
a quiet field
to dream.

This piece is part of the Summer 2026 issue.