Get to know these TSW voices.
As we enter the last few days of AAPI Heritage Month, TSW is sharing 13 pieces written by Seventh Wave writers and poets that we published across our past 16 issues. In this powerful roundup, you’ll find short stories that illuminate class inequities and discrimination; poetry that sheds light on what it means to exist in liminal spaces; and essays that put voice to the simultaneous yearning and devastation inherent to living in diaspora.
These writers represent a vast array of perspectives, lived experiences, and identities, and their art is an important reminder that the AAPI identity is not a monolith. Our hope in sharing these pieces is that they will act as entry points for you to get to know some incredibly urgent, necessary talents within our TSW community.
Below, you’ll find work by the incomparable Grace Talusan, ZY Chua, jonah wu, Rabia Saeed, Grace Hwang Lynch, Dena Igusti, Vanmayi Shetty, Lisa Chen, Rashaan Meneses, Tria Wen, Dujie Tahat, Joan Li, and Jennifer Tan. Read and return to these voices often.
- All Posts
- 1: Perception Gaps
- 10: Willful Innocence
- 11: Actionable Storytelling
- 12: Before After
- 13: Rebellious Joy
- 14: Economies of Harm
- 15: Root Systems
- 16: Proximities
- 17: The Cost of Waiting
- 2: Labels
- 3: Who Gets to Belong?
- 4: You Are Politics
- 5: Artificial Realities
- 6: Dangerous Bodies
- 7: In Opposition
- 8: Power And
- 9: What We Lose
- Anthologies
- Art
- Audio
- Bulletin
- Drama
- Film
- Interview
- Poetry
- Prose
- Uncategorized
- Back
- Fiction
- Nonfiction
The summer before I published my first — and so far, only — book, my husband Alonso and I finally saved enough money and time to spend a week in Paris.
Started telling my grandmother / I love her. Loudly, daily, over video calls with / my mother, my mother holding / the phone.
Humza went to school with me in Kohat. We were always competing with each other for the first position in class.
At night, when Laura lay awake on her memory foam mattress, she listened and could not hear anything at all.
anjing my mother calls you. / how dare you defy what god has given you?
What makes a country great? Surely the answer doesn’t lie in vast tracts of forest land that have been converted into concrete megastructures
The true cost of dying lies beyond the sick. It buries itself in the people who try to love the sick.
We live where the fog used to gather every morning, curtaining the streets and freeways in a misty haze.
Mama was born in the year of the Dog. In the Chinese Zodiac, dogs are known to be loyal and stubborn, of which she was both, but mostly I thought of her as brave.
O bobolink. The bobolink is dead / at my door — found leaving my apartment / to school then to work. After some searching, / I guess it’s a bobolink—this lemon- / headed crow, this crumpled parachute cloth.
Mr. Dai called to inform his wife that he would be leaving directly from work to pick their daughter up from the airport this evening, so Mrs. Dai would have to buy the fish herself.
I knew a lot had changed in my part of town since I left because cafes had cropped up all over the place, like small checker pieces from other boards migrating over to ours.
Throughout the year, you’ll continue to find pieces like this that celebrate our community of voices. If you’re looking for more resources or writing from AAPI writers, check out CLMP’s roundup, “A Reading List for Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month.“
