Selected Writing
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The Art of Winetasting on a Honeymoon in Champagne
Harvest had finished two weeks ago and the cellar smelled ripely of yeast, like fruit and uncooked dough. When the stopper on a barrel was lifted, we heard the bubbles fermenting, but it was dangerous to lower our noses lest we breathe in too much carbon dioxide. We blew gently on the opening and then sniffed the air for its scent.
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In the Year of the Fire Horse, Travel as a Herd, & Other Tips from the Zodiac
Wise and intuitive, strategic and alluring, Snakes might be coming out of a difficult year, and should take advantage of their increased luck this year to treat themselves. Spend time reflecting on what the challenges of the past year unearthed. What is your weirdest, truest self, peeking through those layers that you shed?
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Part Armor and Part Theater: On Curating Sartorial Courage
Try to make me clean out my closet, as brave friends have, and you’ll be made captive for hours…As a Cancer, I’m naturally nostalgic, but I have never felt trusting of photographs, the way they pause moments unnaturally, the way someone else’s lens skewers the perception. I have an interest in documenting my life, like many writers and water signs do, but I like it especially in this wordless way, the gossamer memory of fabric.
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The Untold History of the "Asian American Identity"
In her early twenties, Yuri Kochiyama kept getting fired from jobs as a waitress. Those experiences made her aware of racism, but that she was still years away from a political awakening because she didn’t yet have the understanding of the politics behind why racism occurred. Without any inkling of the expansiveness of Asian American lives, I was left blinking only at the dimly-lit knowledge of how it had affected me.
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Objects
Flash Fiction in The Margins
October 1834, they listed me as Auphmoy on the ship from Guangzhou to New York. It wasn’t right, but neither was what they changed it to. Still, I stayed Afong Moy forever after that. It was a better fate than the girl who came along to care for my feet; she never received a name at all.
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Writing an Ordinary Existence
When I was younger, I had to be very vigilant, because at any second someone could interrupt my day and turn my head into a seashell, empty but for the sound of frothing waves, of blood crashing between ears. How was I to communicate what it felt like, to have an ordinary day that felt like a seismic war?
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'Flop, Turn, River': Win Me Something excerpt
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Collective Storytelling: Pik-Shuen Fung Interviewed by Kyle Lucia Wu
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The Ebullient Joy of the Inaugural Well-Read Black Girl Festival