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The last time I did anything remotely like this was fifteen years ago, when I edited my high school’s literary journal. And then I graduated, set my sights on other pursuits and stopped writing.

But, now, I’ve found my way back.

Fifteen years ago, I had deeply disconnected myself from being Asian. By that point, I had long stopped watching Bollywood movies, hated eating Indian food and never told anyone I was obsessed with anime. The notion that I might actually be queer was beyond anything I could possibly imagine. So, I can’t help but smile, albeit a little sadly, that what’s pulled me back into this world of writing and editing is my desire to make sure that the stories of queer and trans Asians and Pacific Islanders are told in ways that feel true to us. It took me fifteen years to bring all these threads together, but I suppose — at least, I made it?

I haven’t been on the queer part of my journey for very long, but when my relationship ended two years ago, the first thing I did was look for queer Asian stories. I wanted to know that I wasn’t alone, that the things that felt impossible to me were things others could relate to as well. I found some of what I was looking for, but what quickly became clear was the scarcity of API perspectives in queer and trans discourse. API identity is, for better or for worse, a massive umbrella covering large swathes of the world, and yet the breadth of it barely registers in a cursory search for queer/trans Asian/Pacific Islander content.

When I started thinking about the theme for this year’s AAPI Heritage Month Series, I was reminded of words Karen Lee had shared with me in an interview about the pandemic last year. Karen is one of the co-chairs of Q-Wave, a NYC-based community organization for queer Asians who identify as women, nonbinary and/or trans. Reflecting on what it means to be queer and API she said:

“Often times, you think of queerness as a white thing, and then when you think of Asian-ness you don’t see any room for queerness in that.”

Her words resonated deeply with me, and I’ve held that thought for well over a year now. As I watched anti-Asian violence come to the forefront in the wake of the pandemic and saw Asian communities contend with their relationship to policing after last summer’s protests, I witnessed both the vulnerability and the strength of being queer/trans and Asian/Pacific Islander. Some of the most marginalized members of the API community, facing the dual or triple threats of racism, homophobia and transphobia, were also the ones trying to move their communities to find new ways to protect themselves from violence without relying on increased law enforcement. What does it mean to exist in that liminal space, constantly pushed to the margins on both sides, told that you are neither Asian enough nor queer enough, and yet to be the one propelling both of these communities forward?

As we discussed the theme for this year’s AAPI Heritage Month Series, Autostraddle’s trans subject editor and co-editor for the AAPI Heritage Month Series, Xoài Pham gently nudged me to move past mere reconciliation. She said:

“We are always reconciling our identities as queer Asians. What happens when we move beyond that and begin taking up space as our whole selves?”

And I realized, this was Karen’s point as well. That to exist as a queer/trans Asian/Pacific Islander means to put your stakes in the ground and to say, “I am all of these identities, and I exist, so therefore these identities are me. They must be.”

From start to finish, this year’s AAPI Heritage Month has been about queer/trans Asian/Pacific Islanders laying their claims to all of themselves. Over the course of the last month, over a dozen queer and trans writers and artists from all over the API diaspora have shared what it means to them to hold all their identities in all the pain, pleasure and power that entails.

It’s truly been an honor to have been trusted with these stories, and the stories of dozens upon dozens of others who pitched to be part of the series as well. There is so much richness and so much nuance and so much depth to being queer/trans and Asian/Pacific Islander. In this year’s AAPI Heritage Month, we’ve been able to hold space for a small sliver of it in the hopes that through sharing this work, queer/trans Asian/Pacific Islanders from all over the world feel a little less alone in taking up their own space, as well.

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